I have a theory brewing that one day I’ll be much older and wrinkles would have settled permanently on the new territory of my face, my hands would have started to shake and creak as i move them in the Italian ways that I talk, and people would almost sigh when they saw me walking by because they are scared of death. This isn’t my theory though. My theory is that I will be too ashamed to admit that I still like ska, punk, rap, and black gospel and that I am still internet savvy, and that my passion for life has not faded into an old prune. Basically, I’ll be a closet party animal stuck in an old woman’s body. I’ll still have all the raging hormones, all the same tastes in men (“check out the butt on that one, eh?”), food, music, and movies. I’ll know all the tricks, all the lies, and all of the good things that make people smile. But what will I be doing most likely? Writing, knitting, gossiping about the new neighbors, sitting in my bedroom staring out of the window, sighing to myself, and getting frequent bouts of hacking coughs even though I’ll never have smoked a single thing my entire life. Funny how older people must be so scared to show themselves to us, especially how they used to be. I want everyone to know what my teenage years were like. I want them to understand that I had a blast with my friends, broke a few rules, played a few mind games, and loved my music. I don’t want to be the typical senior citizen. I’d like to be a geek.
Let me explain to you what a geek is exactly. A “geek” is not a term for the bottle glasses, pocket protector, chess club type. Let me illustrate to you what I think a geek really is.
Imagine an old man, sitting slump in his hard wooden chair to the side of a dance floor. The wood is shining into his tired brown eyes as he looks into some far off place, appearing to not care about what swings and sways before him. His knotted white hands, spotted and wrinkled with loose skin, gnarl around the silver silverware as he listens to his wife tell him softly what is good and what is not. His gray hair, not thinner on top, falls a bit in front of his eyes in a classic way and he doesn’t care, he looks like he doesn’t know what fashion is anyway. Young couples dance a bit, rather haphazardly about the floor before him as he slowly chews his food, keeping his dentures from disconnecting from the extra strength Gold Bond cream he put on earlier that evening. Suddenly, an old big band tune begins to play. It’s “Pennsylvania 65000”. He takes one look at his wife, seemingly just as old and tired as he is, and takes her hand. Suddenly the pretense is gone and the two are out on the floor, swinging their hips, humming to the lively tune, and spinning circles around the other couples until a current of awe is created behind them, rippling in their wake. The old man’s eyes gleam with thrill and love as he watches his wife respond immediately to his slightest urge. She bends, he dips her low, they glide through the air and forget their knotted hands, creaky joints, and denture cream as their smiles errupt within the wrinkled blankets of their faces. The power and agility of their dancing moves the crowd into an uproar of shock. The classic swing steps come so easily now… And as the song builds into its climax, the man and wife are flying at full speed, shaking and jiving within the sea of music. Then… it ends. The music stops and the audience leaves its breath hanging in the air about the couple as they slowly make it back to their seats, resting old hips and weak backs… And the wife quietly reminds the old man to not forget the pie because it tastes just like his mother’s…
Geeks. This is to be my future.