Their Lives Now
A day old Bakery offers, a day old price for a day old loaf of bread; and he wondered how he found himself on the steps of, “Day Old”, when it was so far away once, so far away. And he’d never planned for his day, nor did he ever think or know a day like today existed. Yet here he was, sixty something, his ability to navigate was good but no longer keen, his sense of what could be still remain but lacked the edge it once had, the sharpness needed to cut through the cardboard life he had created.
And she, well she was no different. She could be mistaken for a once upon a time, movie star or celebrity when she wore those big gold sunglasses with the mirrored lenses. Her walk sort of said she’d done something, but each step was really a close association to the one who really did the somethings, and it was always her story that mattered. The story that would shatter the mold for the volume of material within.
There was an interesting disease that sat at either side of the magnet, one that pushed and pulled, rejected and accepted that which wanted the exact opposite of what it was initiating. Sort of a bad idea with some small redeeming results that with enough lights and enough decoration could be called spectacular, for a time. Then it would be the feel of cold linoleum floors, a tighter space that with shorter ceilings and a views of gray skies and withered morning glory vines, for the winter.
And they’d recall their close calls, their stories that were the almost’s, the many times they stood at the different steps of other things and places that filled the tiny pores of their souls enough to convince them they’d at least tried; they’d had ok lives, no regrets.
like a loaf of bread, wrapped in a moist towel, nestled in the bread box, waiting.