Piece Written For An Unfinished Piece

“What do you want to be when you’re grown up?” she asked.

“I am grown up,” I said.

“But older, I mean. Where do you see yourself as an old man?”

“With you, in an easy access bungalow in a quiet residential town,” I said. “I’ll have retired with a meagre pension after having made it to the middle of a company that no longer exists. Our ungrateful kids will be long gone and you’ll be thinking they should’ve married better. We’ll be watching the Antiques Roadshow on some huge television and marvelling how the Swedish furniture we had when we were younger is still considered valueless. I’ll have time for DIY and golf but be too old to swing anything. You’ll spend time in the garden because you can’t think of anything else to do. We’ll take long romantic walks to the front door before getting tired and having to turn back. All our friends will be dead and we’ll only remember the good things about them. We’ll have pictures of our grandchildren on the mantelpiece and I’ll confuse their names especially when they visit so as to annoy them. Everything will hurt and we’ll wonder why they keep mending us. Looking back, we’ll think god, I wish I’d paid more attention.”

“You’ve thought this through,” she said, looking at me.

“Well, it’s just a vague outline, it may change.” I stared at her face. “Any bits you don’t like?”

“It doesn’t sound too bad. It sounds like we had a good run.”