So Be It

Not at all! she hisses in response, the
vehemence in her voice as unexpected
as the contortions her face assumes, leaning
in close to my own, magnifying the age
lines that betray much and equally take
me aback identifying a woman whose
patience, sorely tried, has been vindicated
by fortuitous circumstances. It's not merely
the age differential, his chronological
fifteen years preceding hers, nor the years
spent in tandem, all thirty-eight of them.
They speak the same language to be sure
it's simply the interpretive perception that
denied harmony in that household as they
grew old but not ever together. Now, at 74
she has discovered the freedom to be and 
do as she finally wishes and the world has
opened to her just as his has narrowed and
begun to close. She lives happily ever
after in their house, drives their car
moves in a wide circle of other women
seeking adventure and challenge, while
he declares himself happy in his new home
all to himself where any of his dwindling
coterie of friends can visit at certain hours 
in the place called a golden haven for the 
elderly and the health-compromised: a 
euphemistically named 'retirement' home.