A. B. and C.
The door was closed and B knocked on it, first gently and then louder, calling her name out. As we entered, she invited us in. She was ready for a visit, a neat little thing in her housecoat. She was seated on a low sofa before the settee, wheelchair pulled up at a right angle.
B and I brought chairs over and sat down. We chatted for a while; she likes to read mystery novels and watch TV. She has a plain but kindly face and pale blue eyes; alert, active, sympathetic.
B brought out the kit and produced three tiny cups, and poured juice in them. He raised a wafer and broke it, and shared it. I prayed over the cups. We drank all of it, that we might live abundantly, without the burder of sin.
I said a few words, and then we spoke in unison, and it was done. I shool her hand, telling her how nice it was to meet her. She is 93. I put the chairs back, and we left the room. I could see my car from the window, but it wasn't that easy to get out of the building. We came out where we had come in, eventually, and went into the presence of a clear, cool, peaceful day.
