Anne is an orphan. She lies between 60 and 70 years of age.

Her pure white hair cascades down her back like a waterfall. Cut short at the ear level with bangs in the front, the rest of Anne’s hair slips over the back of her head, not to be seen again.

Blessed with a soft aquiline nose and a dimple in her left cheek, she decorates her visible visage well. Forgotten by the dental god, Anne sports an uneven dental pattern that is downright lovely. She rarely smiles, rarely opens her mouth and rarely puts on her face a glad or interesting demeanor.

We are at breakfast, the first of a string that is as uninspired as a hockey player’s memory.

We are in a nursing care facility, a seven home-run distance from downtown Greensburg.

Anne has no relatives; she receives no mail and makes no extended phone calls.

Mary, the other person who occupies our round table, and I are Anne’s present companions.

Anne smiles, Mary smiles, and I do the same.

John Greco

West Deer

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