She’d noticed him once, perhaps twice before, if memory served her, as it often did not of late, a figure lingering in the street below, beside the silhouette of a maple tree beyond her window, stark branches studded with the promise of tightly furled buds, but having sensed neither intent or nor malice, continued as she’d always been, inclined to walk freely about the house unclothed, her body, such that it was, without benefit of adornment or disguise, her birthday suit aged more than a little, having gradually succumbed to gravity, flesh now deeply creased and crepey sagging about her increasingly rotund belly, gathering in pleated folds like bunting at her elbows and about her upper arms and thighs, while her breasts, once firm substantial handfuls, had gone slack and pendulous, the unfortunate consequence of having lived so long, her husband’s sudden passing cause for new assessment, hence this revelatory moment of utter disappointment and dismay, prompting her to heed advice, perhaps pursue remedies long suggested by her physician to forestall, if not stop demise now so undeniable that, with a sigh, she hurriedly clothed herself and drove herself with some imperative to arrive some minutes later at the mall, to stand before the towering entrance to the sporting goods store, any doubt or hesitation allayed as the mighty glass doors parted to allow her entry, though once inside, she was neither greeted nor in any way acknowledged, and so, without offer of assistance ventured forth alone, left to assume her white cloud of hair or tentative step or diminutive stature, for she’d indeed shrunk some inches, or all of those in conjunction, somehow rendered her invisible to the young associates who chatted in clumps, or busied themselves, or strategically ducked out of sight as she wandered the aisles past all manner of strange equipment and attending garb, all the while steeling herself against the thumping soundtrack, for music it was not, until at last she came upon the very weights she’d been tasked with purchasing, a meager row of dumbbells of lesser weight apparently for women, the insipid shades of pink, pale blue and lavender, soft subtle tentative hues presumably contrived to suggest themselves to the faint-hearted, tender sensibilities of ladies, specifically those, like her, of advanced age, decrepit crones assumed devoid of fortitude or grit enough to engage with more assertive hues, like as not to send them fleeing at the mere thought of carrying them to the counter, let alone home, the implication infuriating as it was appalling, serving only to incense and increase her, heretofore, waning determination, though she knew full-well indignation alone would not render her body trim or firm, muscles hard and strong, or magically return her to a time when her sinewy flesh was smooth and resilient, understanding too that the heft of her newly purchased weights, three pounds each, six if raised in unison, was slight, the resistance laughable as was the doctor’s insistence that she engage daily with the paltry things, the act of lifting one and then the other in succession, as absurd as it was a waste of precious time, such that her body, back in the seductive comfort of her home, each day formulated complaint in anticipated aches and pains before she’d so much as raised an arm, and still her resolve forced her to persist, the expectation or, at least, the hope being that with every rep her resigned body flesh might regain its youthful form and elasticity, yet, even as she continued to increase their number daily, for all her effort, the mirror showed little change and dashed whatever hope she’d foolishly harbored until one day as she proceeded with her workout, a fortuitous crisp spring breeze rose, parting the gauzy curtains and in so doing allowed her to glimpse the tree beyond her window, its leaves now unfurled bursting forth in verdant hues, their soft applause shifting her attention entirely from her own unfortunate reflection to the figure loitering on the sidewalk below, a man rather tall of stature, broad of shoulder, erect of posture, his chiseled chin raised, face turned decidedly toward her window, his features from this distance, pleasant, his expression one of appreciation, his entrancement so apparent and irrefutable as to compel her to dispense with the absurd and clearly futile endeavor, to set down the unwieldy weights at once, to turn her body wholly and resolutely away from the mirror, toward the lingering voyeur, to choose to see herself as she imagined he did, the man in thrall, eyes blind to aged imperfection, wide with admiration and awe.
INSTANT NOODLES 