Come Back to Me (10 page)

I stood next
to Kyle.  He was sleeping.  Possibly drunk, or stoned—maybe both.  A drop of
drool hung at the edge of his bottom lip.  I sat on the couch near his feet.  He
grunted, rolling himself toward the back of the couch.  He was warm, and when
the cold leather touched the back of my legs, I moved closer to him.

He’d balled
a forest green sweater under his head like a pillow—the cardigan Katie wore to
her MIT interview.  My heart contracted, and I pulled in a shaky stream of
air-conditioned air.  Did the sweater still smell like Katie’s favorite
cologne, the one in a pink glass bottle that was so sweet she might as well
have been dabbing her pulse points with cotton candy?  Probably not, more than
likely her sweater now smelled like damp air, beer, and Doritos.

Katie would’ve
hated that.  She was against sloppy partying, or sloppy anything.  Katie had
always been all about mission control (literally, seeing as she once imagined
working for NASA).  She orchestrated everything down to the smallest detail. 
No hangovers or puking, and definitely no balled up sweaters or rank smells.

I looked
away from Kyle to scan the shadows again.  I thought of the time Katie had
rented half a dozen movies based on Pride and Prejudice because Kyle was
supposed to read it and write a paper.  She was worried about him and his
slipping grades.  Near the end of their relationship, they argued openly about
college and Kyle letting his partying get out of control.  The movies were
Katie’s attempt at getting Kyle to absorb the gist of the story, because she’d
given up hope he’d read it.  So we bombarded Kyle with as many movie versions
as she could find, including one that involved time travel to the 1800's via a
bathroom.  All because Katie said so, and we always did what Katie said.

Until the
one time we didn’t.

I shook my
head at the stupidity of the kiss, then reclined and focused on the screen, a
car chase and an explosion.

Kyle was all
that was left of us.  I scooted closer to him, resting my head on a pillow near
his hip.  I stared at the plaid pattern on his shorts.  His blue polo clashed
with the light greens in the plaid.  Not like it mattered.  He didn’t seem
inclined to go anywhere, holed up in a dungeon of his own making.

Was his grief
anything like mine?  I couldn’t stay in this basement every day like Kyle did. 
I needed to keep moving.  I didn’t even want to stay in Bloom.  It was too intense.

I wanted to
move into my dorm now.  A huge part of me feared that something random would
keep me in a dreary, soul sucking life.  I was so sick of being stuck in places
I didn’t belong.

I knew how
“random” could happen.

Guilt flared
and settled back in my chest but not before it pushed past my heart.  Katie had
plans, too.  Her internship in Cambridge, then M.I.T.  Never in a million years
was this summer on either of our radars.  I knew I was lucky, but for how long?

Liquid
seeped through the neckline of the tank under my suit jacket.  An open beer bottle
had tipped over at Kyle’s side.  I picked it up, holding it for maybe a little
too long, enough to notice the label was missing a corner.  Had Kyle absentmindedly
picked at it?

I moved the
bottle to the floor.  Kyle stretched and opened his eyes, then shifted until we
were face to face.

“Hey, you’re
back,” he said like I’d just gone out to pick up our take-out food.  In an
instant, he erased our months apart.  “Your head doesn’t look any smaller to
me.”

I smiled as
he put a palm on the top of my head, checking for psychiatric shrinkage, and I
felt . . .
missed
.  I liked it.

“So how come
you started the party without me?”

“Huh?”  I
asked.

Kyle pressed
his nose to my neckline, where his beer had spilled on me.  Reflexively, I
tried to scoot back, but his hands moved to either side of my hips.  He moved
forward again, this time pressing his face into my neck.  I just knew he was
smiling, one of his trademark lazy smiles.

“I didn’t
start without, I mean I’m not . . .” It seemed senseless to be explaining myself
to Kyle, or even to be defensive in the first place.  He wasn’t judging me.

Unlike
Katie.  The thought popped into my head, unwanted, and I cringed with shame,
until I remembered to
focus and breathe
, as Emily had said as she stood
below me at the bottom of the rock-climbing wall. 
Stay in the moment,
Whitney
.  But, Kyle . . . and Katie, Katie and Kyle.

It was just
Kyle, and he was now the one bright spot in my patchy memories.  He made me
laugh on graduation night in the Adler’s library, and later, carried me away from
the creek after I passed out.  He understood what it was like to live without
Katie.

He was my
carabineer.

As Kyle’s face
pressed against my neck, I closed my eyes at the thought that this might not be
what
stay in the moment
or even
staking my memory
meant. But when
Kyle shifted and looked up at me, I couldn’t help but smile.  He
missed
me.  Warmth found its way back into my limbs.

Strangely, I
felt a little bit numb, too.  The warmth and the numbness mingled, and suddenly,
all I could think about was that moment on Saturday, in the stifling warm Porta
Potty when I wanted to drink.

* * *

The plastic,
pink jewel tiles wouldn’t sit flush.  I pushed again at the haphazard row on
the toe of my converse sneaker, and the tile slid upward and out of place,
gliding on the glue.

“Shit.”

I sighed and
glanced at the photo on my laptop.  The perfect shoe gleamed on the DIY
website, every shiny square on the toe forming perfectly straight rows.

I slumped in
my chair and dropped my head back.

