"If you're concerned about a messed up head, either shave it all off or comb over the scars. But please, ditch that awful hair piece. It makes you look like a dork." She handed him the wine bottle. He smiled and joined us for a glass. He had some catching up to do, especially with Quinn.
We chipped in clearing the table and cleaning the dishes. Quinn lit the large stove to stave off the cold as rain pounded the metal roof above us. We chatted amicably around the oak table, laughing at each other's stories. Martha kept up a steady stream of reminiscences; I'm sure for Howie's benefit. He played along with her banter but it was interesting to see he was savoring everything she said like the good wine we were sharing.
Martha lugged out a tattered game of Monopoly. Given its vintage, some E-Bay customer would have paid a Boardwalk price for it.
"Do you remember this, or do I have to teach you?" she asked. Betsy and I claimed world class ability while Quinn just rolled his eyes. Howie put his knuckles to the side of his head and closed his eyes.
"I have vague recollections of beating the crap out of you while you cried your eyes out and pounded your fists in despair."
"That's not a memory; it's more wishful thinking! Count out the money and don't cheat like the last time."
While we played the first few turns, Howie described how indiscriminate elements of his memory remained.
"Why should I remember a 'Get out of Jail Free' card and not recognize my own mother, or a picture of my father or sister; or this bratty cousin?"
"That's because the brain is the strangest tool of the body," Quinn answered. He proceeded to take off on an explanatory lecture that mentioned anandamides as brain messenger molecules and details about brain chemistry. He had moved to receptors and enkephalins before Martha covered her ears and yelled, "You're turn! Do you want Park Place or don't you?"
Betsy and Martha, now practically best friends, conspired together against the rest of us until they owned most of the board. The rest of us were spiraling toward bankruptcy when Howie turned to Martha. "Did Annie play Monopoly too?"
"Yes," she answered in a surprisingly somber voice. When only silence followed, she seemed to feel obligated to explain. "Annie was Howie's little sister. She died when she was twelve." It was easy for us to recognize Martha's pain with the subject.
"I've seen her picture," he said as he rolled the dice. "She was pretty." Quinn, sensing his wife's discomfort, changed the subject back to the game.