Chapter 60
There is no always. No forever. There is now, and there is what was, and the river feels cool against my naked flesh. The breeze plays with my hair, snow white and long. It’s fashionable for an old woman to cut hair short for ease of care, but I have never forgotten those days when he ran his fingers through my hair and smiled, and I could never bring myself to cut it.
I feel no urge to look behind me now. Paranoia is gone; no one followed me to the river. No one watches this old woman. What would they see, anyway? I am old. My breasts are no longer honey-globes to tempt men into my bed. They are old, near flat against my chest and belly, which sags in unlovely folds. My legs are strong, still, but ropy with age and covered with blue varicose veins.