The old man looked around the room cautiously. He had just forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. His feet felt cold, so he decided that he should put on some slippers. He looked down and was slightly surprised to see that the slippers were already on his feet. Chewing his lip in concentration, he frowned and decided to turn around. He jumped when he saw his reflection in the mirror. He leaned forward, studying the reflection. Reaching a liver-spotted hand towards the mirror, he touched it, and with surprise, he reached back towards his face. He was horribly confused.

“Mr. Whitewater, your son is here.”

The old man turned to see a barrel-chested man in white standing in the doorway. He motioned behind him, and Whitewater expected to see his son, who was a small little boy of ten. Instead, a man who looked about 40 walked in. He seemed awfully familiar. The man in white nodded and left the room, leaving Mr. Whitewater and his son staring awkwardly at each other.

His son cleared his throat. “Hello, Dad,” he choked.

Mr. Whitewater narrowed his eyes. He frowned again, studying the man’s face. Whitewater couldn’t place it, and that bothered him a bit. He sat down in one of the two leather chairs, staring out the window. “Go away,” he said.

His son ignored him and sat down in the chair opposite. “How have you been? Are they treating you alright here?”

Mr. Whitewater suddenly realized he didn’t know where here was. It seemed familiar though, and he did feel all right. He concluded it must be some trick of his mind. Maybe he was dreaming. “Yeah, just fine.” he answered.

He stared at the man’s face again. So familiar, why couldn’t he place it? Then it hit him. “You must be my wife Laurie’s brother, Gary.”

His son gave a slight smile and looked to the floor. There seemed to be tears in his eyes. “Not quite.”

“Ah, her cousin then. Did I ever tell you how we met?” Mr. Whitewater leaned back in his chair, smiling.

“No, please tell me,” his son said.

“Well, it was June 5, 1956 and I was ridin’ my motorcycle. It was an old Indian, crimson and black. I was really into James Dean, you know. I saw this girl in a white sweater and a poodle skirt, walking down the sidewalk, holding her books to her chest and lookin’ down. I pulled up next to her, revved the engine, and you know what? She dropped them all.” He laughed. It felt good telling stories to this stranger. “Well, I was a gentleman, and I helped her pick them all up, apologizing like it was my job. I looked up into her eyes, and I knew at that moment I was going to marry her. We got two kids now, good little boys. Her name’s,” he paused, looking toward the window, “her name is…” Mr. Whitewater coughed.

His son gave a slight smile. “Her name is Laurie. She misses you.”

“I knew that,” snapped the old man. He shot the man an angry glance. Then his face softened. “You know what, Mister? You remind me of my son David. He’s about te…” he frowned, looking down at his hands in his lap. “Actually I think he just went to college. Anyways, he’s a great young man.”

David blinked rapidly, quickly wiping his eyes. “Not as young as you think. Can you tell me about him?”

Mr. Whitewater nodded. He leaned back more in the chair, opened his mouth, but closed it. Memories of a little boy came to him, but the face seemed blurred. It could have been of him or his son. Just a snapshot with no context. He looked at his son. “Not now, Mister. I’m tired.”

David nodded, stood up, and went to give the old man a hug.

“What are you doing? I just met you,” said Whitewater, cringing a bit.

David let his hands drop to his sides, and looked out the window. He took a few steps back and held out his hand. The old man took it.

“Nice to have met you, Mister.”

David nodded and went to the door. He paused, and looked back. “I’ll see you next week, Dad.”

Whitewater started. He frowned as he watched the man leave. “What a strange fellow,” he muttered. Standing up, he went to the window, but stopped when he got there, looking confused. He turned around and went to his night stand.

“I’ll do a crossword; I’m very good at those.” He pulled out the crossword book, flipped through it, and realized that they were all completed. Mr. Whitewater put it down. He felt lost, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember for how long.

“Mr. Whitewater, it’s time for your medication.” The big man in white came in, carrying a tray. He laid it down on the night stand, with the pills clanking in their tiny dish. Mr. Whitewater brought the pills to his mouth, followed quickly by the glass of water. While not really sure what they were for, he suspected they were probably important. Just as the big man was about to leave the room, the old man cleared his throat.

“Hey Nurse, can you send in some visitors every once in a while? I haven’t had one in ages, it seems.”