by two weeks to her own birth. From there, she was late to walk and potty train. She was late to wean from the breast (and later to grow them). She was late to learn to read and to drive. She was late to date. She was late to start menstruating and, when one month that was late, she was late to deliver the baby. She was quite late to marry, to have more children, and, later on, to pick them up from school. She was late to divorce, and to ask for the late alimony. Then she was late to Finding Herself—late to the Democratic National Party and orgasm, both in theory and in practice. She was late to defend her dissertation, making her late to get a job, and thus late to start a 401(k). She was extremely late to get braces. She was late to the entire turn of the century, having over-indulged quite early on New Year’s Eve and then overslept. From there, she was late to so much: The Slow Food Movement, recycling, SPF 50, and yoga, especially the namaste part everyone referenced. Later, much later, she was late to drugstore reading glasses and her second career as a volunteer crossing guard, most unfortunately. Later still, she was late to each reversal of aging, late to dentures, a walker, and Depend adult diapers. She was late to everyone’s funeral. She was late, the last of her circle, in fact, to dementia, for which she never realized she was late. Finally, she was late to being Late—and then she wasn’t.

Lynn Mundell’s

work has appeared in The Sun, Literary Orphans, Jellyfish Review, Eclectica, and in many other fine literary journals. She lives in Northern California, where she co-edits 100 Word Story.

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Ask an Editor Series: Grant Faulkner and Lynn Mundell in Fiction Southeast (9 August 2014)