“Traumatic, more like it,” Baldy says. “Who do you think scrapes the bodies off the street after they leap from those tall buildings?”
“There was some of that,” I say. “But it wasn’t all sirens and dramatics. There was a lot of looking after people who’d had too much alcohol to drink. A lot of routine transfers from places like Rosalind House into the hospital.” Or the place where they keep dead people, I don’t say. The residents start to look a little bummed, so I decide to afford them what they are looking for. “But it had its moments. Once I had to help restrain an A-list famous person who went off on a drug-fueled rampage in a hotel room. And”—I can’t help a smile at this one—“I delivered a baby once, right on the floor of a shop-center place.” I can still see the slimy little thing—a boy—peering up at me from between his mother’s legs. The newspaper had run a story on it, but I’d let Tyrone pose for the picture. The bright lights liked him more than they liked me.
The residents coo and I sit a little taller. It’s been a while since anyone has listened to me like this. Like I know what I’m talking about. “And there was one time—”
“There you are, Grandpa!” We all turn to look at a young girl with spiky yellow fuzz on her head, hovering in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. I just really need to talk to my grandpa.” The girl is looking at Baldy, but then her eyes scan the room and stop at me. “Oh. Hello again.”
It’s weird. She’s definitely looking right at me, but she doesn’t seem even slightly familiar. She must have mixed me up with someone else.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” she says. “I wanted to thank you. Your advice worked.”
I study her. She’s too young to be a friend of mine, and if Baldy is her grandfather … I don’t get it. No, I definitely don’t know her.
“I came into your grandmother’s room, remember? A few months ago? I took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom and found you, and we started talking and you gave me some wonderful advice—”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I think you’ve mixed me up with someone else.”
Baldy, suddenly, is beside the girl. He pats her shoulder.
“I’m sure it was you,” she insists. “You must remember. I told you that Grandpa was worried I’d be cursed if I got married, and you told me to tell him that I’d rather have a year of true happiness than die without knowing what happiness was. And it worked, we’re getting married, right here in the garden of Rosalind House next year!”
As someone with Alzheimer’s, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good seeing a “normal” person get confused. See, I want to say, it can happen to anyone. This young woman seems perfectly together, of sound mind, and still, she is confused.
“My grandmother isn’t a resident here,” I tell her, grateful for this nugget to hold on to, proof that I’m not the one who is confused. “I am.”
There’s a strange sudden stillness in the room. The girl’s gaze bounces to Baldy’s, then slowly slinks back to me.
“I … see,” she says finally. Her cheeks are a little pink, and I hope I haven’t embarrassed her. “I must be thinking of someone else.”
*
A few minutes after Baldy has gone off with his granddaughter, Young Guy and I trundle toward my room. We make the decision to do this without a word, just a look and a nod. Like an old married couple. Given the fact that we’re not likely ever to be an old married couple, I’m glad we’re getting the opportunity now. White flakes are fluttering down outside, and it’s cozy in here. As we walk, he takes my hand. I’ve never been the sentimental type, but the hand-holding is growing on me.
Baldy and his granddaughter are in the entry-hall bit. If Baldy ever possessed the ability to whisper, he has lost it now, and I hear the words “dementia” and “sad.” They’re talking about us.
“I just feel so sorry for them,” she says. “They’re so young.”
I keep walking. I understand that people feel sorry for us. I’d probably feel the same if it had happened to someone else. But Young Guy stops, and because of our interlinked hands, I stop with him. Baldy and the young woman look at us.
“You don’t need to feel sorry for us,” Young Guy says. “We’re a l-lot luckier than most.”
Then he gives me a little tug and we walk together to my room.
23
Clementine
Our guests are lined up against one wall of the gymnasium. Mom is at one end, wearing jeans and flat shoes. Even though we were allowed to invite anyone we liked, most of the boys have brought their moms and the girls have brought their dads. I’m the only girl who has brought her mom.
“Good evening, everyone,” Miss Weber says. She’s wearing a dress, like most of the moms, and pink shoes with ribbons that tie around her ankles. “Thank you so much for coming to our Family Dance Night. We’ve been working very hard on the decorations. Doesn’t the room look great?”