Whatchamacallit

When you search for both the correct word and the fleeting concept.

         "Whatcha lookin' for Gramps?"

         "Huh? Oh, hey. I dunno. It was here a minute ago."

         Connor studied his grandfather hunched at his scarred desk rubbing his forehead. When had he shrunk? He used to be so tall. Was that a tremor in his pale hands?

         "Don't worry. I'll help you look for it. Is it in this room? What are we searching for?"

         The frail shoulders shrugged and the wrinkled brow furrowed.

         "I can't get a grasp on it. It seems to have slipped away. The best I can tell you is it's nearby. It has to be. The whatchamacallit. You know."

         Connor sighed and thought I wish I knew. This isn't easy for either of us.

         "Could you describe it? Like, is it big or small?"

          In response, his grandfather stared off into the distance and shook his balding head.

         "How about a colour? I bet we'd find it if it stood out. See that red pillow over there? It is so bright against the grey armchair."

         Gramps shook his head.

         "I know it has a name. That thingamajig is on the tip of my tongue."

         "Maybe if you get up and walk around the room you'll see it. You said it's in here, right?"

         His grandparent pointedly refused any help as he struggled to stand.

         "It was just here with me. Where could it have gone?"

         Both men scanned the cluttered den before the elder slumped back into his chair.

         "Don't grow old Connor,' he whispered, " there are too many days like this."

         "I'm sorry, Gramps. I have no idea what we are seeking. It must be so frustrating for you."

         "That's it", shrieked the old man. "I had an idea. Now what was it?"

         

         287 words