The following is the short story I submitted to the ADN/UAA contest. It is a non-fiction story about a woman who struggles with Alzheimer's. Ana, who appears at the end, is the only "real" person in the story.
Between
Here and There
By Melanya Berg
Constance woke with a start. Her heart was racing as she
tried to reorient herself to her surroundings. Just for a moment she didn’t
know where she was. The remnants of a dream were still vivid, like a flash from
a movie scene. There had been a house on a sunny street with a Red Flyer wagon
in the yard. Pink and red roses bloomed recklessly next to the walkway leading
to the front door and the scent of overblown blooms still lingered in her nose.
She had the sense that she belonged there and yet, she didn’t recognize the
house, the wagon or the small child that looked up at her with brimming eyes,
holding a skinned knee and crying, “Mommy, mommy, there’s blood.” It was all so
confusing. As she looked around the room, Constance’ heart slowed, the dream
receded and the familiar ache of her aging hips and lower back reminded her
that she had sat to rest for a few moments after her morning chores.
At
seventy-five everyday chores had become challenging, and today Constance wanted
her home to look as if the work was accomplished effortlessly. Her daughter,
was bringing lunch at noon, and she would be looking for signs that Constance
needed “help.” There was no denying that Constance had found herself locked out
of her house in slippers and housecoat one morning. She had thought she had
heard Charlotte, her old cat, mewing as if in distress and had gone out into
the yard to find her, forgetting that Charlotte had died the week before. A
neighbor had noticed her standing in the driveway, feet damp with dew and
shivering, looking lost and forlorn. The young woman had invited her into her
kitchen, offered her a cup of coffee and called Lindsay. Constance couldn’t
help but hear her annoyed tone at the inconvenience of being late for work.
Now
the table was set for two, oolong tea was steeping in the china pot and Constance
had taken extra care with her hair, making sure it wasn’t flat in the back. She
didn’t want to give any hint to Lindsay that she had needed a morning nap.
“Mom,
you look great today. Are you going somewhere? You don’t usually dress up for
me.” Lindsay put the boxes of Chinese food on the table and the smell of
garlic, citrus and ginger filled the room. Constance felt hunger pangs and
tried to remember if she had eaten breakfast that morning. It didn’t matter,
she would make up for it with orange chicken and fried rice.
“No,
just staying around the house. I’ll probably take a walk later in the day.” Constance
felt a nag of conscience. She had been leading Lindsay to believe she was
getting out and walking for exercise on a regular basis, but she had been
worried about the loose dogs in the neighborhood, they seemed more numerous and
aggressive lately. She was also worried about the high school kids getting off
the bus in their odd clothes, their heads constantly bent over cell phones.
They never seemed to carry books, and they looked at her with squinted eyes.
She didn’t know if they might hurt her, but it was best to stay inside where
she was safe.
Lunch had gone
beautifully. Lindsay had laughed at Constance’s clever conversation and she
felt as if she could relax. As Lindsay rinsed the plates, Constance put
leftovers in the refrigerator, “Isn’t this nice? I’ll have leftovers for my
dinner tonight,”
“Mom,
what is this?” Lindsay pulled a blue envelope from the dishwasher. “Why is the
bill from the electric company in your dishwasher?” Constance turned to see Lindsay
rip the envelope open. “This is a disconnect notice. Your power will be turned
off today at five-o-clock.” The stern look on Lindsay’s face softened as she
realized her mother’s embarrassment.
“I
don’t know how it got there.” Constance put a hand to her chest, “I don’t
remember putting it in there. Why would I put it in the dishwasher?” She looked around the room quickly to see if
there were any other items out of place, perhaps a shoe in the fruit bowl, an
egg on the window sill, or a Red Flyer wagon under the table.
Lindsay
led her mother to a chair and poured another cup of tea. She sat down and took
her hand. “I think it’s time we made an appointment with this doctor I heard
about. He specializes in geriatrics.”
Constance
laughed a strained laugh, “Why would I need to see him. I’m not sick.” She rose
and continued putting food away. She hoped the fear she felt didn’t show on her
face. Lately fear had become her constant companion. “Really, Lindsay, I am not
a doddering old woman.” She closed the refrigerator and wiped her hands on a
towel. “Just because you are going to college now, doesn’t mean you know
everything.”
