Five panelists sat there behind their name tags, looking back up at the crowd. Above the stage, a projector displayed the title of the panel: How Living Well Past 100 Will Change Everything, From Health Care to Finance to Relationships to Faith.
I was just blown away by the fact that people really wanted to live that long. It was easy to imagine that the human race could figure it out, just not why they would want to. Give me seventy, and I’m pulling the cord. Life ain’t that good.
Dr. Sebastian had chosen a seat about halfway up, and he was waiting excitedly with his small Apple laptop resting on the countertop in front of him. Ted sat next to him, doing his best not to attract attention. I was at the top of one set of stairs near the door, Francesca at the other.
The moderator finished introducing the speakers, and people clapped with admiration. As one member of the panel began to address the first question, I noticed a thirty-something woman with dirty blonde hair looking around the room. She sat two seats away from the doctor. She didn’t appear to be paying attention like the others, and I watched her for a few moments. She redirected her attention to the panelist currently speaking. A general rule of thumb in this situation is that you don’t need to worry as much about women. It’s mostly men who kill people. She was slightly questionable, but nothing to sweat about.
I reminded myself that the last thing I needed was to let my PTSD get the best of me. Make a move on this girl, and I’d be in the spotlight. I knew I could easily fall into the trap of pulling a few false alarms and getting scrutinized for it. Then I’d be scared to speak up when something went wrong. And someone might die. It was a balance I had to find, and a little confidence would go a long way.
I kept looking around as I half-listened to some philosopher type go on about how followers of certain faiths would have to reexamine and reinterpret their beliefs, just like they’d done when evolution became more accepted. My mind was attempting to wrap around that one when my eyes went back to the woman. She sure was fidgety. But she was trying not to be. Like she was trying to keep herself together. She was holding her shaking leg, attempting to keep it from moving. I didn’t like it.
I took a few steps forward, passing a couple of the latecomers. I tried not to get in their way as I got a closer look. Now the woman had her right hand in her lap under the counter, and she was digging her middle fingernail into the cuticle of her thumb in an extremely aggressive, painful-looking manner. Those were the signs we looked for.
Was she just an anxious person? Had something happened to her earlier to provoke such a response? Or was she there to cause problems? Only one way to find out, and that was to get her up and out of there. Ask her a couple questions.
I felt the heat, though. I’d already appeared paranoid in the doctor’s neighborhood when I thought I’d seen something in that window. Really didn’t want to do that again. I’d been doing this for more than a decade, though, and I felt something inside of me. Some sort of agitation. Something was wrong.
I had to go with it.
I looked up at Francesca who was eyeing me from her position at the exit door on the other side. I nodded down at the woman and then made my way. Reaching the row where Ted, Dr. Sebastian, and this young lady were sitting, I slipped past the backs of two people and reached out for her. Her leg was now moving like it had a motor in it, bouncing up and down on the ball of her foot. The philosopher type was still waxing on, saying that new religions would surface as a result of the Singularity.
The woman had on a khaki jacket cinched tight by a large belt at the waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I noticed she’d been quite liberal with her makeup that morning. I tapped her on the shoulder, and it scared the hell out of her. She jerked back like
I was just blown away by the fact that people really wanted to live that long. It was easy to imagine that the human race could figure it out, just not why they would want to. Give me seventy, and I’m pulling the cord. Life ain’t that good.
Dr. Sebastian had chosen a seat about halfway up, and he was waiting excitedly with his small Apple laptop resting on the countertop in front of him. Ted sat next to him, doing his best not to attract attention. I was at the top of one set of stairs near the door, Francesca at the other.
The moderator finished introducing the speakers, and people clapped with admiration. As one member of the panel began to address the first question, I noticed a thirty-something woman with dirty blonde hair looking around the room. She sat two seats away from the doctor. She didn’t appear to be paying attention like the others, and I watched her for a few moments. She redirected her attention to the panelist currently speaking. A general rule of thumb in this situation is that you don’t need to worry as much about women. It’s mostly men who kill people. She was slightly questionable, but nothing to sweat about.
I reminded myself that the last thing I needed was to let my PTSD get the best of me. Make a move on this girl, and I’d be in the spotlight. I knew I could easily fall into the trap of pulling a few false alarms and getting scrutinized for it. Then I’d be scared to speak up when something went wrong. And someone might die. It was a balance I had to find, and a little confidence would go a long way.
I kept looking around as I half-listened to some philosopher type go on about how followers of certain faiths would have to reexamine and reinterpret their beliefs, just like they’d done when evolution became more accepted. My mind was attempting to wrap around that one when my eyes went back to the woman. She sure was fidgety. But she was trying not to be. Like she was trying to keep herself together. She was holding her shaking leg, attempting to keep it from moving. I didn’t like it.
I took a few steps forward, passing a couple of the latecomers. I tried not to get in their way as I got a closer look. Now the woman had her right hand in her lap under the counter, and she was digging her middle fingernail into the cuticle of her thumb in an extremely aggressive, painful-looking manner. Those were the signs we looked for.
Was she just an anxious person? Had something happened to her earlier to provoke such a response? Or was she there to cause problems? Only one way to find out, and that was to get her up and out of there. Ask her a couple questions.
I felt the heat, though. I’d already appeared paranoid in the doctor’s neighborhood when I thought I’d seen something in that window. Really didn’t want to do that again. I’d been doing this for more than a decade, though, and I felt something inside of me. Some sort of agitation. Something was wrong.
I had to go with it.
I looked up at Francesca who was eyeing me from her position at the exit door on the other side. I nodded down at the woman and then made my way. Reaching the row where Ted, Dr. Sebastian, and this young lady were sitting, I slipped past the backs of two people and reached out for her. Her leg was now moving like it had a motor in it, bouncing up and down on the ball of her foot. The philosopher type was still waxing on, saying that new religions would surface as a result of the Singularity.
The woman had on a khaki jacket cinched tight by a large belt at the waist. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I noticed she’d been quite liberal with her makeup that morning. I tapped her on the shoulder, and it scared the hell out of her. She jerked back like
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