Same evening. Further attempts to talk in the noisy restaurant. Same puzzled expression on my husband’s face.
“What do you think it’ll be like fifty years from now?” he asked. He spread his hands and flapped them around.
“Here? This restaurant?”
“No-o. The world. Here. How many people will there be? Will they all fit?”
“Fit? I don’t know.” I said. He poses this sort of question a lot.
“This is a small island you know…” he said.
“Island? What island?”
“England. Scotland. Ireland. Wales.” He nodded, proud of himself.
“Peter, where do you think we…”
He slapped his head. “Oh, silly me. We’re not there, we’re here.”
“Where? Where do you think we are?” I asked.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Virginia?” he said at last, then asked, “Did you know me before I got like this, before my mind went away?
“I did.” I said. “I remember. We met forty-two years ago. Your mind was fine back then.”
“Oh you, you remember everything,” he said.
“Someone has to.” I said. I knew what was coming.
He sighed. “What would you do without me? No, no, I mean…”
“What would you do without me?” I asked, as I always do.
He laughed. “That’s a good one, isn’t it?” He loves his own jokes.
Header photo: Lighthouse, England.
2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.
I love that he can still tell jokes and laugh at himself!!
Okay, you can stop now. I have to walk Duffy and my eyes’s are red and swollen. Sniff sniff…
Sorry, I didn’t mean to make anyone cry. 🙁
Thank goodness he has you and his smiles for you.