The Choice

THE CHOICE



         Amy Rutherford found her first white pubic hair four days after her thirty-fourth birthday. She swore and leaped for the drawer under the sink where she kept her tweezers. Moments later the offending hair was cupped in the palm of her hand, Amy staring down on it in horror.

“Everything alright?” Her husband’s voice was muffled by the bathroom door but she still caught the note of concern.

“Uh… Yes. Just stubbed my toe.” Amy got up from where she was sitting on the rim of the bath and tossed the hair in the wastepaper basket. She splashed water on her face as she tried to still her heart that was racing as quickly as if she’d run up the stairs to her apartment.

“Calm down,” she whispered to her dripping reflection. “It’s just a hair. Just one hair.”



         She was lying though. It may have been the first white hair, down there, but there were quite a crop of them on her head. Thankfully L’Oreal Warm Chestnut Brown took care of that. Wiping the water from her face with the back of her hand, Amy peered at herself in the mirror. Fingering the fine lines that had appeared at the corner of her eyes, she grimaced. Her lower lip seemed to have lost some of its fullness too. She examined her chin, horrified when she saw a pimple. It was bad enough having wrinkles, but acne as well? It was too much! Amy turned away from her reflection and scrubbed her face with a towel before returning to the mirror. Quickly and expertly she applied make-up, burying her perceived defects under creams and powders.



         Despite the make-up, Amy still felt off-balance and shaky when she walked into the office. She was getting older and there was nothing she could do to change it. And there was something wrong about that.

“Good morning!” Amy jumped as the receptionist greeted her. She hadn’t realized that she was already there.

“Oh, Vera!” Amy gave a nervous laugh. “You gave me a fright. I must have been in my own world!”

“Is everything alright?” Vera studied Amy carefully. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“A ghost? No. Not quite.” Amy gave a weak smile, trying to reassure Vera that she was all right. Vera was new to the firm, a slim, pretty woman of no more than twenty-five or so. She had a great mass of dark, curly hair and very blue eyes that seemed to see and understand everything. Amy didn’t know her well yet, but the younger woman was friendly, efficient and always looked good. Today she was wearing a long skirt with a crisp white blouse, buttoned to the neck.



         As she made her way to her desk, Amy realized Vera always dressed that way. She had never seen the receptionist in anything other than long skirts. It made a nice change she supposed; the previous receptionist’s skirts had barely covered her pert eighteen year-old buttocks. With an exhausted sigh Amy threw herself into her chair and tried to focus on the document she was editing.



         It was hopeless though. That single hair, snow white and wiry, kept floating in front of her eyes, mocking her. She realized she’d read the same paragraph six times, not understanding a word of it, and decided to go and get some coffee. Maybe the distraction would help shake her out of this strange mood. She was not a vain woman, but something about finding that hair had shaken her to the core. It was as if aging and death had become something more than abstract concepts, become something real and threatening.



         In the small break-room behind the maze of cubicles where the editors worked, Amy poured a cup of black coffee. She leaned back against the bench and held the steaming cup in both hands. There was a mirror on the opposite wall and Amy studied her reflection through the steam, liking the way it softened her features.



“See anything you like?” Vera’s voice startled her out of her reverie.

“No!” Amy started, hot coffee splashing out of her mug onto the back of her hand. She licked the spot that was turning red as she watched Vera preparing her own coffee. Vera’s movements were as neat and precise as her wardrobe, not a gesture wasted.

“Is everything alright, Amy?” Vera asked as she rinsed a teaspoon. “You’re just not yourself today.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Amy tried to be breezy. “I found a white hair this morning and it’s just floored me. Stupid, right?”

“Not at all.” Vera came closer, blue eyes seeming to bore into Amy’s soul. “That first sign of aging can be very distressing. It’s like coming face to face with your own mortality. You might not be interested, but I’m part of a group, a club really. For women like yourself. You should come along. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Really?” Amy couldn’t imagine what sort of club it might be -a bunch of pampered women obsessing about their skin tone, or lack of? “What do you do? Talk about moisturisers? Or which plastic surgeon does the best face lifts?”

“Oh no!” Vera laughed, her curls bouncing against her cheekbones as she did. “Nothing like that! It’s just an interesting group of women. We’re getting together tonight if you’re free.” With that, she took her coffee and left the room, Amy staring after her.



         Amy sought Vera out before leaving for the day.

“Where does your group meet?” she asked. “I might stop by, if you don’t mind.”

“I thought you might!” Vera’s eyes were knowing as she scribbled an address on a slip of paper. “Any time after seven is fine. I’ll look forward to introducing you to the girls.”

“I’ll be there.” Amy clutched the slip of paper, glancing down at the address as she hurried out the door.



