My Solitude Is Not as It Once Was

Auntie Leota rejoices in her Independent Living flat. Here, she says, you’ve got a koi pond beneath the bridge and American Beauties just at the brink of the parking lot and you’ve got a greensward outside the compound. And winning at billiards can’t get any simpler. And it’s never too late to try yukking it up in a foreign language with your friend who comes faithfully on Tuesdays to shampoo you. Plus, keeping a routine untroubles your mind. You’re free to forget to change out of your gray sweats or to leave your choppers in the glass. And visiting so many captivating specialists kills time. When night falls you tidy up, you twist tight the trash bag and crush it under foot until it’s smaller than an old boot, then you store it in the mini fridge, pausing in the light of the half-open door, the way you might wait under a rented tiki torch watching the last guest get out of the pool after a party that felt like a drowning at the end, or just before.