Recently, I had the opportunity to share a meal at a Cracker Barrel with dear friends. We were doing what friends do, laughing and telling our stories. A special thing that, getting together and trading our stories all the while continuing to live them.
At an adjacent table, sat a pair of older ladies. Twins, perhaps. Accompanied by an older gentleman with an impressive mustache and belt buckle. The ladies were the absolute picture of the Texas woman. Long manes of silver hair teased large, long brightly colored fingernails at the ends of thin fingers bearing flashy rings. Sparkly bangles in vibrant colors stacked on their wrists. Their faces bearing the lines of the stories they’ve lived.
I couldn’t help but wonder about the adventures they’d shared. Although old enough to have answered Rosie the Riveter’s call to the workforce, I like to imagine something more scandalous for these two. Surely they were just as vibrant and dramatic in their younger days. A pair like that could’ve cleaned up with their own burlesque show. Or perhaps they traveled the world, alternating between stage shows and espionage.
Alas, it is unlikely that I will ever know, for they reapplied their lipstick (perfectly matched to their fingernails, naturally), and left before I could catch even the slightest snippet of conversation. Only the scent of their perfume remaining.
Which is for the best. Fascinating as their stories may be; I’m still writing mine and my friends play starring roles.