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By Root 669 0

paused in the doorway, backlit by the dim glow from the hall, eyes flickering from one still form to the other. The patients were scattered about the room, here and there in their chairs, each wrapped in his or her gauzy haze, somewhere between the memories of the past and the vagueness of today. The object of the visitor’s attention was in his usual place by the window that overlooked the wide expanse of lawn, where he could catch the changing of the seasons, year after year, for as many years as his advancing age and the whims of fate would permit.

And fate could be fickle, as everyone knew. Everything could change in a heartbeat. One moment of clarity, one memory recovered, and even the old man’s now-simple life could so easily become nothing more than someone else’s memory.

Crossing the room in a long-legged stride, the visitor took a seat in front of the old man’s chair.

“Hello, Miles.”

“Hello.” The old man nodded.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” was the automatic response.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yes.” A nod of the head.

“What did you do today?”

“I took the train to Chicago.” The old man smiled. “With Dorothy.”

“Did you?”

“I did.” His smile broadened.

“And who is Dorothy?”

“Dorothy is . . .” The old man frowned. “Dorothy is . . . someone.”

His face folded into lines as his brows knit together, as he tried to recall. Tried so hard to bring it back. He’d just had it, if only for a second. Now it was gone.

“Dorothy was your sister,” he was reminded. “She died a long time ago.”

“I see,” the old man mumbled as he picked at a thread on his expensive sweater.

“Do you remember when Dorothy died?”

“No.” The old man shook his head. “But I remember when she was in Chicago.”

“What else do you remember, Miles?”

The old man looked out the window, as if perhaps something there might be familiar.

“Do you remember when you lived in Washington?”

“No.”

“Do you remember when you worked in the White House?”

“We lived in a white house, once. It was near New-port. There was a pond out back. Teddy drowned in the pond. He was very small. . . .” The old man’s gaze drifted back to the window, where the setting sun was beginning to send streaks of orange across a pale lavender sky.

“Yes, that was your little brother.” A touch to the old man’s face to get his attention. “I don’t mean that white house. I mean the White House. In Washington, D.C. Where the President lives. Do you remember when you worked there?”

The old man’s vague look was his only response.

“Do you remember Graham Hayward? President Hayward?” A studied pause. “Do you remember President Hayward? He was your friend. Your very best friend. You worked together in Washington.”

“Am I supposed to remember?” the old man mumbled. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay.” A forgiving pat on the old man’s hands reassured that all was well. “It’s all right. It’s okay that you can’t remember.” Another pause to reflect before adding, “Better for your sake, actually, that you don’t.”

The visitor sat with the old man for a few more moments, grateful that no memories had surfaced, that there would be nothing this day to be dealt with.

Finally, “Do you remember me?”

“No.” The old man searched the face that was now so close to his own. A sharp but fleeting image flashed from somewhere in the past but disappeared before he could name it.

“No,” he repeated warily, denying recognition even to himself.

His companion smiled for the first time since walking into the assisted living home, then stood and returned the chair to its place by the wall. In that brief time, the old man’s gaze had drifted back to the window and the world beyond.

“Good-bye, Miles. I’ll see you again soon.” The parting remarks went unnoticed.

A pause in the hall only long enough to press a folded envelope into the hands of the white-jacketed orderly who awaited.

“How did you find your . . . old friend?” the orderly asked.

“Same as always.”

The orderly nodded and served as an escort down the hall toward the now-darkened dayroom and the back door he’d unlocked earlier. In his pocket his fingers toyed