We’re working out to a medley of remastered Beatles tunes, classmate Mary and me adding our voices to the thrumming beat when the spirit moves. “Yeah, you’re gonna lose that girl..” “She’s got a ticket to ri-i-ide...” “I get by with a little help from my friends….” Silver heads bob to the music, glued to trainer Margaret’s instructions, “heels front, right, and left…now keep the feet, add the arms,” following once again the gentle exercise routine we enjoy twice weekly at the Y.
As embodied in
their music, the moptop lads from Liverpool are forever frozen in time. But
we’re not. Look at us, with our paunchy bellies, lined faces, thinning hair, stooped
shoulders. Our bodies betray the kids we still feel like inside.
But we were cool
once. We wore bellbottom pants, love beads, mini skirts, nehru jackets. We were
pilgrims in San Francisco for the Summer of Love. We grooved on Jefferson
Airplane and the Doors. We got high. Then we got serious. We marched on
Washington for an end to war. We made babies, started families, hosted stoned
soul picnics. We were all at Woodstock, whether in person or not. We bought
every Beatles album as they came out, played them over and over, memorized all
the words. “Lucy in the sky-y with diamonds….”
We’re done with our
final stretch now, seated back in our chairs, and Margaret leads us in deep
breathing and calming thoughts to end the session. Today she invokes her favorite
phrase, “All is well.” Pondering, I realize we have no choice but to follow
suit.
We were cool once. All is well.
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