Time to buy a purple hat – a fiction-trail challenge entry.

I’ve been missing from Steemit for a couple of weeks due to extreme busyness, bah humbug. I didn’t expect my reappearance to be in fiction. But I saw this challenge, and despite not having written any fiction since primary school, decided to see where it lead me. Since it’s already the 11th Feb in New Zealand, I think I’m a bit late, so probably haven’t read, reread and edited quite as assiduously as Michelle advised. But anyway, warts and all, here’s my first fiction in a very long time.

Picture supplied by fiction-trail, from Pixabay

When I was a child, I used to read all the time. We took the bus over to the city and visited the library every week, or I would run out of books. I could get lost in any world; my own special magical ability.

When I was in my 20’s, I lived alone for a couple of years. Some weekends I saw nobody but the man in the corner dairy. But I wasn’t lonely; I always had plenty of reading to do.

Then I grew up, fell in love, had a family, still worked full time, and there was no time for reading. I sometimes read a chapter or two on my Kindle, but it didn’t have the same magic. But that’s ok, there’s no such thing as magic.

Is this my life now? I guess so.

Years pass, passed, past.

Birthdays slid by barely noticed, often unremarked except for Facebook friends - most of whom I haven’t actually seen for decades, in real life. My children are scattered over the world, often their phone calls would come a day late – time zones, you know.

Until my 60th birthday.

I’ve always liked cheerful colours, and I expected that one day I’d be an old lady in a purple hat, or was it red? There’s a poem about that, I think…

I looked in the mirror that day, checking for chin hairs, before going downstairs to pretend to be surprised that all my bridge club friends were gathered. I looked ruefully at the crows feet and thought “Well, that’s it, I suppose. Time to go out and buy that purple hat.”

Then my view changed. What the? I saw a child in the mirror, about 3 years old. Then the background misted, dissolved and reassembled itself as an outdoor scene. The child was wearing gumboots, a purple anorak and carrying a red umbrella. She was jumping in puddles, and appeared to be talking to herself. No, not to herself, to a large grey dog. I could hear her now, she was singing to the dog.

The image disappeared, and I saw my alarmed and startled face. I started to shake and fell backwards to sit on the bed. I must be going barmy! Is this what happens when you turn 60? Surely not!

I heard my husband calling, pulled myself together and went downstairs to the cries of “Surprise”. I somehow managed to act happy and carefree, and by bedtime had convinced myself it was all my imagination.

Some weeks went by and I never did buy that purple hat. Though I did buy a sensible navy anorak, and a new knitted scarf for the winter.

Then one day I saw another unexpected sight in the bedroom mirror. A young woman sitting in a window nook, looking out at the winter rain. She put down the library book she had been holding and picked up a red notebook and a purple pen. She started writing, looking up dreamily from time to time.

I pulled myself together and marched downstairs to the phone. Time to book in for a full medical, including eyesight and dementia testing!

My husband is retired now, and I only work part time. But still, somehow, the days are full and the evenings busy. We go to bridge once a week, and garden in the weekends. Once a year, we go to the beach for a week or two. This is my life now.

Weeks pass, passed, past.

Spring came, and we opened windows to let in air and light. So I wasn’t surprised when I was a bit blinded by sun glinting off the bedroom mirror. Until I saw the old lady reflected there. Gosh, I haven’t aged that much, have I? I looked more closely and saw a very old lady, dressed in sombre colours, bent over and sad looking. Behind me, the wardrobe door swung open in the breeze. I turned to see that my wardrobe was filled with dreary clothes. Navy, black, grey. Sensible, durable, warm and comfortable.

Enough! 60 isn’t a downhill road to the dementia ward. What am I doing with my life? I ran to the kitchen cupboard and grabbed a rubbish bag, then back to the bedroom to start filling it. Black? Out it went! Navy? Kept a couple. Grey? Pff!

Plenty of room for some new clothes now. I grabbed the credit card and car keys and headed for the mall. No, not the mall. It was Saturday, market day and with a gypsy fair!

Weeks pass, passed, past.

Today is my 61st birthday. But now there is a spring in my step. Maybe there’s a chin hair, but I don’t care.

It’s autumn and rainy, but I don’t care about that either. In my red anorak, my purple beanie and rainbow striped gumboots, I’m ready to jump in puddles.

I’ve got rehearsal with my musical theatre group this afternoon, and hubby and I are going dancing tonight.

Tomorrow, I’m curling up in the window nook with a pile of library books, and my journal. The kids will probably call in the evening and apologise profusely for being a day late. I’ll just smile and tell them I love them.

Every month now, hubby and I challenge each other to do something we’ve never done before. We take turns choosing. My favourite was hot air ballooning. He has always wanted to snorkel.

So next week is our Caribbean cruise, and Monday I’m off shopping for a two piece swimsuit.

Oh, and I found that poem…

When I Am Old.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,
And I shall spend my pension
on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals,
and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired,
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells,
And run my stick along the public railings,
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens,
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat,
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go,
Or only bread and pickle for a week,
And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats
and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry,
And pay our rent and not swear in the street,
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me
are not too shocked and surprised,
When suddenly I am old
and start to wear purple!

Jenny Joseph

Thanks for reading

Additional pictures from Pixabay.

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