A beautiful girl for Friday’s session at the volunteer kitchen. Cheekbones so flamboyant they run away with her face. But even so, what a smart little angel. I first saw her with her face out of view. Just the crisp blonde hair in a knot, the crisp blue jeans fastened around her slim haunches. Then I saw her face, and, well, I’m a believer.
Turns out she’s a staff member and she gets up at whatever hour to hump out to the farm and do her part there. It’s a 45-minure trip from the city to the place’s farm, so who knows what time she gets up. Today there’s a shortfall on the kitchen staff, so she steps in and helps us out. Twenty-four, I guess, maybe 22. I look at her and my life is split open. What are you worth when you’re three times her age and she’s the one with the life worth living?
She chopped away at various root vegetables; she did whatever you’re supposed to do when you’re pitching in with a meal for people who can’t look after themselves. She was friendly in a loud, official way, like she wouldn’t be rude to anyone just because they were old and ugly. I’ll take it.
She was an admirable girl, in looks, temperament, and ability. It’s all about character. The difference that sneaks in and then makes itself felt at every moment. She’s got it, I don’t. For me her loveliness includes competence, efficacy.
Damn admiration, it can cut you. I look at a pretty girl, and if she’s the right sort, I mean as to character and ability, I feel the full weight of the life I didn’t bother to live.
I mean, that’s some girl, and when I consider her, I reflect that I’m not some person and she is. I’m just a tall, fumbling edition of early old age, and so it goes. She’s a beautiful, compact being who knows what she wants to do in life and does it, and what am I? Well, 40 years older or so, and I’ll leave matters there.
TV Crypt. What if this beautiful, admirable young person could hear how I spent my life? What interesting conversation could I make? Well, I saw a made-for-TV movie from 26 years ago and it was about the Monkees. Take that, kid. I don’t know how accurate the story was, I hasten to say, since then I’d mark myself as a person who spends his life on trivialities. But I liked the movie and felt the eternal Sunday afternoon that is local and cable TV and there’s some schmo with the switcher in his hand, looking for something. If he landed on VH1in the year 2000 or not long after, Daydream Believers: The Monkees’ Story [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3PTZFIALC_o] might have greeted him, and 90 minutes later he might reflect that he watched the whole thing and now feels grateful but also bemused—is this what 90 minutes of his life are worth? Her life, no. But his life, my life… yeah, looks like it.