let’s die young or let’s live forever
‘How do you turn this off?’ the doctor muses aloud.
‘There’s a button,’ I mutter, popping in just to press it. When I leave, the conversation resumes.
‘This is our Ollka,’ says Grandma to the doctor, ‘And that one before was our Alex. Ollka is married.’
‘Is she?’ the doctor sounds surprised, ‘She looks like a child…’ I stop listening, it’s time to change out of my sweatshirt and cords and head out.
Looking considerably more respectable, I enter Grandma’s room again: ‘Do you need anything before I go?’
‘No, thanks. I was telling the doctor about you.’
‘Really,’ I am not very enthusiastic. After all, she tells everyone.
‘Yes, my dear,’ the kind old doc pipes in seriously, ‘I think you look young. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-one, thank you,’ I smile.
‘Well, I’d have guessed less.’ She looks disapproving.
I smile again and shrug. All my life I was an old-looking teenager, and even if now I am finally a young-looking adult, inside, I am still seventeen – as per doctor’s orders.