Flash fiction by Tina Konstant
How long can something take?
It’s not the waiting that’s the worst of it. It’s seeing other people ahead of me. Younger, brighter, sharper people. People who don’t need this as much as I do. People who could wait. People who should wait. People in their 20s and 30s who have time on their side.
I’m 83. I don’t see myself as old but I can’t deny the facts. Some things become more urgent with age and waiting becomes more difficult.
But what can I do? What can I say to these young people that won’t make me sound like a deranged, crazy old lady? What can I say to let them understand that time means more to me than it does to them? How can they possibly comprehend that age changes everything?
I know they don’t care about what I’ve done or survived. It doesn’t matter what I’ve accomplished in my years. They aren’t interested in the challenges or nightmares I’ve overcome. My successes and failures mean nothing to them. Nobody here cares. There’s no queue jumping in this life. There’s no consideration for age.
My God. I can’t do this. I don’t have the strength. The more you age the weaker things get. Bones, skin, hair, bladder…
The door finally opens.
A teenager skips out.
My turn. My turn at last.
How the hell can they only have one loo in this damn building?