She would like to zap her pain away. That arthritic stiffness in her fingers, and now her hip.
She’d like to zap away the years, back far enough to when she wouldn’t lose her balance just walking from her bed to the bathroom, and have to lean on walls for support when she’d misplace her cane.
Back to before she began falling. Before she had to learn to get back up off the floor by herself; she had her ways. She was able to scoot on her fanny across the rug, to the build-in bookshelf and pull herself up enough to lean on a chair.
She didn’t tell her daughter about these falls. The ones when she didn’t have to press her medical alert button and go through the rigors of going to the emergency room. For some reason, those falls often took place at night; either on the way to the bathroom or setting out the cats food for the evening. And she would then be whisked away by ambulance in only her mint green nightgown, when she knew she was ok, except for bruised ribs perhaps or an ache in her tailbone.
She didn’t feel old. Not really. Not inside, where she resided most of the time; in her dreams, deep ones, it was all zapped away. All the pain, all the years. And she was the youthful long-legged twenty year old who rode horses down mountains in lightning storms and wasn’t afraid.