‘Now that we’re older it’s a shame we never took photos,’ my wife Glenda sighed. We were preparing our Golden Wedding anniversary party.
I don’t want a party. If she knew me at all, after 50 years married, she’d know I don’t want a party … and why.
But we are having a party and that meant (there’s an iron rule on these things, like a written Constitution) we must have a ‘wall’ of pictures ‘showcasing’ our life together.
Clearly, we are not of the ‘selfie’ generation and so not weaned to record and share every moment from rising in the morning to flopping into bed. But really there are no photos?
‘What would you want photos of?’ I was playing for time. We didn’t have children so no birthday parties, first days at school or graduation ceremonies to record.
‘Just ourselves,’ she said wistfully.
‘That makes us look vain,’ I retorted. I was on thin ice now.
‘Photos of things we did together. I suppose we don’t realise at the time, those memories.’
Memories? I filled the kettle, stalling for time; I couldn’t think of a thing. What did we do together? We had successful careers; me in the law, she a schoolteacher. We went on holidays, I suppose; we even have a second home in the Algarve (I don’t have photos to show you.) But no memories?
Then, Glenda told me the disc-jockey wanted names of pop records of the 1960s that still meant so much to us.
Click here for more stories about old age
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 