Goines On: ​ What​​’s going on?

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Goines was washing the dishes before he took off for his endocrinological appointment in Chapel Hill. He had just picked up the coffee carafe containing hot, soapy  water to pour over the dishes in the sink for washing, and was now looking around the kitchen for the coffee carafe itself, which also needed washing. Where was it!? Had he already put it in the closet unwashed?
    But then he felt and saw the carafe in his hand, which more shocked than relieved him. Wow, he thought, he had just emailed a neighbor who hadn’t answered him for several days and joked whether he should notify the coroner or have a memory specialist come around to check on the neighbor.
    But now Goines thought he might need the memory specialist more himself. He had already, for months, been trying to resign himself to the manifest fact that he could hardly remember anything anymore.
     This thing with the coffee carafe was especially troubling. In his hand the whole time – that had to be worse than looking around the house for spectacles perched on your forehead. Didn’t fingers have more sense preceptors than foreheads?
    Goines looked at the clock on the stove. It showed he was already five minutes past the time he had intended to leave for Chapel Hill. Damn!
    He washed a couple of things in the sink before hustling his stuff together and going to the garage, where he was surprised to find Mrs. Goines riding her stationary bicycle. He thought she had said she was going for a walk.
    He threw his stuff into the car, grabbed a mask from the hook, cantilevered himself into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.
    “Open the garage door!” shouted Mrs. Goines. “Open the door!”
    Goines could only give an embarrassed nod of assent.

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