In the Corner

He was comfortable, he knew, sitting in the padded outdoor chair, with the blanket over his legs. They always put him here, in the corner of the large patio, out of the breeze and looking across the garden to where the land fell away toward the hidden creek. He dozed more than he looked, these days, and often found himself missing much of the conversation that went on around him. Sometimes he thought that actually suited his family more than they admitted.

"Go and tell Grandpoppy that lunch is nearly ready", he heard his Granddaughter's voice from behind him, in the kitchen. "Okay," answered a child, and a moment later a blonde pony-tail leaped into his field of view and his great-granddaughter said "Grandpoppy, Mummy says lunch is nearly ready!".
He smiled and nodded, raising his hand slightly; which one was this? Kathryn, Kathleen? He wasn't sure.. "Thank-you,... ah, Sweetheart". She hesitated a moment, and then skipped back inside. "Why can't Grandpoppy ever remember my name?" he heard her ask, "He always forgets!" He heard her mother pause in her bustle of preparation, "It's alright Katina, he doesn't mean to forget," she said, "Grandpoppy is getting very old now, and he can't remember a lot of things. It's just what happens when people get old. He still loves you just the same".

He felt a pang of anger. Just what happens when you get old....
Still, he had to admit that some things weren't as sharp in his mind as they once were, or perhaps they just weren't as important as others thought they were. He glanced at his hand, as it lay resting on the blanket in the Autumn afternoon. The imprint of his wedding band, now put away in a box somewhere, was still plain on the finger of his left hand. That memory hadn't faded. Fifty-two years of marriage was still sharp and clear in his mind. He could still feel the taut muscles in his wife's back, as he put his arm around her after the wedding ceremony, and heard himself whisper to her "Relax, Dot, it's over, and you are beautiful", and feeling her slump a little in relief, and happiness, as she burst into tears in his arms.

The warm sun on his skin suddenly reminded him, and he raised his hand to touch the scar above his eyebrow, a thin silver line that brought into his mind the baking heat of a country cricket ground, heat-waves rising into the air and it wasn't even lunch-time yet! Wally Johnston wasn't particularly tall, and he was a good mate, but Wally's bouncer had laid him out flat that day, and left him with the scar and a story to tell. Funny how that memory was so fresh...

He lowered his arm, and the mark on his forearm caught his eye. That was where the shrapnel had gone in and opened his arm up like a good Butcher's knife. The flap of muscle had hung there, "like a bit of Rib Fillet" he used to say, laughing, while Dot begged him not to, her eyes haunted by the thought of how close he had come to never returning home. But he had come home, and she was as beautiful as when he had left. And he swore never to go away again.

Yes, he would admit, he was getting old, but his world was as sharp and clear, and as present as ever. He would have to say sorry to Katina for not recalling her name. He nodded his head. Dozing, hearing the preparations for the meal, he drifted and saw Dot once more, standing at the door of the house, smiling. Felt the sun on his back as Wally ran up to bowl. Heard the rush and felt the sting of hot metal. Heard a little girl say "Grandpoppy, come to the table now". And he nodded... smiling... "Alright Katina, just one minute".
He closed his eyes and dozed, and dozing, he was gone.