Green Pastures

“ID?”

Ameira peered at the large, muscular man in a black T-shirt and black pants standing in front of her.

She took a deep breath, bracing for what she knew was about to come next.

“Ma’am? Your ID, please?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” she pulled the sliver of hard plastic from her purse and handed it over. “Here you go.”

He focused several moments on the small print, and then, his eyes narrowed—first at the card and then back down at her.

“You’re—”

“Yeah,” she said, half-smiling as if she’d learned she just barely passed a major test with a “D,” when she’d been certain it would be at least a “B.”

“No way,” the large man said. “I don’t believe it.”

“Ha, well… Believe it,” she responded with more deflated enthusiasm.

“…Is this real?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s real."

The man’s jaw hang open, his eyes stretched as far as they could go.

“Umm excuse me,” one of a group of young women said from behind Ameira to the bouncer. “Are you gonna let us in? We were here before 10.”

Once inside, Ameira was grateful the flashing, neon-lit space wasn’t packed, nor that the music was blasting.

She still enjoyed going out and enjoying herself in the city from time to time, but she’d also grown tired of some of the over-the-topness—the busy scenes, the loud sounds, the endless people—of living the night life in years’ past.

This was a decent, manageable crowd on a decent, otherwise uneventful Friday night. Right up her alley.

Only one open space remained at the bar, and she made a beeline for it.

Ameira wasn’t opposed to some possible dancing tonight, but she thought the option to sit was always nice.

Plus, she had to start the night off right.

"Hey!" The bartender turned to her as he finished cashing out another customer. “What can I get for y—”

His half-asked question hang in the air as he zeroed in on her face. “Umm… Are you…supposed to be i—”

Ameira lifted her wrist, displaying the red paper strip fastened around it, signaling she’d been carded and was appropriately aged for the establishment.

The bartender lingered for a few moments as he pondered what appeared to be a great discrepancy.

“Jack and Coke, please,” Ameira answered his incomplete question, not caring to hide her increased annoyance. Slack-jawed, the bartender continued staring—mentally debating whether to contest this one red bracelet.

Could it be fake? He mused. And that she didn’t actually get it at the door?

“Umm hello!!?" Ameira called out as her exasperation elevated. “Can I have a Jack and Coke, please?!”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah, umm… Sure, right away,” he stammered as he began to prepare her drink.

As he mixed, Ameira spun her seat away from him and towards the main area of the venue, taking in the different lively scenes.

Groups of young men, young women, and a mix—some, young couples—huddled throughout the dance floor. Some danced, but most stood around, talking.

“You wanna start a tab?” the bartender called out from behind her.

She started to answer but was interrupted by the man sitting beside her.

“You can put it on mine,” he said and then turned towards her with a smile, air-cheersing with his bottle of Bud Light. “Mike.” His rugged hairy hand reached out to shake hers, soft and smooth in comparison.

“Ameira,” she replied, weakly air-cheersing back before hurriedly taking the first sip of her Coke-dressed Jack. “Thank you.”

“Of course—my pleasure. You here with friends or rollin' solo tonight?”

Ameira briefly scanned him, trying to sense any possible creep factor.

“Here umm… Solo. Just thought I’d come grab a quick drink or two after work.”

“Ah, I hear that. A solid start to the weekend!”

Ameira gave a faint smile and nod.

“So, uhh… Pardon me for saying this, but er uhh… You look kinda young. I wanna make sure I’m not too old for you! Ya' know?” He said with a nervous laugh.

Ameira took another sip without looking up.

“You're not,” she said.

Mike chuckled a second time and tried to catch her gaze as it moved forward.

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Mike’s third laugh was more faint.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment!” he said. “I mean, unless you have a thing for older men—”

“I don’t,” Ameira said abruptly.

“Oh. Well, good, because I’m not that old. What would you guess, though, looking at me?”

“Ehh… I’d rather not,” she said.

“Aww come on, guess! It’s okay, you won’t hurt my feelings. Hey, you already made it clear you think I’m pretty young—at least young enough to have any kind of shot with a pretty young lady like you!”

“Who said you have a shot with me?”

Mike’s fuller laughter surfaced. “Ohh oh, touché! Okay. Might or might not have a shot with you. But come on—go on, guess! How old do you think I am? You can even guess on the lower side, if that makes it easier...”

Ameira’s eyes narrowed as she scanned him again.

“Mmmm… 28,” she predicted flatly.

Mike’s face lit up as he calmly nodded. “Not bad, pretty close! I’m 31.”

Ameira tepidly acknowledged this information.

“Okay, so. Your turn,” he said. “How old—or young, should I say—is this beautiful lady sitting before me? I know you aren’t supposed to ask a lady her age, but I mean, you honestly look like you could be 17 or 18...

But since you’re in here, I’m guessing no more than like, what—21? 22??”

Ameira tossed back the rest of her drink and let the music hang between them as she again stared out to the floor that had picked up activity since she'd first come in.

Mike’s eyes followed hers to the floor, hoping to see something that explained her delayed response.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing more than mere, unimpressively swaying bodies.

And his nervous laughter made its comeback.

