REJUVENATION
Ted Black was seventy-two years old when he lost his wife. It was a stroke. He went out for a run in the mid-morning, and when he got back, Ella was asleep in her chair. Except she didn't answer his greeting. And he couldn't wake her. And, he noticed at last, she wasn't breathing. He called 911, but he knew it was no use. He wasn't a doctor, but he knew anyway. He hugged Ella, kissed her forehead, and let the EMT's in. They did what they could, but she was gone.
They had been married at twenty, and their fifty-second anniversary had just passed last month. They had a long weekend at nearby resort. A great time. Lots of sex. Well, for them, at their age. They'd had sex the day she died. Ted hoped that didn't contribute. He thought not.
Ted was in pretty good shape for his age. Ella maybe not so much. Even before she died. She'd been an attractive woman, somewhat overweight. Still sexy, though. She had a nice smile, was a retired librarian, and knitted.
Ted was a lawyer, working from home doing research for other lawyers. The couple were well-off and he didn't need full time work. He'd work out for an hour each morning, except Sunday. Then, after lunch, he'd work on research for three hours or so.
They had three grown children, two married. There were four grandsons, and a granddaughter. All of their children had been raised in their current house, which they bought at age twenty-five. The family descended on the house in response to the news.
Ted was in some sort of shock. He had bouts of darkness, some pretty bad. But he wasn't totally out of it. Seeing the family was good for him. The memorial service was held at a nearby VFW hall, and very well attended. Ted spoke. He didn't get through the entire speech. His kids all spoke.
Then they all went home. Twelve days after he walked into his house to find death, Ted was living there alone. All the family were at least one hundred miles away. They called, skyped, emailed. That was okay. Ted went back to working a week after the service. It wasn't normally all that challenging, and needed minimal concentration. He was good at it, though.
One thing -- he never missed his morning workout. He was a creature of habit and those workouts sustained him. Some of his family, and some neighbors, thought it odd. But he had his sanity and emotional stability to see to.
A month after Ella's death, Ted went through her belongings that had been left behind by the children. Her clothes fit their daughter and one daughter-in-law. Her yarn and knitting kit went to her circle of friends. He sold her car.
Ella had a stack of notebooks at the top of her closet. Ted took them down and set them aside. There were fifty-two of them. He decided to read them later, when he was more stable.
Ted slipped into a monastic existence for some months. Thanksgiving came and he went to his daughter's house, where his other daughter brought her family. His third daughter, Bess, the single one, couldn't make it. Ted had a fine time, lots of nostalgia.
Ted had noticed that his hour-long morning workouts were getting easier for him. He had to add some distance to his runs, and some weight to his dumbbells. He was also gaining weight. And, when he finally considered it, he saw it was muscle. He had lost the small pouch in front, and some of his double chin. He didn't understand it, but it was all right with him.
After some time, Ted picked up the notebooks. They started soon after the marriage, and ended the day before she died. They were not super detailed. One notebook per year. But they covered everything well, and brought back memories. It took him a month to go through them all.
Their marriage had not been all sweetness and light. Ella could be a pain in the ass, and so could he. He could also be so involved in work that he didn't pay her enough attention. Long and intense trials happened to him fairly often. Trials that lasted months. These times were mentioned in the notebooks, with some frustration. But after a while, it seemed as if she got used to the trial absences. His heavy trial schedule lasted for about fifteen years. The first three he saw her frustration. After that, the trials were mentioned and that was it. In one of the middle notebooks -- middle of his trial years -- he noted a list of things to do. The last thing there was 'see to my needs.' It made him wonder, but he put it aside.
He did consider that when he was in a particularly intense work situation, the marital bed was not very often the scene of sexual relations between them. He had always made time for the kids. But at times he had forgotten his wife -- forgotten to engage with her sexually. Maybe once every two weeks. Maybe once a month at times. Thus the 'needs' sentence made him uneasy. But, no way to know now.
Just a fortnight before Christmas, Ted decided to do at least some decorating of the house. He went into the attic and got out some boxes of Christmas decorations. There were more notebooks underneath some old tree skirts. There were four. Bound journals.
