The Knockout Punch

By Jerry Bisantz

I got hit with a bomb. It happened at the supermarket yesterday. As I rolled my cart with the single wobbly wheel up and down the aisle, my eyes fell upon one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

To me, it felt like a major transition in my life.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am 71 years of age, recently retired, happily married to a wonderful woman, and we have two great children, all grown up, successful and living out of town. I consider myself to be a reasonably handsome man, keep myself in very good shape hiking, working out, you know… the usual.

Sadly, sex, passion, and lustful intimacy has been pretty much on the back burner for a long time. And then I saw her. Smooth brown skin, the color of coffee with two creams, please. Round, expressive hazel eyes that held mine. Briefly, for a moment, but that moment was all I needed.

Realizing that the worst thing that could happen to a guy like me would to be considered a “creepy old man,” staring at a woman the age of my daughter, I quickly averted my eyes, muttering “excuse me” as I slowly pushed my cart past her. Perhaps she knew that I was chastened by her presence. I am not sure. But she took a brief moment to gently touch my arm and say, “no problem.” I was rewarded with a furtive moment to look into her eyes once more.

Then, she walked away. Out of my life.

The transition I spoke about? The knowledge that it’s gone. And has been gone for quite a long time. My salad days of acting on an intuition, pursuing a lovely woman, perhaps even being pursued by a lovely woman… done. Finito.

And it stings. It stings because we all remember what we once were. I can harken back to those crazy days of yore when I was free and feeling it. Hell, I was “John Travolta” strutting down the street, swinging those paint cans, so cocky I am eating two slices of pizza to that disco beat.

Now, the best I can hope for is a stolen moment. A moment locked in time. And it only reminds me of who I am.

And makes me long for who I once was.