The Weekly Shriek -- Blueberries

I pulled up to a stop light in Bridgeville the other day. The sun glistened off the windows of a building to my left. "Is that new?" I asked my husband Johnny.

"Uh, no. It's always been there."

I turned to look at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"Look at it. It's got to be forty-fifty years old."

I was staring at the unfamiliar building when the light behind me changed and someone beeped their horn. "I can't believe I never noticed it before," I said. "How long have we lived here? Ten years? Fifteen?"

"You need blueberries."

"Blueberries make you remember things, not notice things."

"You don't remember things either."

"I remember all kinds of things."

"You didn't remember that we went to your cousin Karen's wedding."

"That's just one thing." (There are pictures of me at that wedding and I STILL don't remember being there.)

"And you messed up last week's shriek when you claimed I was on my way to Germany with the house keys when I was really going to Texas."

"I don't remember you ever going to Texas. I went to Texas, but you didn't go to Texas."

"Joyce. We lived in Texas for three years."

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "You know what I mean."

"Uh huh -- and you buy things, put them away and then are surprised when you find them years later."

I blinked -- twice -- trying to visualize what forgotten products might be hidden in my closets. I hoped -- whatever it was -- that it still fit.

"And you don't recognize anyone." He was on a roll now.

"I do, too."

"Just the other day that woman came up to us in Bob Evans and said hello. You didn't introduce her because you had no idea who she was."

"I knew who she was. I didn't know her name."

"You forgot it."

"I never knew it."

"You could have at least introduced me."

I grinned. "I couldn't remember your name."

"Blueberries would fix that."

"I don't like blueberries except on..what do you call those things?"

"Muffins?"

"No...you know...those round things?"

"Pancakes?"

"No...I prefer pecan pancakes."

"Pies?"

"No."

"Tarts?"

"NO! They go in circles. You know...what are they?"

"They go in circles?" Johnny sat back in his seat, stumped.

"See you can't think of them either." I pulled into the Motown Pizzeria parking lot.

He scratched his head as we got out of the Acura and headed into the restaurant.

"That's it. Right there." I pointed to a flat object hanging on the wall with a picture of The Supremes on it. "What do you call it?"

"Blueberries that go in circles?"

"No. Not blueberries." I scooted into the booth. "That thing."

Johnny scanned the walls. "A record album?"

"THAT'S IT!" I pumped my fist in triumph.

"What's it?"

"A record, silly."

"What's that got to do with blueberries?"

"Don't you remember that song the fat guy sang?"

"Meatloaf?"

"No, the other one -- and besides Meatloaf slimmed down."

"I'm lost now," he said. "I don't even know what we are talking about."

"That song -- you know, back in the 50s?"

"Blueberry Hill?"

"YES! That's it. Blueberry Hill." I stared at the menu trying to decide between the Contours Pizza and toasted ravioli.

"So what about it?"

"Don't you remember?"

"No."

"YOU need to eat some blueberries."

A young man walked past our table and smiled at me. I nodded and smiled back.

"Who was that," Johnny asked as he picked up the menu.

"I have no idea," I chuckled.

"What'll you two have," our waitress asked.

We looked up at her and said in unison. "Blueberries?"