the moon's memory

through the quiet, moonlit, summer night, I can hear a song floating out of the kitchen window, one from my daughters' favourite musical - something about memory. beside me, my dad coughs and stands up.

he walks toward the edge of the orchard bordering the lawn. I follow him and arrive as he’s polishing an apple on his shirt.​

“so Tom, how’s the orchard going?” he asks, taking a bite.

​“pretty good.”

“good. and Ellie, is she doing well?”

“yeah. she said Mom mentioned the orchard during the last visit, and the nurses say her favourite dessert is apple pie.”

Dad tosses the apple core into a stand of tall grass and walks back toward the house. the girls rush onto the porch as he approaches; “Grandpa, supper’s ready!”

he is beaming as they lead him to the table; “wow! this looks delicious!”

“and for dessert we made apple pie!” says Faye, my youngest. “Aunt Ellie said it’s your favourite!”

his smile flickers as he hugs her. “it sure is, dear.”

***

after dinner, the girls help bring dishes to the counter before spiriting away to the living room.

in the kitchen, hot, sudsy water fills the sink. it is there my dad tries to venture, but I gently direct him toward the next room to join the girls. they greet him merrily upon his arrival; “Grandpa! how was the pie?”

“good s’always,” he replies.

I begin to wash the dishes, and hear Faye ask: “isn’t it Grandma’s favourite too?”

my hands hover over the dishwater. while I am glad Faye remembered her grandmother's favourite dessert, it seems as time passes everyone but my mom will be able to recall that fact.

“sure is,” my dad replies, before changing the subject. “so, how’s school going for you two, anyway? Tess, aren't you graduating next year?”

I vaguely hear Tess' reply. the music floating from the speaker on the kitchen counter distracts me - the song has changed; something about memory. the singer wonders if the moon has lost her memory. I wonder just how much of the past, how many faces, how many apple pies, she can still remember.

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