Youthful

I can remember being “youthful” as long as I can remember. This is not quite true – in my 20s, I was aged, a warhorse, people kept calling me a “veteran” journalist, one fellow activist in Queer Nation, Robbie M, constantly told me he was glad I was in my 40s like him unlike the rest of the “babies” in the group. I was much too embarrassed to correct him. A lot of people have a hard time correctly ascertaining the ages of lesbians. But certainly, in my 20s I had a lot on my mind and a gray, aghast look on my face to prove it.

Except at 25. Magically at 25, I felt confident, just for that year, and got a great butch haircut for once and delicious dark glasses and felt sexy. I felt sexy in 1993 as well. Finally, this tall girl with muscles who rode a motorcycle bowed to my top energy — priceless!

Earlier, I was the youngest Minkowitz, the youngest sister, the smallest even though we all later turned out to be 5’ 2”. When we were children the four-year age difference made me tiny when my sister Elizabeth was belting me.

Finally in my late 30s I became “youthful” again after such a long hiatus, looking younger than my age just when women begin to worry about looking decrepit. My gay male friend Herb had turned sparkly blond on his 40^th birthday and I decided this was genius, becoming gradually and then thoroughly blonde after that. I succeeded in looking “youthful” until, I dunno, 2015.

Today in the mirror, my dark circles under the eyes are obvious and permanent, no matter how expensive the creams I put on to hide them. They are little craters in my face. Three lines of horizontal wrinkles in my forehead, then diagonal, asymmetric wrinkles beneath the cheeks, and I gaze out at all of them in fascination: wow, how did this happen to me? The wrinkles on the sides, where my nose gives way to lips, might be thought “rugged,” the way a scar, maybe, makes you look rugged. Huh. Maybe I can just repackage these as dashing rather than ravaged.

I look old. That is the bare fact, and not even my bright blonde hair will hide that anymore. But here’s my face, hello it’s me. It’s rather strong, for real. If the mountains can be old and powerful, why not me?