Seniors Speed Dating -- Flash Fiction

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“I’m 72 and fit,” he said puffing his chest out like a strutting tom turkey. He was carrying what looked to be a good cowboy hat.

“Yes, you are.” She smiled and tried to recall why she’d agreed to do this – speed dating for seniors. She thought it was a running joke for the thirty-somethings. What was she thinking?

The man sat down and laid his hat on the table.

“Been married four times. The middle two were young and hot, just after my money.”

Her smile disappeared.

“Trudy, the last one was a beautiful woman. I knew her back in college. She took care of me. Elegant, you know?” The more he talked of Trudy, the softer his voice became. “But she died.”

His gentility disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She tried to redirect his attention for this ridiculous meet and greet. “What do you do?”

“As little as possible. I’m an old football player. Have some exercise equipment, but don’t seem to find the time to use it as much as I used to. You know what they say ‘Once you retire, you don’t see how you ever had time to work.’”

She thought about the blind guy – what was that? Two men ago? Maybe three. Eight minutes with each man. Too long for this football player, not long enough for Nathan, the blind guy.

Nathan still rode the Light Rail into Denver three days a week. He’s an accountant and still services half a dozen long-time clients. His daughter and two other young people (he considers 50’s to be young) took over the firm four years ago. But he still enjoys the work.

“What did you do before you retired?”

“Insurance. Almost got a degree in Petroleum Engineering, but my eligibility ran out. Then I got drafted.”

“Vietnam?” she asked.

“Nah. Dallas.”

“Oh, I see.” Five more minutes. “What do you like to do for fun? Travel?” she prompted him. Might as well encourage him to express his best side. “Eat out? Go to movies?”

“Sure. Travel. I got a Lexus RC F.”

She knew Lexus, but what was an RC F?

“Exhilaration from the asphalt up,” he quoted from what must have been a television ad.

It made her think of that Maserati commercial “I have a Maserati Ghibli, not because there’s room for my golf clubs in the trunk.” That’s when she changed channels, no matter what she’d been watching.

Nathan had said he walked or took public transport wherever he wanted to go. Or rode with friends.

“Where do you like to go when you travel?” she asked the former Cowboy.

“As a Lexus owner, I get discounts in the Napa Valley.”

“That’s nice. I like Napa.”

She and her Andrew used to meet his brother and sister-in-law there in the winter. Not as many tourists and nicer weather. The men liked steelhead fishing in the Napa River. She and Janine read and shopped. They all enjoyed the food and wine there.

Her dear Andrew drove a Subaru Forester. His knees were bad and it was hard to get in and out of those cars that sit close to the ground. He never would agree to surgery, kept saying he’d do it when they got bad enough, but he died before that.

Returning her attention to the speed dating that wasn’t nearly speedy enough, she asked “Where do you like to stay in Napa?”

“Oh, I haven’t been there.” He ran his fingers through a thick shock of salt and pepper hair, a bit long to still be considered stylish. “Don’t really know much about wine. I lean more to Bourbon and branch, myself. From what I hear there’s not much to do there. Been to San Fran, though. Played the 49ers there.”

“I see,” she said.

The blind man tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said to the oft-married, Lexus owning, former Dallas Cowboy. Maybe it was important. Or important enough.