Getting Sorted

Alfred walked into the lounge and stopped in the middle of the room. He stood for a moment looking perplexed and then went to his favourite chair and sat down. He placed his hands on the arms and stared straight ahead.

Grace glanced at him momentarily but continued knitting and watching her show. Two minutes later Alfred hadn’t moved other than to rearrange his facial muscles. He had gone from perplexed to pensive.

Grace sighed and put down her knitting as her show came to its conclusion.

“Alfred, what is it dear?”

Alfred furrowed his brow and tapped one finger on the arm of the chair.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You don’t know what?”

“I…oh hell, I came in here for something…”

“You don’t remember what you came in here for?”

“No.”

“Well then, it probably doesn’t matter, dear.”

Grace resumed her knitting and hoped the matter was closed. She hoped in vain.

“That’s it! I came in here to look for something I’ve misplaced!”

He stood up and began pacing around the room lifting the odd object and peering at it and then replacing it. Ten minutes later he sat down again. Pensive was now replaced with agitated.

Grace knew the look and decided she’d better try to help before matters got any worse.

“Do you recall what you were doing before you came in here? Perhaps it would help.”

“I was talking to Charles on the phone. He called to see if I wanted to play golf on Friday.”

“I see. What did you tell him?”

“I…well…oh yes, I told him I had an appoint…that’s it! I think that’s when Dr. Martin wanted me to see that specialist. They sent me an appointment slip and I wanted to check to see what day and time it was. I came in here to find the appointment slip, I had it in here yesterday, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, that. Yes, it was on top of the television, I put it on your nightstand so you wouldn’t forget about it.”

“Wonderful. Thank you dear.”

Alfred left the room and returned with the slip. He was squinting at it and holding it at arms length.

“Why don’t you put on your glasses dear, you know you can’t read without them.”

“Well I would if I could find the damn things.”

“They’re on top of your head dear.”

“Oh. Right. Yes, that’s right, it’s on Friday morning. I’ll have to ring…”

“Charles.”

“Yes, Charles, and tell him I can’t make it.”

“So who is this specialist Dr. Martin wants you to see dear?”

“Dr. Benning. He’s a neurologist I guess. Something about getting my memory checked.”

“Oh. That’s nice dear.”

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