Old In My Prime

I released a disgruntled sigh as I placed the phone back on the cradle; The whiny, scratchy voice of Lucille Ball echoed from the bedroom. I had just finished talking with my sister which, lately, had been enough to put me in an off mood. She was three years younger than I and had a knack for making me feel older than our mother when we finished comparing notes on our lives.
I had two children, both toddlers, and had been married for only four years. She had a live-in boyfriend, no kids, and no husband. I had four senior cats who were pushing nine. She had a quiet, one-year-old kitten.
She had started college, changed majors, was promoted to manager in the warehouse, changed majors again, and had begun planning a wedding. I had begun a writing course, was promoted to supervisor in the store, had skipped the wedding plans along with the honeymoon altogether, and had two children.
She and I hadn’t always been like this. As children, we were best friends, as teenagers, we were inseparable and now, as adults, we couldn’t stand each other. Neither of us knows how it came to this. We both know that it has. We never talk about that.
I walked into the kitchen, replaying the conversation over in my mind while re-quoting the parts that really troubled me to Tribble who was laying on the table relaxing, her eyes half shut. Ignoring the cat on the table, I walked to the cupboard and pulled down a solid, white coffee mug, then on to another cupboard where I pulled down my coffee crystals and flavored coffee mix. It was nine o’clock at night and I had some writing to do. Setting the mug next to the now sleeping cat, I walked to the fridge, pulled out the milk and removed the singing tea pot off the stove.
As I scooped out the desired amount of coffee into my mug, I thought of what Alicia had said to me. "Your dishes are so boring." She had then proceeded to tell me about her freshly bought dishes which were lined on the outer rim with little red lighthouses.
"They’re not boring. They’re classic." I said to Tribble defensively as I stirred my coffee. I took a sip and headed into the living room to the computer, first stopping to grab my evening vitamins from my regiment while mumbling about my "boring dishes."
She and her boyfriend had just returned from a weekend excursion to Niagra Falls. The twelfth one this year. It was October. Three weeks before that, she had been to Atlantic City. I sat down to my desk and stared off while pensively sipping my coffee.
It had grown cold these past few nights and the current chill in the air forced me back out of my chair. Setting my coffee onto my desk, I walked to the thermostat and turned it up to 72. Any higher and the husband would let me know about it. With my mind now preoccupied with the description of my sister’s first bar hop, I made my way to the bedroom closet and pulled down the cream, heart-crocheted afghan to throw over my legs. Desi Arnaz was now shouting in Cuban.
"I can bar hop if I wanted to." I said to my lounging, white Peach asleep on the couch as I walked back to the computer and coffee. She stretched lazily in response to my persistence and looked up at me. "I just don’t want to because it’s stupid! Who enjoys being drunk? I prefer my coffee, oatmeal, and toast to throwing up last night’s beverage in the morning."
I sat back down to the desk, my afghan now in hand. After spreading the fringed blanket over my legs, I resumed my coffee as the whistling of the radiators began. She had boasted proudly about her drinking parties and the day she had spent in New York with her old girlfriends from highschool. It had been more than nine years since I had even spoken to any of my girlfriends. And parties...?
The sudden sound of my daughter’s fussing shook me back to motherhood and forced me to abandon my thoughts. In a flash, I had set my coffee down, whipped off the blanket, and ran to her room on tip-toe.
There she slept, shifting and mumbling in her sleep. I proceeded to her bed, quieter than before so as to not wake her sleeping brother in the bed next to her. I gently began to rub her back and her body relaxed to my touch. The restlessness passed as she settled back into a calm, dreamless sleep. I released a quiet, deep sigh and tip-toed out of the room to return to my chair and to blanket, coffee, and thoughts.
I sat back down, recovered my legs, and took another sip from my coffee.
"She’s immature." I said, this time to Rolo who had leapt into my lap, her needle like claws bearing into my thighs. After positioning the cat into a more comfortable position, I continued. "She has no kids. She hasn’t grown up yet. Of course, she’s 23 and engaged. It’s about time she did settle down."
I had begun stroking the long, soft fur as her purring sedated my nerves. "She’s too old to be acting like that and the way she flirts....." My thought trailed off unfinished. Despite my feelings, some subjects were left alone. After all, she is my sister.
I drained the last of my coffee, now lukewarm, and placed the empty mug on the desk for the final time. My legs were feeling warm again and the radiators had stopped whistling. My mind, still focused on the winded monologue my sister had subjected me to earlier.
As she had poured over every rich detail of the hotel room and every event of her trip, I had sat in silence with nothing to say. She was as detailed as a nineteenth century French novel and the interest had worn off long after I had spent my own vacations living it up back when I was nineteen. Since then, I had settled down with my husband shortly preceding the arrival of our children.
"I’m not suppressing myself. I love the way I am." Rolo looked up at me unconvinced of what I had said. Her solid yellow stare bore into me.
"I am content. There’s nothing wrong with being conservative. There’s nothing wrong with being prude."
The yellow eyes continued their hard accusing, stare.
"I can bar hop if I want to. I’m not boring. I’m not as reserved as she thinks!"
The hard, yellow eyes never moved as the "I Love Lucy" theme echoed from the bedroom. The credits were rolling and my Seal, looking to nap, had curled up at my feet under the desk.
I finally broke my gaze with the uncomfortable stare of my cat and looked to the black and white of an era gone and nearly forgot.