Remember me as I am today because I will always be this age. A lifetime from now, when my lipstick drains into wrinkles like your grape juice did between the tightly woven carpet and when the corners I struggle to manoeuvre bruises my hip and a conversation's rhythm is broken by escaping words, please skip over those gaps and with that sweet smile, subtly change my direction.
When the day comes where I reach for a magnifying glass and a calculator to review a bill from our weekly lunch, will you guide my unsure grasp with your long lovely fingers? And when food stumbles down from the corners of my mouth, laying randomly within the folds of my blouse, leaving trails, will you laugh with me as I wipe off the pieces from my chest?
I expect when the day comes that most of my friends have left, you will invite me into your home, to some of your parties. I imagine sitting in a chair at the far end of the room where your friends will approach me with nods, raised voices and large smiles before the quiet comes. I will ask you their names when you call me the following morning.
The diminishing buffet and the clutter of empty dishes will be my excuse to exit to the kitchen and "tidy." Leaning against the counter, swimming my hands through warm water, loose translucent skin will absorb me. When you find me, we realise it is time for your friend, partner, spouse to take me home, leaving just the "inner circle" of your social gatherings to continue the night in a different tone. I will kiss your soft cheek as I did each night that I put you to sleep, push your hair behind your ears, before turning to leave.
Once home, amongst my pictures and familiar souvenirs, I will usher my assigned driver out the door, with instructions to return to the party. I will assure the individual that I am fine and that I will remember to lock the door.
I imagine resting in my own comfortable chair for that quiet moment, preparing myself to climb the stairs. The same stairs that you used to hide behind at my parties. Your face leaned against the oak posts as you covertly listened to adult conversations. It was when you were too young to realise that the railings were not a suitable camouflage. I used to catch your stare and coax you off the stair and on to my lap where you would warm my chest. Friends would attempt to pull you out of your uncharacteristic shyness by commenting about your dolly and how your striped nightgown matched hers. You would show off the ribbon in her hair. Although, soon the conversation would travel to memories of our dolls and the shows that we watched as children and when I looked down your eyes would be closed. I or your father would return you to your bed and return ourselves to the dinning room, shut the door and open another bottle of wine, signalling that the conversation could now become less censored.
However, after the world has spun around too many times, causing my eyes to fade and grow tired, I will climb those same stairs to my bedroom. Sitting at the same dressing table that I sat in today, actually, as I sit in now. I wonder when that day comes if I will be startled by the woman in the mirror who steals away these stories, loosing them in a failing memory. She will distort my expected reflection and I will search for the remnants of me, the encumbered me somewhere within her eyes. The contradiction of my soul with its mechanisms will probably cause unrest. Please realise that it will be for both of us, little one. I hope you will sift through my wrinkles and remember me as I am today because that is how I will always feel.