No Cognitive Defect - Part II


Wilson washed, and Anita dried. It was a natural arrangement, one they assumed without words, and the same arrangement he’d had with Erica. Wilson could use his weak hand to steady a plate in the sink as he washed it, but towel drying was not something he could do without risking dropped silverware, broken plates and smashed glasses.

They worked briskly, Anita humming a familiar, melancholy tune…something by The Beatles maybe? Or perhaps Simon and Garfunkel? The name of the tune escaped him, flitting about on the edge of his memory.

Anita stopped humming suddenly, and turned toward him.

“Guilt is so corrosive, isn’t it Wilson? It just nibbles away, nibbles away, nibbles away at you. It makes you feel so inadequate. How does a man get out from under such a burden of guilt?”

Wilson’s face flushed as she dried the last plate and put it up in the cupboard.

“Anita,” he said slowly, “I’m trying very hard to like you. I really, really am. Drop this line of questioning. I don’t feel guilty about anything, and I don’t want to talk about Erica.”

She replied softly, “Who said I was?” and walked away briskly, leaving Wilson to drain the sink and hang the damp dishtowel to dry.

* * *

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