The old man thought his left knee hurt the very first step. Back and shoulders, too. He stretched like a crippled Great Dane getting off the sofa, shook himself, took one deep breath, then another and strode off. Pain the body’s fresh air. No, it’s electric shock. He felt zapped, for whatever reason. Didn’t matter. He was alive. He was on the move again.
Saw his first snake of the spring. Slithered under a neighbor’s recycling like it knew where it was headed. He loved snakes.
Saw his second snake. Looked like a runaway garden hose. He stopped and watched, ready to scoot. Some snakes are scary.
The old man thought about that little sick kid on Sixty Minutes who volunteered to help the Make-A-Wish Foundation help others. He was surprised all to get out when his own wish was granted. A trip to Australia. The old man thought something ironic about the segment being a repeat. That little boy was the sweetest child. Just shaking and dancing with joy right there in his chair.
He wondered why no Make-A-Wish Foundation for geezers.
The old man saw two bunnies deep in conversation in the shade under some azaleas. He wondered what they might be talking about. Yes, oh my, her fourth litter in a year. They say she screws like a rabbit. Any dumb buck with a fluffy white tail.
He imagined the wishes of the elderly might vary for the wishes of children. Although he had never been to Australia. Children want to visit amusement parks and meet sports heroes. That’s what he imagined.
You get old, you realize you should’ve eaten more guacamole.
What did he wish for? Forward movement. He would settle for that. Because movement kept him sane and that was all the old man wished for.
The old man felt better than he had in months. Slower maybe. There’s something disconcerting about knowing you are headed downhill. Knowing for a fact.
The old man remembered standing up against the dining room door jamb and Mom making a pencil line atop his head, Mark down the date. You hit six feet when you turn twelve, life changes.
He saw the season’s first HILLARY bumper sticker. It was on a silver Buick and he was not a little surprised the Secretary enjoyed support locally. But a bumper sticker? Really. The old man was afraid his ride might get harshly keyed. Scratch down the length of your vehicle to furtively protest your stupidity. Not worth the risk.
There is one intersection where the old man could see eight American flags blowing in a strong breeze. He’d have to bend to see the ninth; that would be cheating he decided the next time around.
Nothing hurt just then. Maybe dance for joy right there.