Don’t I?
I spend nearly an hour counting and re-counting all the different pieces of wood-panelling in the living room, then I’ve just got to get the hell out of the house.
The nurse – actually, I’m not sure he is a nurse, I’m not even sure this old people’s home has nurses or doctors or what, but he’s dressed like a nurse – leads me down the hall to my grandma’s room. I don’t come here very often and I think I can feel nursey judging me for that.
“Maggie?” he says, gently at first, then more loudly. “Maggie.”
My grandma turns to look at us, no sign of recognition at all.
“Maggie, your grandson is here to see you,” says the nurse.
My grandma stares at me. “Phillip?”
You’d think “Phillip” would be her dead husband or father or something, but no one has any idea who he is or was. We’re not especially convinced Grandma does either.
“No, Grandma,” I say. “It’s Michael.”
“Where’ve you been, Phillip?” she says, and her eyes fill with tears.
“You want me to stay?” the nurse asks me, which is nice of him.
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”
He waits another second, then leaves. My grandma shares her room with two other women. Mrs Richardson never gets any visitors, so my mom sometimes brings her flowers. Mrs Richardson never notices, just keeps talking under her breath about how she was wronged by someone called Rosalie.
Over by the window is Mrs Choi, who never says a word in English though she’ll wave back if you wave at her first. Not today, though. Her adult son is visiting, so she positions herself in a wheelchair with her back to him, pretending he’s not there. He seems to take this as his due punishment, and they just sit there, silently, not saying a thing.
“I took them back, Phillip,” my grandma says. “Put them away.”
I sit down next to her bed. “Put what away, Grandma?”
“There’s a…” She frowns. “Red.” Then she stares off into space.
Kooky Alzheimer ’s in movies really pisses me off. You know, where Grandma is sweet and funny and says hilarious-but-wise things right on cue? Real Alzheimer ’s is nothing like that. Nothing. It’s terrifying and annoying and so sad you want to kill yourself. My parents finally put Grandma in a home after she poured boiling water down her whole left side because she couldn’t identify what a pot was. She burnt herself so badly she can still barely walk.
“Well, let’s see,” I say. “Graduation is four weeks away. I’m doing really well in my classes and I’m not too worried about finals. Most of my hard stuff was last semester anyway, and it’s really only Calc and English that I’m going to have to study for–”
“Phillip?”
“Got my tux for prom. I’ll bring you pictures. Though the girl I was hoping to go with is trying to back out of our stupid plan–”
“Phillip, there’s–”
“Meredith seems to be wearing Mom down about this Bolts of Fire concert, so me and Mel may end up having to take her–”
“Your nose, Phillip.”
She’s staring at the bandages on my face. Both of my eyes are still black, too, and I suddenly wonder if I look too gruesome to visit, if I’m frightening her. Nursey should have said something.
Maybe that’s why he offered to stay.
“I got into a car accident, Grandma,” I say, “but it’s okay. I’m all right. I even drove myself here.”