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Can You Believe That’s Really Her?
by D. Cashon Klein
When Oscar Wilde wrote “The Picture of Dorian Gray” he was, I believe, trying to illustrate the effect that the loss of innocence has on us in the aging process. Not only do the years take a toll on our countenance and our body, but so does our behavior. Dorian was a beautiful, young man who watched his portrait age every time he broke a heart, or a promise, or allowed his ego to get the better of him. His youth in this portrait deteriorated daily. Imagine the horror of aging so rapidly before your eyes!
In real life, if we’re lucky, we have many years to get used to the gradual changes that occur. Some age more rapidly than others. Some have surgeons and personal trainers. Some get poison and fat shot into their skin. Some have far more important things to think about. But we all age. There is no stopping it in the natural progression of things. Personally, I think it sucks. I think we should fall into the world old, frail and infirm. We should enter drooling and shaking and peeing. THEN, with each passing year, we’d become a little stronger, a little more cognizant, a little firmer, a little more everything. Imagine looking in the mirror and getting better every year! Ahhh, and the wisdom that we’d bring to this new look! Oh yes, that’s the other thing… we would retain the wisdom we fell into the world with as old geezers. Eventually we’d be babies again, then little seeds, then poof! we’d be gone.
It is this that I ponder every morning and every night, when I stand in front of my bathroom mirror looking at my own portrait. What looks back at me is not unlike American Gothic, except I am grasping a toothbrush instead of a pitchfork and I am alone, and have slightly more hair. I am looking at a stranger. Even the gradual change over the years doesn’t soften the blow. Who is this old woman? Where is my long hair? Where is my NECK? Why do I have elephant skin on my arms? Why are there little patches of dark skin on my cheeks shaped like Ohio and Rhode Island? Why are my lips receding away from my nose like the tide, leaving little rivulets along the way? Why do I have to squint to see these things? Why do I WANT to?
Bear with me. I’m really not this shallow. OK, so I am. So shoot me. At least I don’t spit on the ground or drive fast. I have some good qualities. I was going through old pictures the other night because we’re doing one of those bring-a-picture-of-yourself-as-a-baby-and-then-everyone-guesses-who-you-are contests at work. It can be difficult because there’s at least a 32-year gap of time. (In my office the youngest is 32.) People morph from babies pretty drastically. Anyway, while I was looking for a baby picture I found my engagement picture. I think I was 24. I thought I’d bring it to work for show and tell since it was a pretty hot photo. Well…
The comments went something like this. “NO
WAAAY!” “THAT is not YOU!” “Come on, really, who is this?” “Look at me…
NO, this is NOT you.” (overheard) “Did you see that picture of Debbie?
Can you believe that?” “I still don’t think that’s her… there’s no
way.”
I thought of a scene in “Annie Hall.” It’s my
favorite movie. I don’t care if you think Woody Allen is a creep. I had
a WILD crush on him for years. Anyway, there’s a scene where Alvy
Singer (Woody Allen) is a small boy at a family gathering in his
crowded, little house under a roller coaster. There is the usual
assortment of bizarre family members. If you come from a totally bland
family, then you’ll wonder why I say “usual assortment of bizarre
family members.” There is a wrinkly, little old lady… probably Alvy’s
aunt or his grandma. She’s wearing ac housedress, harlequin eyeglasses
on her nose… You know the type. EVERYONE she talks to she says, “I was
a GREAT BEAUTY.” Even the old guy next to her gestures toward her as he
tells the camera, “She was a GREAT BEAUTY,” confirming what she
ritualistically told everyone she encountered. She may as well have
told everyone “I saw Bigfoot yesterday.”
I’m looking in my bathroom mirror with my
faithful old cat at my feet, and I’m seeing an old woman at a party
beseeching anyone who will listen to know that she was A GREAT BEAUTY.
It’s me. It’s me telling people that! Oh my GOD… make it stop! Aren’t
we supposed to get used to this? Why is it so surprising? Why is it so
terrifying?
I have a girlfriend. She’s the sweetest person
I know, bless her heart. She keeps trying to drag me out of this hole
I’m in. You’d think it would be easy given the fact it’s so shallow…
She sends me positive affirmations in the mail. The verses are printed
on pictures of ethereal, smiling angels flying among the stars. The one
that I have on the mirror says, “How wonderful I am!” That’s when it
hits me…
That angel has a neck.
Debbie Cashon Klein is a Safety Harbor resident.
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