Molly was going to visit her grandfather at Ye Merry Olde Hills Start Ye Again Residence. Harry his name was, and he was 105 years old.

The Residence was designed like a castle, turrets rising toward the sky, slits in the walls, stained glass in the windows. There was even a moat, for heaven’s sake, with a “draw bridge” and a pointy gate that was never lowered.

The outside was old-fashioned looking, Middle Ages even, but inside, all was modern and state of the art. Molly checked in at the Reception desk. A silly-looking girl, like something out of a play, greeted her with a falsetto smile.

“Hello there, my Lady,” the girl simpered at Molly, “I guess you’re here to see your grandfather, right?”

Molly shot her a sour glance and simply nodded.

The receptionist girl referred to her list. “Oh, that’s Harry!” she exclaimed with feigned excitement. “You’ll have to wait to see him – he’s jousting!”

“What?” Horrified, Molly had pictures of stampeding horses and long lances with pointy ends. She had a sudden terrible notion her extremely elderly grandfather bouncing on the back of some terrible hag only to be skewered like so much chicken. “What?” she repeated, at a loss for words otherwise.

The girl laughed her receptionist’s laugh: “ Oh, no, it’s al-” she started but she was interrupted by a cheery voice that said, “Hey, hello there, Molly. Welcome! Nice to see you, girl!’

And there was Harry, as fit as you please, all 105 years of him.

Now Molly was astonished. “But, Grandfather,” she exclaimed – “what’s happened to you? Where’s your walker?” She stood back to look at him. “You look – amazing!”

“Oh, they don’t fool around, around here,” he told her confidentially, putting an arm around her shoulders and walking her into the court yard, away from the receptionist. “New knees, new hips, pumped full of calcium, vitamin C, D, – Botox – you name it, whatever it takes to bring us back!” he declared. In a whisper, he confided, “They’ve got ladies here in their 50’s, ya know – they need some of us men to be fit – otherwise, those ladies are going to want to leave.”

As they wandered into the Tea Garden, he explained it all to her. The Residence encouraged, persuaded -whatever it took - everyone 50 and up to sell off their homes and use the money to come and live in the Residence. There was every kind of distraction you could think of without any of the inconveniences, like traffic, strangers jostling you in the streets, line-ups for things – “you know, normal life –” he waved a hand in the general direction of outside: “– who needs it?”

There were Residence brochures on the table. Grandfather Harry turned one toward Molly. There were pictures of happy, happy older and really old people smiling! And smiling! Their lips were stretched as far as their smiles could take them over perfect, white teeth. They were looking into each other’s eyes or staring over the Residence Pond of Love, couples holding hands.

Harry leaned back to examine his granddaughter. “How old are you now?” He peered at her as if checking for wrinkles and bits that sagged.

Molly tucked her chin into her collar: “Thirty-five,” she muttered.

“Thirty-five!” Harry exploded. “Already? You’re almost a Senior! My god, you’ve only got 15 years to go. You gotta get rid of your debts, you know, and pay off your mortgage – so, when you’re 50, you can come and live here! It’s great – we just leave all the work to the kids – they’ll have their time – everyone’s a Senior way sooner than they think they’re going to be!”

He paused at last to take a sip of tea from an elegant china tea cup. He crunched down on a cookie, his shiny new teeth doing their job of crunching with efficiency.

He explained the history of the Residence to her. “It was Sir Reginald’s idea about 10 years ago,” Harry began, “he got fed up with all the bad publicity about so-called Boomers or Zoomers or whatever-the-heck we were being called. And he decided, if those young whippersnappers are tired of us, we’re tired of them. So, he built this beautiful Castle where we have everything and don’t have to care whether we’re over 50 or not.”

He almost took a bow. “Let the 30 yearolds have it all,” he decreed. “We’ll live in our Castle – forever maybe!”

Molly didn’t know what to say. In a mere 15 years, this could be her. She stood up, shaking. Should she rejoice in being young enough to still live in the Real World with its endless hideous degradations? Or would she really be better off, in a mere 15 years, to live in this castle with all these extremely well-preserved over- 50’s with their news joints, shining teeth and wrinkle-free faces. She looked older than most of them.

A shiver of a bell rang delicately across the air.

Harry rose from his chair with ease, with no signs of rheumatic discomfort. When he first came to live at the Residence, he had could barely perambulate.

“Oops, time to go, Sweetie,” he told her. “Visiting hours are over. See you next week, maybe?” He was holding her hands.

She looked at him doubtfully. “Would you like to go out for lunch next week?” she asked him.

“Are you kidding?” he replied. “That horrible restaurant muck you young’uns eat would poison us – it’s poisoning you!!” and he laughed a big hearty laugh. “No, no thanks, just come for a visit any time.”

They walked back to Reception together. The silly girl was still there, just closing down her station. Molly wondered how old she was.

She gave her grandfather a kiss on the cheek, noting how clear his skin was and how well-formed his lips still were.

“Good bye for now, Grandfather,” she said.

“Bye. Bye. Sweetie.” And he waved her away across the moat. . . .