We’re not young anymore, he said. Joints hurt. Teeth yellow. Losing hair. I guess it’s all part of the process, the old man told his wife.

What process is that? she asked.

Getting old. Getting on in years.

We’re not that old. Seventy-five is not bad.

Soon I won’t be able to drive. They’ll take my license away, he looked at her.

You’re a good driver. They won’t do that.

About ten years from now.

A lot can happen in ten years, she said.

Yes. We could be dead.

Could be. We could die tomorrow.  It’s just a matter of time, I guess.

Yeah.

It’s been a good life. With you, she said. She placed her hand in his. It’s been good.

Do you remember when you left me? I stood there out in the cold. Yelling at you to turn around. You just kept driving. Kept going. I watched the Pontiac drive away with you in it. Going a hundred miles a minute. 

Yeah, she laughed.

Why did you do that?

I was mad. Mad about that girl you were seeing.

I wasn’t seeing any girl.

You still deny it.

On the holy Bible, I deny it.

Easy to do. Easy to lie.

Not easy to you.

I still love you. I’m a fool, I guess. 

Yes. I love you too. 

Did you ever cheat on me?

Had lunch with a fellow once. A bottle of wine. No. I never cheated on you.

I see.

But, there’s always a first, she laughed.

Right.

We’ve known each other a lifetime.  There’s bound to be some mistakes. 

Yes. Bound to be.

They sat in the quiet of the evening, listening to birds sing. Watching weeds sway in the wind;  thoughts to themselves. Neither confessing the mistakes of a lifetime.