Would he come?

Would he come?

By Len Morgan

She gazes expectantly from an upstairs window, Would he come?

Costumed children wander up and down the street shaking plastic buckets, yelling, "Trick or Treat."

Would he come?  He said he would come.  Seven-thirty on the dot, he'd said.  It was now eight twenty-five.  

Almost an hour late, "Where are you, Daddy?"  Maybe he wasn't coming, she rubbed her eyes, slowly walking away from the window. Gazing at her witches costume in the mirror, one last time.  Tears started on her cheeks.  She sat at the end of her bed.

Her bones ached, her hands were stiff and gnarled.  A taxi pulled up outside and she dashed for the door.  But, the man who entered was a stranger.

"Hello Mum," he said, taking her into his arms. 

Who is he? she wondered. 

"You do know who I am don't you mum?" he asks.

Then in a moment of clarity, she replies. "Mr Altzheimer?"

Copyright Len Morgan