The ones who knew them young
There comes a point in a long life when the people who could describe you at twenty are mostly gone.
The friend from the hostel. The colleague who was there for the first promotion. The cousin who remembers what you were like before you became sensible.
After that, everyone in the room only knows the later edition. The careful walk. The afternoon rest. The story told twice.
We think of ageing as the body slowing down. Often it is quieter than that. It is being the last witness to your own younger self, with nobody left to lean over and say, you should have seen him then.
Who is still around who knew you before anybody else did?
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