How Old Are You? (Part 2)
The final part of Mabel's story. Last we left Mabel, she had a pretty crummy dinner with her friends who are pushing her to start on Amaranthine, and Mabel's grandmother wanted to show her something.
Blue Haven Care is not a nursing home for everyone, Mabel realizes when she pulls into the visitor parking lot. Only patients who have been on Amaranthine for many years are admitted to the facility. Together, Mabel and her grandmother walk the desolate halls of Blue Haven Care and stop in front of room 204. When Mabel opens the door, she is surprised to see a young woman sitting at the edge of her bed, holding a dainty gold hand mirror up to her face. She’s poking and prodding at her skin, hardly noticing her visitors. Mabel looks up at her grandmother in confusion.
“Julie started taking Amaranthine when she was twenty-three. We have been close friends for most of our lives.” She pulls Mabel in closer. In a hushed voice, she continues, “Seeing her this way is very painful for me.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Mabel asks, looking at the young woman, looking at herself.
“Her brain is having a difficult time reconciling the fact that she has been on this earth for eighty-seven years, but mentally and physically, she is still stuck in her early twenties. When she sees herself in the mirror, she doesn’t recognize herself.” They stand in the doorway to the room together, peering cautiously over the boundary, “We noticed her behaviour was degrading in what would have been her mid fifties, when she would have episodes pleading with us to tell her the truth about how old she was.” Mabel’s grandmother pauses, shaking her head gently, breathing in sharply. Mabel can practically hear her grandmother’s heart breaking as she looks at her old friend, now more of a stranger. “Julie’s brain couldn’t make sense of it. Most of the people I know who are my age and have been on Amaranthine for this long have similar experiences. Now they end up here, needing constant care.” Mabel’s grandmother reaches for a crumpled tissue hidden in her sleeve and dabs gently at her teary eyes.
“Why did she do it?” Mabel wraps an arm around her grandmother’s frail shoulders.
“The same reason everyone was doing it…she was afraid of looking old. She didn’t think of the consequences it could have for her in the future. The most important thing at the time was her vanity, unfortunately.” She straightens up, and clears her throat, tucking the tissue back into her sleeve. “It drove us apart. As I got older, I resented her for staying so young. But eventually I grew up and realized that looking my age wasn’t actually the death sentence which a younger version of myself was led to believe.” The words come out blunt, landing hard on Mabel’s chest.
Mabel’s grandmother nudges her gently into the room, and delicately closes the door behind them. The room is decorated in a juvenile way; bright colours on the walls, posters of celebrities hang over the bed, piles of pillows are strewn on the bed and on the floor. It sends a shiver down Mabel’s spine. It’s as though she went back in time to Julie’s youth. Her stomach turns as they approach the bed and sit next to Julie. Seeing Julie next to her grandmother shocks Mabel. Here are two people who have been alive equally as long, but have chosen drastically different paths in life. The dips and creases in Mabel’s grandmother’s face seem deeper and more pronounced now than they did before, but her eyes are filled with wisdom and appreciation for life. Julie’s skin looks as smooth as porcelain, airbrushed to perfection, but her eyes look sad and empty.
What’s better? Mabel asks herself quietly, narrowing her eyes and seeing both paths of her own life laid out in front of her now. She looks down at her own hands, reaching for her ring on her index finger, feeling the comfort as it twists loosely in between her fingertips. What do I choose for myself?
There’s a knock on Mabel’s bedroom door. Lying on her bed, staring at her ceiling in the darkness of her room, Mabel softly says, “Come in.”
A young looking woman pops her head into Mabel’s room. She looks to be in her forties, tall and slim, with a short blonde blunt cut.
“Hi Mom,” Mabel says, and as she peers over the the door. Mabel’s mother flicks on the bedroom light, causing Mabel to blink hard at the ceiling and sit up on her bed. “Grandma took me to see Julie today. Did you know about what Amaranthine did to her?” She looks her mother square in the eyes.
Mabel’s mother rolls her eyes and leans casually on the door frame. “Your grandma said the same thing to me when I started on Amaranthine. She took me to see one of her other friends at Blue Haven at the time. I didn’t buy it.”
Mabel reels at what her mother just said, distorting her face with disapproval.
“What do you mean you didn’t buy it? That stuff destroys your mind. It’s clear these people would have been better off without it.” Mabel folds her arms in front of her chest.
“Maybe,” Mabel’s mother starts, walking over to Mabel and taking a seat next to her, “But maybe not. You don’t know what kind of baggage old age will bring on. Wouldn’t you rather be younger for longer? Grandma isn’t exactly in perfect health herself. Might as well kick the can down the road.”
“You call it kicking the can down the road, but I see it as just living life the way it was meant to be lived. There are more important things in life than how young we look, mom.”
Her mother sighs, putting a hand on Mabel’s lap. “That’s definitely true. But look around you, Mabel. Everyone is doing it, and you might start to feel left behind. Is that how you want to live your life? Grandma pushed everyone away because of it,” She gives Mabel’s leg a loving squeeze, “It’s your choice at the end of the day. You know I think you’re beautiful either way.”
Mabel forces out a weak smile and leans her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I know.”
“Mabel Webber,” The man in a white lab coat calls out from behind his clipboard into the packed waiting room.
Hunched over in her chair, Mabel looks up at him. Her heart is racing, and she can feel the sweat on her brow. She stands up, grabs her purse and follows the man behind the curtain which he emerged from. As she sits down on the small wooden stool, the man prepares a syringe with his back turned to Mabel. He peers over his shoulder to look at Mabel. She’s fidgeting nervously, face pale with concern.
“First dose?”
Mabel nods.
“Nothing to worry about. It’ll be over in a pinch,” He turns to face Mabel now with a small syringe in his hand.
Mabel closes her eyes and tries to steady her breath. Just this once, and then I’ll reevaluate again in six months how I feel. There’s no harm in doing this once.
“Ready? Okay, three, two, one… slight pinch… and you’re done!”
Mabel opens her eyes and smiles at the man as he removes his gloves and discards the syringe. He places a bandaid over the injection spot and hands her a piece of paper with a date for her next top up. As she gets up slowly to leave, she hears him say one last thing to her.
“Congratulations on staying young, Mabel!”
Author’s Note: Mabel, our heroine in this story, decided to go on Amaranthine in the end. Although this may not be the most satisfying ending for our heroine, it seemed the most realistic. She succumbed to the pressure that many young women face every day in our society. The ever-moving goal post for beauty standards that have been put on women to forever look young has been nothing short of destructive for our self-esteem and mental health. Why are we so afraid to turn thirty? Why are we so afraid to get a wrinkle or two? Aging is a luxury that some people are not afforded, and we should be grateful for the ways in which our bodies carry us through life, at every stage.