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WE WHO HAVE WRINKLES AND SAGGIES SALUTE YOU
“I don’t like it when old people get skinny ’cause they always get these wrinkles and saggies and things under their chin.”
Everything I write is true, but this is actual.
I just overheard that remark in the diversity isle of a large store, a store teeming with customers of every size, shape, age, proclivity and background.
Yep, one woman delivers her stroke of wisdom to a fellow kinswoman, a kinswoman who nods sagaciously and totally agrees with her, “Uh huh.”
They continue talking and signifying as they troll rows of clothing, their analytical examinations of texture and shape and color and size and appropriateness consuming the time they have, expert observers of the ad hoc world they create for comfort and familiarity.
The stories I tell deliver themselves to me when I least expect it. All I do is weave them together in order to share their import with you. I guess this can be called, Being a Writer. Or something like that.
So, here I am, relating a tidbit moment without the permission or knowledge of these two people. Does this make me an eavesdropper, a spy? Or does this mean that, in the age-old tradition of storytellers, I am simply honoring the importance and meaning of an anecdote that might otherwise disintegrate into the rustling air of an anonymous store, where mysterious and meaningful events might never be noticed and inscribed for future generations?
Think of all the millions of people who will never have their moments archived.
The absent, the missing, the dead, the distant, the invisible, the ignored, all lose their moments when there is no-one present to notice, to appreciate, to stamp approval.
Those who cannot defend themselves against the stories I tell.
As the self-centered writer, I feel that my purpose is somewhat justified. All I am doing is taking a look around me in case I miss something important in the endless aisles of the day-to-day.
Wrinkles and saggies and all
© Jim Reed 2017 A.D.