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U3A Writing: How Old Are You?

Zelda Margos brief story encompasses the sadness for some people of old age.

Bea, sitting on a bench in the supermarket was joined by an elegant, silver-haired woman.

How old are you? said she.

Good heavens. What a question.

Im eight-five.

Im ninety-two. Where do you live?

In a flat. Chartwell.

How old are you?

Im eight-five.

Im ninety-two. Im a dancer.

You look superb.

Do you sing?

No.

Im a dancer. Im ninety-two. Where do you live?

In a flat.

Who pays?

I pay.
Im ninety-two. I dont pay. Do you sing?

No.

She tilted her silver head. Looked hard at Bea.

You look seedy. How old are you?

Bea, still smiling, making an effort to be polite and friendly.

I really must go now.

Dont go. Im an orphan.

Goodbye. I must go.

Where do you stay?

Bea escaped, not sure if she was suppressing laughter or tears.

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