I grabbed ESPN, the magazine, and sat down for my usual 10 minute wait for Dr. Edgerly, and immediately an assistant called my name.

She looked at me as if she knew me and waited patiently as I put down my magazine, put on my glasses and hoisted myself up off the chair.

"How are you?" she asked as I approached.

Uh.

"Okay? Right?"

Smiling, I said, I'm here, aren't I.

"Oh yeah," she said laughing.

We walked into the general area of the clinic, and I went directly to the scale, as I've been trained like a mouse to do. I said to the assistant: (top secret) pounds.

"Are you sure? Are you good at this?" she asked.

I'm practiced. Perfect record.

"Hum," she said, laughing again, "You missed by 10 pounds. Follow me."

The smiling, affable, sometimes-laughing woman had been addressing me by my real first name Raymond. So in the treatment room I asked her name.

"Marlene," she said.

Arlene?

"No. Marlene!"

We both laughed.

Oh! Well, nice to meet you Marlene. You're new here, aren't you?

"No. I've been here a while. I helped you on the 11th and the 15th."

What? You helped me?

"Yes, twice, recently."

This is embarrassing. You are certainly not forgettable. I can't believe I didn't remember.

"Well, they say the memory is first to go. Maybe you should ask the doctor about that."

What?

"The memory is the first to go."

Oh, I thought it was the hearing.

We were laughing when someone knocked on the door, and a blonde-haired, 60-ish woman peeked in and asked if I was Raymond Escobar. I acknowledged.

"Here, you forgot these," she said.

And she handed me my wallet and keys, which I had left by the scale.

Marlene and I looked at each other and started laughing, again. Nothing needed to be said.

It is the memory.