There
was a moment of silence while Constance stood defiantly looking down at
Lindsay, “Mom, I graduated from college fifteen years ago.”
Constance
turned and seemed to deflate against the counter. “I knew that,” she whispered,
“I was just confused for a moment.” She put her hand to her forehead, “Oh,
Lindsay, I’m so afraid.”
Again Constance dreamed
of the house with the boy. His name was Eric. He gently patted her face and she
found herself in a sitting room inside the house. The floor was covered with
brown sculpted carpet, and two of the walls were covered in dark wood paneling.
It felt like home. She lifted her hand to touch the boy’s golden curls and
noticed without alarm that her hand looked young, smooth and well-manicured.
“Mommy, I’m hungry. I want jelly toast.”
She
turned her head as a man of about thirty-five stepped into the room from a
hallway. Just as she had known the boy’s name without being told, she knew this
man was her husband and his name was Mark. He was adjusting his tie and asked
without looking at her, “Do you think I can get by without shaving, Maeve?
Maeve?” He turned, “Not again.” He took her face in his hands, “Maeve, you have
got to stay focused, babe. This . . . this drifting has got to stop.” His eyes
pleaded with hers. With a sigh and a brush of his thumb over her cheekbone, he
turned to the child, “Let’s get some toast, Eric, mom needs to refocus.”
Constance woke from the dream with her hand on her face,
the warmth of Mark’s touch still lingering beneath her fingers. He had called
her Maeve and somehow it seemed right, comfortable. She closed her eyes and
tried to recapture the moment, but it was gone.
Lindsay expertly drove
her car through the daytime traffic while she chatted. Constance knew Lindsay
was filling the space between them with ramblings of her dog’s antics and humorous
work tales in an effort to avoid the uncomfortable results of the morning’s doctor
visit. She found herself noticing every detail of Lindsay’s features. The brown
of her hair was ordinary, but the large natural curls falling gently to her
shoulders gave it a loveliness that couldn’t be ignored. She had been a pudgy
baby and toddler and had turned into a gangly teen and, now at forty, a plump,
but attractive woman. Green eyes, a nose that tipped at the end and a slight
cleft in her chin were contributions from Constance’ own genetic make-up. Constance
had hoped Lindsay would marry and give her grandchildren, but her education and
career had preempted that. Lindsay, as a little girl, had filled Constance’
lonely moments after her husband’s early death, and Constance had devoted
herself to her. They were more than mother and daughter; they were best
friends.
“Mom,
are you okay?” Lindsay glanced sideways, taking her eyes from the road ahead.
Constance
attempted to swallow, but suddenly her throat seemed very dry and yet her eyes
were overflowing with liquid emotion. “I don’t want to forget you.” She could
not imagine not remembering the heavy bundle of sleeping baby, the messy
pre-teen or the college graduate brimming with pride. At that moment it seemed
locked inside of her. Safe. And yet her own mind would become a swirling vortex
allowing memories to drain away like sand through an hour glass. Alzheimer’s, a name almost impossible to
remember. Ironic.
“This room smells funny.”
Constance held her arms close to her body, “Everything feels sticky.” She
looked around the sitting room of the facility with wary eyes. Although the
room was sunny, brightly painted and well furnished, the feeling of institution
permeated the air. Leaning toward Lindsay she whispered, “These people are old
and ill. I don’t fit in here. Take me home.”
“We are out of options, mother.” Lindsay never called her
“mother.” “This is the third and last facility.” Constance watched as Lindsay
struggled with irritation and a look she had not seen before. Was that guilt in
her eyes? “You know I would move in with you if I could take care of you
properly.” She bent and picked up a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that had fallen
from a card table onto the floor. The piece revealed one eye, a nose and a bit
of curly hair; a fragment of person. She placed it amid the jumble. “I have a
job, a new relationship.” She swallowed hard, “I don’t know what else to do.”
Constance straightened herself to her full height, “Have
I ever asked you to take care of me?”
“No, mom.” The reply was whispered, barely audible.
