Nights with my crush
“Do you feel older than you did last year?” my friend asks.
“No, I don’t,” I respond, “but I know I’m older because my great-grandson turned two. My daughter who is his grandmother turned 59 this year. For the first time I realize there were 20 years — no, 19 years and seven months — between us. I knew I gave birth to her when I was 19.” Good lord, that was 60 years ago.
Furthermore, I remember my life well, remember my childhood spent in Pasay then Sta. Mesa until I was maybe 15. I remember the first boy who sent me flowers, even the scent of those lovely flowers — yellow roses and lavender orchids. I was 12 and he was 18 but age did not stop him from spending his salary earned from a summer job going after me. “Going after” was the term we used then when a boy was chasing you to become his “steady” or his girlfriend or whatever you call it these days. At 79 I don’t know the language used for pursuit anymore. I know it still happens but don’t know or care very much what it is called.
All I know is the pursuing doesn’t seem to stop, not even at 70. I think I met my husband when I was 72 and he was 78, married him after a year because he asked me and maybe it seemed like getting married was more exciting than the way I was living my life — teaching writing, exercising and living very much alone. Sure, I had many friends and we would go out for lunch and laughs but every night I would sleep alone. I guess I wanted to sleep with someone once again.
When you hit 79 and you’re married, you still sleep with someone. I sleep with my husband but we sleep on separate beds. His bed is a hospital bed with barriers so he cannot fall off. It is placed close to our marital bed and sometimes we hold hands sleeping until I feel his fingernail digging into my cuticle. I hate that. It hurts. So I pull my hand away which he doesn’t notice, because his fingernails dig while he’s asleep. No hard feelings.
But for all your memories of the good and the bad times in your life I think as women we have our lonely times. Even if we have a husband or a mate. We remember the days when we were young, the flowers, bracelets, teddy bears we received as gifts. The mushy cards that came with them. How thrilled we were. Remember when you heard the doorbell and opened the door to find a deliveryman with a lovely flower arrangement for you? You smiled at him, signed the paper that said you received the flowers, carried them into your room proudly, smiled at the maids who teased you. What a wonderful feeling that was! Now at 79 nobody sends you flowers the way those young boys did. Then they wanted you, the pretty young girl.
I remember when I turned 50. I was president of an ad agency then. My office overflowed with flowers from everyone... we did business with. The media sent me the most beautiful bouquets. Of course, their office paid for the gifts. My secretary would bring them in and show me the cards. They were very nice, very respectful. Who enjoys receiving flowers redolent with respect? I don’t. I want flowers redolent with desire. Now who would be crazy enough to desire a woman in her 80s?
That’s why, at this late date, women still have crushes like we’re 12 years old. We still remember the thrill of being desired. True, when you have a crush you create your own thrills. Oh, he’s so good-looking, I could throw myself into his arms, you think. Of course, he’s on your TV screen. You imagine the scene, invent the feeling, dream the touch. It’s wonderfully unreal. It’s a scene you love, replayed with the world’s handsomest man whose scent you even recreate. Is he using Dior’s Sauvage? Omigod, I’m going to die. He smells so delicious!
You open your eyes. He’s kissing the leading lady. You imagine he’s kissing you, giving you a studied Hollywood or Bollywood kiss. What a thrill that is! You close your eyes, hug your big soft pillow, imagine his scent. When you open your eyes the TV screen is frozen. There’s a prompt that asks if you are still watching. You realize you have fallen asleep and seriously want to sleep again. You feel in the dark for the control and you turn your TV set off.
The next morning you rise at five, go to the next room and work on your rosaries or whatever hobby you have. Did you forget your crush? No, of course not, but he’s for the night. My rosaries are for the morning.
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