When I was a kid, about ten years old, I came across an arch.

It was a low riding arch, one a full grown teenager would have to crouch to enter, but one I, in my glorious 4 foot 3, could easily outdo. Driven by the curiosity that would more often than not get me in trouble, I stepped towards the arch, fully intent on seeing what there was on the other side, then paused when I saw someone else was already there.

He seemed ancient, ancient as the earth. His kind, glittering eyes looked as if they had seen everything there was to see, and he looked at me with a tenderness I saw only in my parents. He was hunched and rather small, about my height, and what little hair he had left on his balding head was short, white, and wiry. His wrinkled face was broken into a tired smile.

"Wow there, lad." He said to me. "What's the haste? You wanna come to my side?"

I backed up hastily, feeling as if I'd done something wrong. "I'm sorry." I apologized automatically.

He raised his eyebrows, his forehead crinkling in the way old men's tend to, like a river had made a crease through it over time. "Why should you be sorry?" He gestured gruffly to the arch. "This is your arch as much as it's mine. But, this is my side, and that's yours. I'm only asking you why you'd want to cross it now?"

I was confused, but gave an answer anyways. "When I'm older, I'll be too tall to cross it. So I should now, right?"

The old man chuckled a little at that. "Too tall, you say?" He stood a little straighter all of a sudden. "And do I look like I could best one of those teens in a game of basketball?"

I shook my head. He nodded. "No way, no how. Not only has my vertical completely abandoned me, but I'm not even half the height of my son! You see where I'm getting at, kid?"

I didn't, so I shook my head. The old man chuckled again, and said: "I could cross this arch if I wanted to, kid. And I think I'm about as old as old can get. Follow my drift?"

I did, so I nodded.

"I'm just telling you now, kid. Take your time, growing up. Go through that height of yours. Then, when you're good and old, like me, come on back. You'll see. You'll pass right through." He nodded. "Now, move along. I think I can hear your parents calling."

I turned, but didn't hear anything. Regardless, I felt that it was time to go. "Goodbye, mister." I said as I began my trek back through the thin woods behind me.

"So long, then, kid." He waved me off and I remember running. Running hard to get away from that arch. Something about the arch, I didn't want to cross it anymore. I felt like, if I crossed it, something would happen. Something I didn't want happening quite yet.

Well, what the old man said held truth. I grew. God sprayed me with acne, hair and who knows what else. I always had that arch in the back of my mind. As I stared in wonder at The Statue of Liberty. As I felt the roll of paper heavy in my hand, pride flooding my heart and butterflies fluttering in my stomach. As I slipped the ring on her delicate finger, butterflies positively thrashing, it was always there. It always seemed to be getting closer. Always seemed to be begging my attention.

I am a retired man in his late-eighties or early-nineties. I must confess, I lost count. It's a strange thing, reliving things from your past. I feel an unnatural rush, a rush that feels exactly like youth. I can't kid myself, though. A man such as myself can't be found skipping through hopscotch squares or leaping over a rope. Yet the feeling is so real as I hobble on on nothing but weak knees and a cane. The road through the forest hasn't changed. The root that tripped me that day isn't there anymore, but the rock that I banged my forearm on sure is.

The arch stands there, tall as ever. With a straight back, I may not have made it through. But hunched like I am, I need barely bend as I hobble forth and discover the other side.

A field of wheat stretches before me. The wind rippling it like a curtain, that blows through what remains of my thinning hair. Emptiness, finality.

A sound behind me. I turn and discover a young boy, looking curious and excited at the thought of a new adventure. The sight of him fills me with a sense of closing and I smile.

"Wow there, lad." I call out in my husky voice. "What's the haste?"