It is Friday once again and so, time for another serious fiction piece.
In her day she was a beauty. Her smile had broken the hearts of many young men.
Not that she was the type who went looking to break men’s hearts, she didn’t like to hurt anyone. She was completely natural and completely unaware of the effect she was having.
She didn’t need to parade herself; her radiant smile, natural attractions, and unaffected style drew them in. And that laugh, few who had heard that laugh ever forgot it. Her whole face lit up and her green eyes sparkled. What fella could resist that? Not many.
Yes, she had been a beauty in her day. For all the attention she drew to herself, she dated little. A combination of her being particular and shy lads thinking they had no chance with her.
She had a steady in high school, Mitch, but when they went their separate ways after graduation, they separated for good. Not one to talk about her private affairs, her family never quite knew why she had stop seeing him. They had all liked Mitch.
In college she met her next steady and he had stayed her steady for the next 53 years until death separated them. She never got over the death of Steve and she knew she never would.
He used to call her Beauty bee, a corruption of her name, Beatrice, which she never liked. They never had any children and she felt the want of them after Steve had past.
It was her nephew, Darren, who drove her to the hospital the night she fell and broke her hip, that was 5 years ago. She had seen Darren exactly twice afterward, once when he visited the hospital and once when she was placed in the Oakdale Nursing Home.
Her friends had visited more often, than her relations, but they where old too and came but seldom. She had made a couple of friends at the nursing home, but the sad fact was she knew they where all just waiting to die.
The staff was a roulette, some where kind, patient, and giving and there was those who were not. Coming here had been bewildering at first. Being used to being so independent it was hard to adjust.
“Hell,” she thought, “I still haven’t adjusted.”
The unfamiliar noises, smells, and routines had disoriented her and the staff on duty that first night were impatient and rushed. No time for an old lady.
She missed her house, her flower gardens, and her big bay window where she had spent many happy hours looking out at life as it went by. This life she lived now, was not living, it was only a pathetic excuse of a life.
The photograph that Steve had taken on their first wedding anniversary, hung on the wall in her room.
It was hot in their apartment building and he talked her into posing on the roof with the big goofy paper red heart he had given her. She had been a good sport about it. Let old Mrs. Anderson, the prude, flap her gums if she wanted to.
A pretty little red-haired aide, the new girl, came into to get her vitals, they where always doing that. She was a nice little thing always smiling.
“Hello, Mrs. Warner, how are you today?’
“Okay”, she mumbled back.
“That photo on the wall, is that you, if I may ask?’
“Yes, my husband took it.”
“What a beauty you were!”
“Yes,” she answered slowly, ” I was a beauty. Then.”