Marta ~ May 11

 

I am taking my friend out to dinner for her birthday. She is not someone who celebrates birthdays, and I was relieved when she said she would come. I am a large celebrator of birthdays, especially my own, but certainly of others too. A birthday uncelebrated is a dark sad image for me. And my friend can be dark and sad.

 

To me, she is lovely. I like even just looking at her face, which I did quite a bit of last night, thinking how probably there are many people in the world who would not find her face so interesting to look at. They would probably see just one more middle-aged woman. And I don't see that at all. I see a face of angles, blue eyes, changing expressions passing over it all, often worry and concern, and then a sudden smile.

 

The other day in the health food store, as I gazed at beauty products, trying to find the one that works so well for a much older friend of mine, a staff person I've known a long time called down the aisle, "Can I help you find anything?"

 

"I need something to make me beautiful again," I wailed back. 

 

And earlier in the week, talking to Andrea about what it's like to lose your beauty, your allure, and she saying all the things I tell myself like about how beauty is more about aliveness than anything else, and yes, I know, but still there is room for wailing now and then, "Holy shit, it's a bitter pill to swallow!" 

 

And then last night my lovely friend's face before me, and I do not need the shine of youth to be quite riveted by her features.

 

The waitress comes by. "Hi, Marta," she says with a big smile. 

 

I look closely. "Ann?" I venture. 

 

"Yup!" she says. Tonight she is sporting blonde hair. I had just seen her last week and even then she had a whole new look from how she used to be. 

 

"You've changed it up again!" I say with a smile. 

 

"Yes, I have!" she says. "I'm having fun!" 

 

She leaves menus and departs. "That's her third look in a month," I say, sotto voce. "I liked the other ones much more. But," I add, "she's having fun." 

 

"It's good to see young people having fun," says my friend.

 

I agree and stay quiet, choosing not to make some reference to how unbearably miserable my own youth had often felt, even if the boys could be counted on to whistle as I went by.