IMPORTANT NOTE: Posted by Maureen, not Michelle.
Some listeners may know the story of one of the most interesting men (and lovers) in my life. At the time of my reporting, he was 90-plus-something. Currently, he is describing himself as 100-minus-something. For a few weeks several years ago, he tested me by trying to pretend he was actually ten years younger. But I had seen the website with his birthdate and place, there was no pretending.
Outside of the fact that you may be able to fool biology with botox and surgery for a while, yet the closer you approach 100, the harder it is to lie about it. Or, at least, that’s the current state of things. Perhaps if he had done something differently: eaten less meat, done fewer drugs (he was a doctor that could prescribe his own), had less occasion to drink (isn’t dinner an occasion?), swam more laps…
One variable he never dallied with was sex. Were it up to him, he would still use every minute to create opportunity. The fact that he is now accompanied around-the-clock by a woman his son installed in his life (due to his own unavailability or desire to do that job) puts the brakes on that perhaps all-important fountain of youth found in the deep wells of sexual satisfaction.
Or does it? My love and concern for this man has never stopped. So I make it a point to be near him as often as my crazy life allows. There is a natural barrier between this “new woman” and myself: she is from Peru and speaks Spanish, Portuguese and French. My German and English don’t get us anywhere, and my French is appallingly rudimentary. The body language, even before a word has been uttered, is clear: this is now her territory. I am not particularly welcome, absolutely not trusted (what could I possibly want from this man?!) and eyed with suspicion.
Only after several failed attempts at clarification and one arduous shopping journey where we tried to figure each other out (it wasn’t as if I could say point-blank: “look, sister, this is a former lover I am deeply concerned about and want to spend as much time with as possible before he meets his maker, just get out of the way and let us enjoy a few hours…”) did it occur to me that, well, perhaps she wasn’t just doing the wash and making him lunch. Perhaps he HAD, in fact…
There you have it: men can conjur up jealousy spats between women at 98 years of age. Believe it.
I have no idea where the whole thing will go. I know only two things: I’m determined to polish up on my French. And love is truly the most amazing, unpredictable, fascinating thing.
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