Photo by Glen Hodson on Unsplash
I woke up old. It wasn’t unexpected. It never is. Just like they tell you on the info-voyances, I had a few flashes of back aches during the winter months and more when the weather turned in the spring. For the last two weeks, my knees reminded me of all the work I did climbing up and down the ladders lighting the street lamps back in the day when I was part of the lamplighters union. Back before they changed the street lights from gas charms to electric. Loved that job and the union fought tooth and nail to keep the lights gas, but, I admit, getting one or two people shocked when an electric charm fails is much better than losing entire city blocks when a gas charm breaks down.
Thirty years plus an extra five beyond the guarantee for the second age charm. I got my money’s worth. The first one was the standard twenty after birthing and raising two children; like most people, I paired off, so I got ten years each. I can’t imagine the before-times when citizens would devote their entire youth raising children and then be stuck with old, worn-out bodies after doing so much for society. I got my age frozen at thirty, full adult brain and body strength while still healthy and quick healing for the most part.
I celebrated eighty-five earlier this year. Jasmine and her husband hosted, taking me out to the suburbs, with the grandkids and the great-grandchildren. Kevin had joined the Naturals in his twenties and refused the Charms; he died of a heart attack in his early forties, but his children chose saner religions and mixed in with Jamine’s crew just fine.
I had hoped to wake up dead. You think by eighty-five my natural life would have been over. Someone would have noticed I hadn’t reported to work, or maybe it would have been the end of the month when I didn’t pay my rent, or neighbors complaining about smell. I live in the slums, so most likely the landlord would have noticed before my neighbors. The constable would have come by, my body moved out, and the landlord would have someone else in the apartment before the end of the week.
Moving to put a foot on the floor, white flashes over my eyes and a squeak escapes. I can’t scream it hurts too much. That fall back in ought-five from the back of the truck has come back with a vengeance. I move very gingerly, learning what twists will set off the back. This was not the back pain I was expecting. Nothing like the little teaser I got before the charm failed. I managed to stand, though crooked, not willing to completely straighten out the back, and made my way to the watercloset for the morning piss, praying to whatever gods will listen that I would make it.
Breakfast then work were next on the agenda for the day. I didn’t own a scry-glass, so I couldn’t call out, not that I really wanted to. Sure, having had the age charm fail means I can transfer to the government run old age communities outside the city, but I always tried to make my own way. I paid my second aging charm out of my own pocket. The move to the slums had been a cost-saving measure to put together funds for the third charm, but those are expensive, and I didn’t even have enough for the down payment after scrimping for twenty years. The second charm had been so easy with a union job, I never expected not to get at least a third one until the union folded.
The walk down the step from the walkup was slow, but after resting at the third and second landings, I managed to get out the door and at the Wagon stop in time. The steep four-steps onto the public transportation nearly did me in. Having a grab-bar to mount them would have been helpful. Getting on and seeing all the young faces made me feel my age in a way that I never experienced before.
When I sat down at the second row, the person there hopped up and moved away like I had a disease.
Arriving at work brought a slow dismount. Going down the steps, with a jolt at each oversized thread, set off the back again. I heard people complaining I was holding things up but hold your horses. Pain in this old body was beyond imagining.
The pain teases me with memories of all the times I had been in their positions. It wasn’t many. People paid for the age charms, or went to the government camps when they couldn’t.
My boss didn’t even let me take my position on the assembly line. I could have done the job, I had been doing it for decades. He was polite. Offered to help me call the Aging Services.
His bouncing secretary, still raising his children, offered to research spells to get me back to normal. I know there are rumors of witches and warlocks having spells to restore youth and then be able to place on an aging charm. These rumors have existed my entire life and I’ve never seen evidence. Pure conspiracy theory. The young always believe them. You don’t pay much attention to the greater world until after you get the children out of the house.
Sure, Agatha has been around since the Middle Ages and Methuselah claims four thousand years, but they never were old, they either managed exceptional anti-aging charms or found the Eternal Fix.
Reversing aging once the charms failed, not an option. I was old from now until I die. I could freeze aging at this point, but who would want that?
I was debating sitting down because standing hurt the knees, but decided to remain standing because I wasn’t sure how painful it would be to stand after sitting. Standing on the Wagon had required twisting to get out of the seat.
Boss-man called the Services. The polite man and woman were both much bigger than me. I hadn’t shrunk that much, had I? I knew my clothes hung a little loser, the pants leg hung a little lower, but everything still fit mostly.
They took me back to my place, chatting all the while about how much I would love government housing. They didn’t mention how long I might be there. I heard rumors about people living past one hundred without charms, but I had never seen any. No one ever visited. Why would you do that with a young body?
We got the stuff out of my apartment, what little there was, and they helped me sign off things with my landlord. Even managed to get back my deposit, a minor miracle. Back at the Services building, we scryed Jasmine; she cried when she saw my face. They kept me at the offices for a day while we closed all my effects, either transferring them to Jasmine or placing them into an incidental account for living at the government housing.
I was surprised how little they thought I would need, insisting most everything just be transferred to Jasmine. I know eighty-five is old, but even a few months cost coin I didn’t have.
It wasn’t until they had me take the cargo elevator to the basement that I realized my government lied about providing housing once the charms failed. They hadn’t lied about taking care of us though.
(words 1,256; first published 8/18/2024)