Time

He’d done his fair share of laughing over 70 years. His sense of humor was well-developed through the constant exercise of joking and smiling. The lines drawn in his face showed this jolly nature of his.

“You’ve ruined it,” he said. “It was sunny before you came here. Everything was light and easy-going. Look at what you’ve done.”

And look at those wrinkles, he thought. The years have etched her face like a roadmap. So grave, so permanently carved, the creases in her forehead cut deep enough from hard thoughts, tough moments, and painful reflection. For who knew how long?

“You’re blaming me unfairly,” she said, finally speaking. “Is it my fault that you’ve never taken anything seriously? Not a day in your life have you sat down and thought with 100% seriousness about where your life was headed. What you were accomplishing. And look at you now. You act more like 17 than 70.”

She was bringing him down lower than he’d felt in many years. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so depressed. He couldn’t recall meeting anyone who sucked the humor out of him the way she did.

“Why did you have to come here now?” he asked.

“I just had to,” she said. “And I think, in the back of your mind, you had the idea, the knowledge, that I’d be coming sooner or later. You just never thought too hard about it.”

“You’ve ruined everything,” he said.

“It’s time to go. Get up. Let’s move.”

“What if I said no? What if I refused to go with you?”

It was as if he could see it happening. What he said caused another crease to dig its way across her right cheek. He might be bringing her down.

“You can say anything you want, try to do anything you want, but you’ll have to come with me. It’s time.”

He could see it in her eyes. It was as if she’d had cataract surgery. Two quick slits and brand-new lenses inserted. Her face might reflect the miles she’d put in and the trials she’d endured, but her eyes flashed light like a lighthouse cutting through a storm. They were young and could everything crystal clearly.

“I, well, okay, I guess I’ll go with you.”

She smiled for the first time. It was a kind smile with no hint of malevolence, no flicker of victor winning over victim. Her face softened as if he’d said the magic words that could reverse what time had done to her. She could have passed perhaps for 17. She was young, and she was beautiful.

He blinked, unsure of what he was seeing.

“Come,” said the young woman, offering her right hand. “No more guessing needed.”

Reaching up, he grasped it. The softness surprised him. Given her haggard face, he’d expected the hand of a field worker.

“I guess I should have been more serious,” he said, following her.

“Well,” she said, the young woman said, glancing back at him, “to tell the truth, it wouldn’t have made a difference. In a way, I envy you. You’ve not been overburdened by too much thought.”

This didn’t sound like a backhanded compliment.

“That can make time go by so unpleasantly. So gloomily slowly.”

Smiling to himself, he thought, And a child will lead me. A feeling of peace he’d never experienced before came upon him. Maybe, he mused, those 70 years hadn’t been wasted after all. Whatever time I had, he thought, I put in good time. I did some good. Hopefully for the better than otherwise.

“How far is it?” he asked.

“Not far,” she said, her voice now sounding the way children’s can, like music. “Just up ahead,” she said. “See the signpost?”

He did. It wasn’t very far at all.

This is easy, he thought. And he smiled as he followed her.