He pulled them out and set them aside. He put some lights up outside, and a lighted Santa. Nothing inside. He was headed to his daughter Anne's house for the holiday. His daughter Bess -- the youngest -- was also to be there. He was looking forward to seeing her. She had been a late born child, and was thirty-four. She was also a lawyer, and had never married.
Ted was noticing more and more that his physical condition was improving. His sore knee wasn't sore anymore. His right wrist, almost immobile, was now supple. He could shoot a basketball. He discovered that when he picked one up as he walked by a court. There were some kids playing. The ball went out of bounds to him, about thirty feet from the hoop. He picked it up and, before he thought much about it, sent a shot at the hoop. Swish. The kids were impressed and whistled. He waved and walked on.
But he was now truly puzzled. That wrist. Arthritis. But now, no more. He was staring at it when he bumped into a woman coming out of a convenience store. She spilled her soda. He apologized profusely. She was a MILF. He noticed that right away. She noticed him noticing, and smiled at him. She was a darkish blond, brown eyes, tall and stacked. She wore a loose top and yoga pants. It was quite warm for December. Thank God for global warming.
She said, "Please don't worry. It's only a soda. But maybe you should pay attention some to where you're going."
"I'm not normally a klutz. I was distracted by my wrist."
She looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"
He said, "I'm Ted, by the way. My wrist was almost impossible to move a month ago, and for some years. But now..." He raised it and flipped it around.
"You mean you've recovered mobility?"
"Yes. I have no idea what happened. And the rest of me is improving also."
She didn't know exactly what to make of this. She was forty-eight and had been hit on by men all of her life, since she was fourteen. But this wasn't quite that.
She smiled at him. "What rest of you?" She was a doctor, and her practice was filled with mostly older people. She wasn't quite a gerontologist. But close.
"All of me. I....I don't...." He stopped, blushed. He realized what he must sound like to her. 'All of me...' Sounded like some come on.
She started laughing at him. She couldn't help it. His embarrassment was so cute. And, so was he.
She said, "I'm Mary Graves. Maybe you can replace my Pepsi?"
"Oh, sure. Come on." He waved her back into the store, and she got a can of Pepsi, which he paid for.
They came out of the store, and it turned out she was walking as well, and in his direction. They strolled along the sidewalk, and she said, "I'm a doctor. I deal a lot with people who have arthritis. Which you had and now maybe don't. So, I'm interested in how and why you've recovered mobility."
"I have no idea, Mary. Doctor Mary." He smiled.
The walked by the basketball court where he'd swished his shot. One of the kids saw him and they all started hooting at him. They called him 'Swish."
Mary watched this. A kid tossed Ted the ball. He swished it. About thirty-five feet, by her estimation. He got a round of applause. He took a bow.
As they left the immediate area of the court, she asked him, "When's the last time you could've done that?"
He paused, thinking, "Maybe fifteen years ago. I was pretty good at basketball."
"And, when did you start to notice improvement?"
"When I walked by this court a few minutes ago, and swished a shot. That's why I was staring at my wrist."
"Well, okay. Has something happened lately to you? Some life change, workout routine change?"
"My wife died. End of July. It was a stroke. I came home and she was gone."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Ted. I know it must be difficult. When that happened, did you change your workouts, or something?"
"No. I knew if I gave it up -- the workouts -- I might get even more depressed."
"Hmmm. Well, there has to be some explanation. Makes me wonder. Aren't you curious?"
"Now I am. Now that I swished those shots. And, I don't mean to be forward. But, when I bumped into you I noticed right away how good you looked. That's a difference from before."
He was blushing a little. But he thought of it as a statement for purposes of medical diagnosis.
"What do you mean -- noticed?" She glanced at his crotch.
He saw. "I mean that. Sorry."
She chuckled. "No apologies needed. Yet." She glanced down again. It made him even harder. Fully erect.
Mary was flattered. She was divorced many years. She was a free agent, but didn't get regular sex. Guys hit on her. She almost always shot them down. Now this cute guy was hard just talking to her.
She looked at him. He was red with embarrassment, but didn't look away. Now, he was making some effort. Maybe to get her. But still cute. Lacking in any romantic finesse.