“So, you uhh… You gonna tell me how old you are, or... You just gonna make me feel forever old? Make me worry about possibly catching a case or somethin’, ha ha—”

“I’m 79.”

The words lingered long after they floated off of Ameira’s bright-pink lips, as Mike’s own, in their plain skin-tone, dropped open.

“Wha—” he said as one eyebrow raised and he leaned towards her. “The music is kinda loud. Did you say you’re… 39?”

Her eyes darted at him. “Do you honestly think ‘79’ sounds anywhere near like ‘39’? No. You heard correctly.”

For the first time since he’d bought her drink and started the conversation, Mike was finally at a loss for words.

Ameira spun back around towards the bartender whose occasional sly glances she’d been trying to ignore.

“Can I have another one, please? And put it on his tab,” she said before briefly turning and sending a wink to Mike. “Thanks, young man.”

Just then, a woman nearby leaned over and said, “Hey, did y— Did you say you’re… 79?”

“Well you sure have some good ears, don't you, young lady?” quipped Ameira. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

“No way!!” the woman gasped.

“Yes. Way.”

Other eavesdropping patrons began to home in and give their two cents on the contentious topic, while Mike still sat practically shell-shocked in the background.

“Nooo!” another young man chimed in. “You can’t be over… I’d say…. 25!!”

“I wish that were true,” Ameira said, partly to them, mostly to herself.

“I don’t believe you,” said another.

Ameira sighed. “I’m sure you don’t. No one ever does. But…” A deeper sigh. “Here you go.”

She showed them her driver’s license:

Jones

Ameira Kennice

DOB: 06/17/1946

The small few who'd collected stood in utter bewilderment. And suddenly, it seemed like the music volume had lowered, and most of the club attendees gathered to see what was all the fuss.

“Wow, lady, you look amazing,” the same woman as before finally blurted.

Ameira smiled faintly.

“I mean, amazing. Wow.”

“Yeah, I’d totally do you,” said the last man who’d said he didn’t believe her.

“Jared!!” yelled the woman.

“What!?! I’m just sayin’. She looks better and younger than most of the women in here!! Than most I go to school with! And I’m 23!”

“I mean, yeah, but you don’t have to be an ass about it,” the woman rolled her eyes.

“It’s fine,” said Ameira. “I’m used to it.”

“I bet,” the woman followed. “You probably get compliments all the time.”

Ameira nodded. “Yeah, I… do.”

“Seems like that would be amazing. I don’t even get compliments like that now! I wish I did. And I really want to when I’m your age. Like, how do you even look like that? What’s your secret?!”

******

“Hey, Ameira! Looking good, as always!”

“Yeah. Thanks to you.”

Dr. Roberts smiled.

“So, you ready?” she asked as she prepared her first syringe.

Ameira didn’t answer.

“Ameira? You ready?” the doctor repeated.

Still, she only heard silence.

“Ameira…” Dr. Roberts lowered the syringe and stepped closer. “…Are you okay?”

Ameira’s eyes suddenly welled, pooling faster than she’d expected.

“No,” she softly uttered. “I mean, yes. I mean… I don’t know...”

“Ameira, we don’t have to do this today,” Dr. Roberts reassured her as she gently rubbed her back and handed her a box of tissue from her desk. "We have about a week. You can come back."

Ameira's words again escaped her.

“Do you...still want to do this...at all?” Dr. Roberts asked as she took a step back. “You know, you really don’t have to...”

“I mean, I know,” Ameira blurted. “I know. It was my choice. I came to you.”

“Well, we’ve been doing it for, what, 15, 20 years now? Maybe that’s it, you know? Maybe you’ve had a good run.”

Ameira pondered her words.

“Twenty-nine,” she whispered softly.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been coming to you, for this, for 29 years. Remember? We started on my 50th birthday.”

“Ohh yes, that’s right. Wow. It’s been quite some time – nearly three decades!”

“Yes…” Ameira’s head lowered.

“So, tell me… What’s got you thinking twice about it now? I mean, you seemed okay last month—and the one before that. And hell, you’re just one year away from 30—might as well make it even!”

“I mean… I think…”

“What?”

“I know it’s gonna sound stupid, but… I kinda would like to see…"

Ameira trailed off again.

“You’d like to see what, Ameira? It’s okay, you can say it, whatever it is. Look, I’m the last one to judge anyone about anything, okay?!”

“I’d like to see… what it’s like to live as... my old... my older... self — honestly, to live any kind of self... to live any kind of life... at this point — where that… isn’t all everyone sees...”

Dr. Robert's eyebrows furrowed as Ameira continued.

“When I came to you all those years ago, I was scared—terrified, actually—about getting older. More than that, about looking like I was getting older. I didn’t want to look… Old.”

Ameira said the word as if it were a bad taste in her mouth, as she glanced at the harsh smile lines around Dr. Roberts’ lips. She’d started noticing them about 15 years ago, around the doctor’s 43rd birthday.

At the time, Ameira felt immensely grateful she'd never have to deal with that again.

“I was desperate to not only stop aging but to go back to looking like I did when I was a lot younger. And thanks to these treatments, I was able to do that — much more than my wildest dreams! I was so excited to already see the results after that first session...”

