The Old Man at the Window

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The Old Man at the Window

The old man made his way carefully down the street, cane in one hand. He paused now and again, and looked at the shops along the street, but only stopped for long twice.

The first time was outside a formal dress shop, and he looked at the beautiful dress in the window for quite some time, his expression sad.

When he finally got moving again there were tears in his eyes.

The second time was outside a book shop. In the window was set up with the top five sellers displayed, and in the number one spot was a name he recognized.

“Drea DiMaggio. Well, well, well. Good for her.”

He fingered the wallet in his pocket for a while, and then pulled it out.

It was a faded pink color, and inside was a few bills which he counted twice, and then sighed and put the wallet back in his pocket.

He turned, and slowly walked away from the window, wincing as his cane helped him move.

Some time later, he arrived at a small apartment that was little more than a bed with a stove feet away. There was a small dresser beside the bed, and as he sat on the bed he reached over and pulled open the top drawer. Inside was a faded binder, and he pulled this out, and opened it up.

On the inside cover was a couple of photos and he carefully pulled these out and looked closely at them. One was of a young woman, smiling broadly with laughter in her eyes.

He caressed this picture for a moment, and whispered, “Samantha. You turned out okay. I guess that's something to be proud of.”

Then he looked at the other photo. It was of a person in a skirt and blouse, looking relaxed and at peace, but he winced at the sight of five-o’clock shadow on the cheeks.

He flipped the photo over, and on the other side was a simple declaration.

“Dorothy. 2012”

“Ah... Those were the days.”

The old man sighed, and put both pictures back in the binder. The rest of the binder was full of writing, some typed, some written in pen. He fingered a few samples for a while, and then put them back in, and put the binder back in the drawer and closed it.

“Maybe I should find out who published ‘Drea’s book. Maybe if I told them we used to be sisters they’d consider publishing something of mine.. Not likely, but you never know.”

He sighed, took off his clothes, put on a faded nightie, turned out the light on top of the dresser, and crawled into the bed.

“Dorothy Colleen. Ah, Those were the days ....” He repeated, and then fell asleep.

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Comments

Thoughts

The idea & theme were good ,however the ending isnt always what one wants or needs.... Good story DC but its time to start looking at the bright side for a while..... Papa

-.-

You and me may have words next time we chat.

Who says I'm giving up, or that I would?

We dont know what has gone on in this version of Dorothy's life to bring him/her to the point in the story. We dont even know how he really feels other than he looks back in fondness at the time when he was she. Its not the ideal future, and I kinda hope I actually have a better one, but its certainly a possible one.

Thanks for commenting, Joanne.

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Mister Arse

Meet Mister Slap

Good thing Mister Arse is well padded

I'd pass it on to this possible version of my future self if I could, but we dont actually know he deserves one.

Thanks for the comment, Steff.

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Dorothy Coleen

Beautiful, just beautiful. Sad? Yes but beautiful.

Thank You

Joani

Glad you found it beautiful

I'm glad it worked that way for you.

Thanks for commenting.

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Yes, beautiful

Athena N's picture

in an achingly oppressive way.

Now get up again.

Getting up again

Gonna do my best to keep going forward.

Thanks for the comment.

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When we are young and foolish, we think we have all the time

in the world to do things, putting whatever it is off until tomorrow. Unfortunately tomorrow never comes, and before you know it, we are like the old man in the story, regretting what might have been, what could have been, what maybe should have been. It is a shame, that many of us do not get to complete our life's goal of being physically the woman each of us knows we are. Or the man in the case of F2M.

Dorothy, this was a gripping short short, that hits home for many of us. A sad remembrance of days gone by way too fast.

Thank you for sharing.

"With confidence and forbearance, we will have the strength to move forward."

Love & hugs,
Barbara

"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."

thank you ver much, Barbra

I'm glad you could see the heart of this story. Time passes, and we dont always know how precious something is until its gone. Mind you, we dont know that this version of me regrets the choices he made, only that he looks back on the days when he was Dorothy with fondness. Still, I'm hoping for a better outcome in reality.

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