“Have I ever asked you to give up any part of your life
for mine?” Lindsay looked up, eyes filled with torment and slowly shook her
head. Constance turned viewing the room, noting the man slumped in the chair
with tubes forcing oxygen into his nose. She watched a woman slowly shuffling
in her slippers toward the bedrooms, and watched as a caregiver spoke loudly as
she handed out little cups of medication. Her chin dropped momentarily to her
chest and she sighed a shuddering breath. How did this happen? When had she
gotten so old? A sudden realization came to her: she would die in this place. Again
she straightened, and let her arms relax. “I will consider my choices.” She
gave Lindsay a withering look, “Now take me home.” She strode toward the door
taking care to walk tall and without shuffling. Tomorrow she would acquiesce
without struggle, but today she would leave the facility independent and
dignified.
Arrangements had been
made, the house sold and now strangers rummaged through Constance’ personal belongings,
or were they really strangers? “Lindsay, I can’t remember that woman’s name,” Constance
looked around frantically for Lindsay. The panic that always seemed to be just
under the surface threatened to overtake her.
“That’s because you don’t know her, mom. She’s here for
your garage sale.” Lindsay put down her clip board and put her arm around her
mother’s waist. The embrace felt strong and reassuring. For a fleeting moment
she was transported to the house on the sunny street. It was Mark’s arm around
her and he was laughing as they watched Eric ride his tricycle in tight
circles.
“Now that he’s six, Maeve, maybe we should think about a
little brother or sister for him,” Constance turned in his arms and looked into
his blue eyes, she tentatively reached a hand to his rough jaw and warm
happiness filled her chest,
“Yes,” she smiled up at him, “we’ll call her Lindsay,” His
face began to fade and she stiffened at the sensation of falling.
“I’m sure she has her own name, mom,” Constance felt Lindsay’s
kiss on her cheek, and the yard, the boy and the man were gone. The strange
woman smiled and Constance whimpered as she watched her walked away with a
china teapot.
Waves of confusion washed
over Constance’ mind. Who and where was she? Was she Constance or was she
Maeve? She looked down at her hands and saw swollen joints, large blue veins
and brown spots. “Eric? Where’s Eric?” She looked frantically around. “He’s in
the pool alone.”
“Mom,” Lindsay, took her mother’s paper fragile hands in
hers, “It’s me, mom. My name’s Lindsay, remember?”
“I have to get Eric, he’s too small for the deep end.
Help me find my shoes.” Constance tried to stand quickly but found her legs
unwilling to move as she demanded. “He’s so little.” She began to weep, tearless
and frustrated. “I have to go home; Mark will be so angry with me. I’ve lost my
concentration again.” She began searching her through her clothes as if looking
for a missing pocket, “My whistle, I need my whistle.”
“Mom, try to remember,” Lindsay spoke with control,
trying to not to reveal her own frustration, “We sold the house years ago and
there is no Eric or Mark,” A small sob escaped, “Please, try and remember who I
am, just one more time.”
Constance
saw herself reflected upside down in the green depths of her daughter’s eyes
and was comforted momentarily. Recognition dawned in her eyes, “Why, Lindsay, you
know Eric, he’s my baby, you remember that, don’t you?”
“No, mom, I guess I don’t remember.” Lindsay stroked her
mother’s hair and smiled as if she were the parent, “I don’t know where you go,
mom, and I’m so afraid one day soon you won’t find your way back to me.”
Maeve felt the heat of
the sun on her face and realized her back was turned to the pool. “Eric,” she
whispered. She spun around and saw his small body floating face down,
fluorescent blue trunks shining in the burning sun. “Oh, God, Eric!” She ran
toward the edge of the pool, fear gripping her heart. Dropping to her knees,
Maeve reached her hand across the water and frantically pulled Eric toward her.
His face rose above the blue and he sputtered and wiped the water from his
eyes. “How long did I hold my breath, mommy? Did you count to twenty this
time?” Relief replaced panic and Maeve wrapped the small form in a beach towel,
holding him close, feeling the cool dampness of him against her own overheated
body. A memory of a brown curly head tucked under her chin, a small form
shivering and pressing, much like the one she now held surfaced in her mind, “Lindsay,”
she whispered. And then the memory was
gone.
Maeve woke herself with a
frightened cry. She had dreamed she was old. The smell of urine and antiseptic
were so real she found herself on the bathroom floor heaving into the toilet.
