Is This Sunday?

“Where is my coffee?”

“It’s right there in front of you, dear.”

“Ah. Yes. So it is!” He lifted it to his lips and for a moment I could again see what he’d looked like as a little boy. “Oh, this is good. What is it again?”

“It’s coffee, dear. Just as you like it.”

“With plenty of cream and– and–”  He scowled. It was the words that bothered him. He seemed fine with the other things. Faces, names, places. But losing words always upset him.

“Sugar, dear. Plenty of cream and sugar.”

“Sugar. I remember. Yes, sugar.”  He smiled.


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