         The seven women sat around a spotless glass-topped coffee table, sipping overly sweet white wine. The room was large and ornately furnished with very good antiques. The fabrics were rather too flowery for Amy’s tastes, but she could not help but admire the overall effect. She took another sip of the cloying wine, trying hard not to make a face as she snuck a peek at the host of this evening’s gathering. Her name was Elsa and could not have been more than five feet tall, even in the high-heels she wore. Amy admired those boots. Narrow, with a Cuban heel and laced with what appeared to be a satin ribbon, they were made of the softest looking leather Amy had ever seen. On anyone else they might have seemed old-fashioned, even antique, but on Elsa, they seemed just right.



“Where did you get them?” Amy finally asked.

“Get what?” Elsa seemed puzzled.

“Those exquisite boots. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like them.”

“These old things?” Elsa glanced down at her feet. “I’ve had them for years! I bought them at that lovely shop on Collins Street. It closed down…. Now what was it called?”

“You mean Raphael?” Vera broke in. She had unpinned her hair for the evening and the mass of curls almost overwhelmed her heart-shaped face. Amy felt self-conscious suddenly, under-dressed in the tight jeans and silk blouse that had seemed so sophisticated before she left the house. Vera and all the other women were more formally dressed, in skirts of various lengths, one woman in a pair of high-waisted wide-legged pants that looked like something Katharine Hepburn might have worn early in her career.

“That’s right! Raphael.” Elsa said. “It was such a shame when it closed down. The shoes were magnificent there.”



         Amy racked her brain, trying to remember a shoe store on Collins Street. She had lived here all her life, but couldn’t picture it. Collins Street was the place to go for art supplies, and much of the narrow lane was taken up with small, exclusive galleries and strange, dark coffee shops.

“Whereabouts on Collins was this place?” Amy asked finally. “I can’t picture it.”

“Would have been before your time,” the woman in the pants said, clapping a hand over her mouth suddenly.

“Before my time?” Amy looked puzzled. “I’ve lived here all my life. And I’m sure I’m older than most of you.”

“Looks can be deceptive.” Vera came and sat on the arm of Amy’s chair, leaning in towards her so that her long hair tickled Amy’s neck. The room went silent, the air growing heavy and tense with expectation.

“What?” Amy asked stupidly, looking around at the beautiful young faces of the women before her.



         Elsa stood up and crossed the room to an ornate highboy where a crystal decanter sat on a silver tray, surrounded by eight small cut-crystal sherry glasses. After pouring a thimbleful of liquid from the decanter into a single glass, Elsa carried it across the room and set it carefully on the table.

“Would you like to know our secret?” Vera asked, turning her intense gaze on Amy. “Would you like to know how to stay young forever?”

“What?” Amy asked stupidly. The tension in the room was making her dizzy, the eyes of all six women fixed firmly on her.

“Have you heard of the fountain of youth?” Elsa asked gently.

“Well, yes,” Amy stammered. “But it’s just a myth or a fairy tale. There’s no such thing.”

“What if I were to tell you I found it?” Vera asked. “What if I were to tell you that I was born in 1763?”

“I’d say you were pulling my leg!” Amy got to her feet. “This isn’t funny, you know. You can’t play with me like this!”



“This is it,” Elsa said gently, pointing to the small glass on the table. “This little drop will keep you young forever.” Without wanting to, Amy found herself reaching for the goblet but Elsa snatched the glass away.

“You need to be certain you want this,” she said very firmly. “Eternal youth can be as much a burden as a blessing.”

“How?” Amy reached for the glass again.

“Think about it,” Vera said. “Remember, only you will remain as you are. Your family, friends, acquaintances will all grow older, will eventually die.”

“I won’t die?” Amy’s eyes widened.

“It is not immortality we’re offering you,” Elsa laughed. “You can still die. Walk out in front of a bus and that’ll be the end of you. But it won’t be old age that kills you. Once you’ve drunk this elixir, you will remain as you are, at this moment, forever.”



         Amy sank back into her chair, thoughts whirling. She could not believe this was true, yet something about these women made her believe it. They were ageless in a way, full of a knowledge that could only have come from living. Perhaps they really had discovered the secret to eternal youth.

“You must be certain,” Vera said quietly. “You need to be prepared to lose all those you love. After a few years people will start noticing that you don’t change and you will need to leave, go somewhere else for at least a generation. It is not an easy life.”

“Couldn’t my husband…” Amy began, trying to imagine leaving him in just a few years.

“No!” Elsa was emphatic. “The spring is growing weak. In a few years it will not exist any more - perhaps rightly so. So the elixir is only for women. As it has always been.”



         Elsa set the small glass on the table again and returned to her seat on the far side of the room. Amy sat and stared at the glass. So little was required: picking it up, lifting it to her lips, swallowing. She could feel the six women watching, tension building as they waited for her to make her decision.



Above the glass, hesitating, Amy’s hand trembled.



1996 words

September 2009