The feel of the ties holding her to the hospital bed still chafed and she sat
on the bathroom floor rubbing her wrists and sobbing. In her dream she had
frantically called “Help me! Help me, please!” as she fought against the
restraints. Over her own cries, those of her middle-aged daughter, older than
she was now, still rang in her ears, desperately begging the orderly to untie
her.
“This is criminal,” Lindsay sobbed as she fumbled with
the ties. “Mom, everything is fine, I’m here.” Released at last, Maeve had
wrapped her arms around Lindsay’s neck and inhaled deeply the smell of her perfume.
The strangely familiar scent let Maeve know this woman who held her oddly frail
body and stroked her wild hair was safe.
“Where am I? I don’t know where I am.” She wove her
fingers into Lindsay’s hair, anchoring herself to her. “I don’t belong here.
Take me home. I want to go home.”
Slowly the smell, the chafing and the fear receded and
the dream became a vague shadow. Maeve shivered, “Please, God,” she prayed, “I
never want to have that dream again.” She washed her face, brushed her teeth
and climbed back into bed.
“Everything okay?” Mark murmured sleepily. He pulled her
close and nuzzled her neck.
“Will you love me when I’m old?” Maeve pulled Mark’s hand
to her lips.
“You know it,” he answered, and began to snore softly.
The sound of gentle
rustling woke Constance from a light sleep. She had been dreaming of the boy,
Eric, and the man, Mark, almost constantly. But, it had become more than a
dream. She still felt the man’s touch on her body and smelled his musky scent.
She remembered what story she had read the boy before bed and how she had wiped
a smudge of toothpaste from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. Yet, she
knew when she opened her eyes she would find herself in a room that was not
home, filled with familiar pictures, small pieces of her own furniture and a
bouquet of flowers from Lindsay in celebration of her birthday. She had wakened
there many times, and often she was filled with confusion and fear, but today,
she felt her mind clear and unafraid. Constance stirred and found her joints
stiff from lying in one position too long.
“Miss
Constance, do you remember me this morning?” Constance opened her eyes and
found Ana’s smiling face above her own. She had corn-rowed hair, deep brown
skin and black watchful eyes. Her Columbian accent was a soothing contrast to
the harshness of the bells and whistles that called and reminded her and the
other clients of meals and activities at the convalescent home.
“Yes, I remember you, Ana.” Ana held a straw to Constance’
lips. She sipped the cool water and she felt her tongue release from the sides
of her mouth. “How are your grandchildren?”
“At three in the morning they are all snug in their
beds.” Ana replied, and Constance smiled at the way three became “tree” with a
roll of the r. “And why are you awake at such an hour, bright and cheery?”
“Ana, are you ever torn between your family in Columbia
and your family here? Do you wish you could be in both places at once?” Constance
struggled to find the button that would raise the bed to a sitting position.
Ana patted her hand and placed the padded buttons within her reach. Constance
appreciated the way Ana allowed her to do those things she could do for
herself. “Ah, yes, baby, I do.” She stroked a white curl from Constance’
forehead.
“How
did you choose between here and there?”
“Miss
Constance, sometimes the choice is made for us.” Ana smiled revealing large
white teeth that glowed softly in the semidarkness, “The trick for me was to
know when the struggle was useless and it was time to embrace the adventure of
a new life.” Ana tucked in the blankets at the foot of the bed, “As the wise
old Preacher says, ‘Tis good that you grasp one thing and let go of the other.’”
She offered Constance another sip of water. “In letting go of one, sometimes
God lets you keep both.”
“My
Lindsay, she will miss me.” Constance’ chin trembled, childlike.
“Yes,
she will. But she is strong, like you.” Ana stroked her wispy white hair and
kissed her furrowed forehead. She tilted her head and gazed at Constance’s face
with understanding. “You will be happy there, Miss Constance, I can feel it in
my bones.”
Maeve stood at the
kitchen counter with a slice of bread freshly covered with peanut butter and
jelly. Eric waited impatiently at the table, swinging his plump legs. Mark came
through the back door, Maeve saw him wipe sweat from his face and she knew he had
been mowing the lawn. His eyes rested on her belly and she realized her abdomen
was swollen with life. Slipping behind her he placed his hands on the child
stirring within, kissed Maeve’s neck and asked, “How’s our little Lindsay today?”
