ANTI-AGING SERUM

I bought my first bottle of anti-aging serum when I was fifteen years old. I bought it at the town pharmacy, where two years later I'd buy my first package of preventatives. The serum was packed and manufactured locally; the stores in our town were still singular in purpose (hardware, butcher, pharmacy) and still stocked with singularly local items. I was obsessed with staying young, even if outwardly that manifested itself as maintaining my immaturity. The bottle was glass and said "Anti-Aging Serum" on it and in smaller type "side effects may include foolishness".

The serum worked, despite my worries about what counteractive effects combining anti-aging serum and prescription acne medication might have: I remained young that entire year and, with liberal continued use of the serum, for many years after that. As I aged in years (but not noticeably, physically), I saw a proliferation of similar products flooding the market. It seemed that my niche obsession – staying young – was suddenly growing in popularity.

National brands of lesser effectiveness, purity, and charm pushed my hometown anti-aging serum off the shelf, especially since the pharmacy was bought out by a national chain, the hardware store was put out of business by Home Depot, and the butcher's shop was felled by the exploding popularity of vegetarianism. I had failed to horde the remaining stock and eventually it was impossible to find. I began to grow old.

Growing old has been terrible. I get hangovers when I drink. I wake up smelling like my body has been deteriorating all night. I use the internet to look up real estate prices and comparison-shop shoe insoles, instead of for pornography. I can grow a beard. I wear fleece jackets. I enjoy British television. I worry. It’s all so awful.

There's one bottle left though. It's nearly empty. On special occasions I'll scrape some out with a cotton swab and judiciously dab it on my face. It gets more potent over time, or it seems that way to me. The effects are strong, but now short-lived. I watch myself change in the mirror – the years dropping off and some spark of life brightening in my features. Its vain and its foolish to keep to doing, and its embarrassing to admit to it. Soon it will all be gone, and when it happens I'll be irrevocably sad and old.