“I remember,” Dr. Roberts’ reflected. “You were nearly doing cartwheels out of my office that day!”

Ameira nodded as she dabbed her eyes. “And thanks to you, to these treatments, I could actually start doing literal cartwheels again soon after. It was incredible!”

“Yeah, I know. So, honey… What changed?”

Ameira bowed her head again.

“It was great—really, it was…for many years. People thought I was still in my 40s, and then my 30s… and then 20s. You were right—the more we did it, the better the results became.”

“Yeah, I’d told you when we started, that was one of the biggest selling points. Just like fine wine, you’d only get better with time!”

“Yeah, and that was great, at first.

For many years up to then, I’d stopped receiving compliments on the street, men stopped looking my way, and suddenly, all of the much younger women around me were getting all the attention. It was like I no longer existed.”

She continued. “And so, that first real compliment after the treatments really took off… Like, not the kinds from family and friends, which are nice, but from a random stranger on the street.. I remember like it was just yesterday. Some strange man approached and said I looked beautiful, and when he learned my age – 51 at the time – he said ‘Wow, you look great!'

That honestly made my whole day. Might’ve made my whole year! It gave me so much energy. So much pride and joy. So much…validation. And it made every bit of these tens of thousands for this totally worth it.

But then…”

Dr. Roberts’ eyebrows raised as she anxiously awaited the rest of the story.

“It got to the point where… that was all… anyone would see… when they’d see me.”

“What do you mean?” the doctor asked.

“Dr. Roberts, let me ask you a question,” said Ameira.

“Of course, what is it?”

“Why did you never do these treatments?"

Another silence permeated between them for several moments.

“Umm… Well,” Dr. Roberts tried to gather her thoughts. “I just…

I guess I like my little wrinkles.”

Ameira’s eyes slightly widened.

“I mean sure, does it suck getting older? Yeah, in a way, but… I also see it as a blessing… We’ve lived, ya’ know? We made it. It’s a testament of life. It’s part of my story. And I guess I just… never really had a problem with showing it.”

More silence lingered as Ameira’s gaze fell into her lap.

“But of course,” Dr. Roberts followed. “I don’t knock anyone who wants to try and turn back the hands of time a little. Getting older can be a tough thing to go through, and we all handle it differently. That isn’t to say any way is right or wrong. It’s just… Whatever works for you.”

“You know…” Ameira spoke. “I can’t tell you the last time someone asked me what kinds of things I like to do for fun…

What kind of work I do… What’s my favorite movie or what kind of music I like to listen to…

Who I voted for…

Even how my day’s been.

I know this might sound like a weird thing to complain about, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I received a compliment about anything but my looks. It’s probably been, oh I don’t know… at least… 20 years?”

Dr. Roberts’ eyes widened, as she tried to calm her surprise.

“No one cares about my hobbies or interests or even my personality or my character. Or any of my accomplishments. Or my dreams or my fears. They just care that…

‘Wow… I look amazing.’”

Her eyes began to well again.

“And I guess I’m just a little tired of… only ‘looking amazing.’”

Dr. Roberts softly sighed, finally understanding the gravity of Ameira’s perspective.

“I understand,” she said, again rubbing Ameira’s back. “Honestly, you’ve been my longest-running client for this, by far, so I haven’t really had much to compare it to or really consider that side of it, but that totally makes sense. And again, we can stop this right now. But, just know that… Once you stop the treatments, it won’t be long before… you’ll be looking your age—what it is now.”

The prospect of that harsh reality shot like a painful electric current inside Ameira she hadn’t anticipated.

“Ameira,” the doctor said as she looked in her client's weepy, childlike eyes, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

*****

The bright, warm sun scattered around Ameira as she strolled down her neighborhood street.

The rich, broad spectrum of red, orange, and yellow that had pervaded the area just a few weeks prior was now replaced by bare limbs, sparse brittle leaves, and dry, faded blades of yellow below.

Yet birds chirped, squirrels skipped around, and a butterfly or two fluttered about.

As Ameira took in the lively scene of a crisp winter day, a man in his early-20s paced towards her from the opposite direction.

In what had become all too familiar a moment, she felt his eyes locked with hers for an uncomfortable period of time.

Just as they were just about to pass one another, he slowed and turned to her.

“Hey… I’m sorry for staring, ma’am,” he said, “but you remind me so much of my grandmother.”

Ameira felt the heavy weight of bittersweetness from his words.

“I really miss her,” he followed, and her heart sank, deepening the bitterness.

“Oh,” said Ameira. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Oh no,” he chuckled. “I didn’t mean that. She’s alive, and well! As a matter of fact, she’s backpacking across Africa right now! She actually just left last week, and I’m already missing her being around. We used to hang out all the time. I’ve always said she’s what I wanna be like when I get older.”

Ameira felt her heart lifting again.

“Anyway, I’m so sorry to bother you, ma’am. When I saw you, she’s just who you made me think of. My grandma’s pretty cool and interesting, and I get the feeling you are, too. So…

What kinds of things do you like to do?”