Remembering

They watched Mrs Santori dance and giggle, talk to the trees, and drag an easel out of the shed (though it was dark with dust and distressed from damp, Mrs Santori seemed filled with joy). “Alzheimer’s?” Gavin asked and Tanya punched him in the arm. “That’s not forgetting; there’s no delight in being confused,” she said. “That’s remembering!” “Where you put crap a million years ago?” Gavin half chided. “Where you put yourself a million years ago,” Tanya whispered, “and how good it feels to have the chance to be that again.”