I am riding along in one of the wonderful red streetcars. These streetcars are enough of a reason to live in Toronto. There is nothing quite like riding in one of these – the older ones that is, with the windows open and the breeze on your face. It is like being at the midway, only it is everyday life.
I am on Dundas Street, heading west, near Bathurst. This streetcar, an older “CLRV” model, is bumping and grinding along, wheels and tracks squealing, people talking, the bell clanging, windows open, cars outside honking. It is a hot August day. The streetcar is crowded, and I am standing.
It is 2010; I have just returned to live in my home-and-native-land after thirty-five years in the States. At sixty-three, I am feeling good. I am broke and have no prospects, but I am free. I have lost fifty pounds eating sardines and walking off the anxiety of my marriage ending, and the decision to leave my secure career and change countries once again. I can walk twelve or fifteen miles without getting tired. I look like I have a six-pack – that is, unless I take off my shirt; then it is altogether a different matter.
Anyway, I am standing there, feeling good, feeling happy, feeling strong. I see a very attractive, young woman staring at me. She is probably about twenty-five. Obviously, she is very taken with me. I look away, of course, and then look back: she is still watching, looking me right in the eyes.
I am thinking: Hey, yea, I’m looking good, alright. I’ve got it going on. Still got the magic.
She stands up from her seat and moves toward me. Obviously, she is going to chat me up. I’m smiling at her.
Sir, she says, would you like my seat?
Belinda says:
Growing old is such a humbling experience…but what the hell do the young ones really know!
peterscottcameron_tq252m says:
She was being kind to the old gentleman! 🙂