After I left
Kyle’s I felt . . . different.  Knowing Kyle missed me—that I existed on some
level other than cellular—was a huge sense of relief.  At the same time, it was
a little strange hanging out with him.  He was still quiet, wasted Kyle, only
without Katie.  Kyle didn’t say all that much, and I didn’t get any memory
vibes, but we made plans for me to come back.  I was certain I’d find the
memories if I just spent a little more time with him.

It was good
to have somewhere to go, to find a glimmer of connection again.

I leaned
forward and stared at the shoe.  How was I going to get the toe to match the
photo on the website?  All I could see were those spaces between the tiles.  How
was I supposed to get rid of the gaps?

On Sunday, I
went to the Spring Hill Retirement Home with a container of cookies from my
mother.  When I got up that morning, I found the ginger raisin cookies on the
kitchen counter, with a note.

Please
take these to your grandmother.

With her
six-word note, she rewound time to the days before Gosley.  My mom figured life
was back to normal.

Of course
she did.

I walked
through the sliding doors and said hello to the woman at the front desk as I
signed in.  I headed for the elevators and the locked unit for residents with
Alzheimer’s disease that Spring Hill staff lovingly referred to as The Bridge
to Rediscovery.

Bridge to
Rediscovery, a positive phrase for sure, but every time I heard it, I thought
of not so positive things like the bridge to nowhere or even the book The
Bridge to Terabithia (awesome but sad).  After my first visit with my
grandmother at Spring Hill, I pretty much concluded she wouldn’t be
rediscovering much at all.  Frozen in Time Bridge was a more accurate description. 
I was sure my grandmother wouldn’t even notice that I hadn’t been there in a
month.  I doubted she even knew it was summer.

I took a
left at the end of the corridor, breathing shallowly against the nose-pinching
combo of urine, antiseptic spray, and oddly, toast. Mr. Hopkins sat at the end
of the hallway.  His shock of white hair stood playfully in the middle of his
head like a circular Mohawk, contrasting with the fact that he was slumped in a
chair, snoring.

Today’s
activity must’ve tired him out.  Matching socks (this was an actual activity in
The Bridge to Rediscovery unit that was supposed to help with memory) and
watching Singing in the Rain for the millionth time would’ve put me to sleep,
too.

The sameness
in the air comforted me.  The very thing I used to think was frustrating for my
grandmother and the residents was now the closest to normal I’d felt in
forever.

I stepped
into my grandmother’s room.  There was a lot of pink, or rose—according to my
mom who purchased the matching curtains, rug, and bedspread.  I wasn’t sure if
it exactly suited the grandmother I remembered as a kid, because from what I recalled,
she filled her home with colors, flowers, and interesting knickknacks.  This
was just a little more subdued, like her mind.

I put the
cookie container on her bedside table and glanced at the rest of the room.  A
vase of roses that my mom had sent was in front of the window.  My grandmother
used to have an amazing cutting garden with flowers like roses, petunias, and
sunflowers, so my mom had a standing order for a fresh bouquet for her mother
every week.  I think she also bought her mother an entire new wardrobe that
consisted of pastel suits and dresses.  Oh and pearls.  Because the vision I
had in my head of my grandmother when I was younger included her wearing gauzy
long skirts and flowery tunics.  Now, her conservative attire had her fitting
in with the rest of residents.  They all seemed to be wearing the same bland,
senior citizen uniform.

My
grandmother was in her armchair, with one of her jewelry boxes in front of her
on the ottoman.

“Karen,” she
said, looking up at me. “Where is my turquoise?”

Today, I was
Karen, her daughter, my mother.  Sometimes I was my Aunt Diane, my mom’s older
sister, or Lauren.  It seemed my grandmother’s memory of faces and people did
better the longer someone had been in her memory storage.  Once we paged
through her high school yearbook, and she named every person standing with her
in the picture of the Bookkeeping Club, while at the same time calling me Gina,
the night nurse.  I didn’t mind, except for the rare occasion when she didn’t
recognize me as anyone.  Then she looked at me like I was going to steal her
purse—which she kept close by her at all times, either in her lap or wrapped
around the handles of her walker.  I didn’t like the
nobody
days.

I kissed her
on the cheek, dropped to my knees, and sifted through the case for a moment
before touching the turquoise and white beaded necklace that hung around her
neck.

“Is that
good?”  I asked, as if I’d found the necklace and put it around her neck.  I
learned it was best never to call attention to her mistakes, or lapses.  It
only confused her more, and she would get upset.  Of course, I knew about lost
memories, although for me, it was because I drank them into oblivion.  Still,
we weren’t supposed to let my grandmother realize she was missing pieces,
because it only distressed her more.

“Thank you,
Karen,” she said, running a pink polished fingernail along the beads.

I nodded,
sliding the drawers closed and putting the jewelry box back on her dresser. 
“Do you want to go for a walk today?”

I used to
spend about an hour with my grandmother.  She’d been in the home for almost two
years now.  I brushed her hair, or helped her choose another outfit.  Once she
looked down, fingering the fabric of her taupe jacket as if she had no idea how
it got on her, and it made me wonder if she missed her younger self’s
wardrobe.  Mostly though, she only wanted me to read to her.

My
grandmother shook her head and patted her hair.  It was fluffy, blown out in
the small little salon at the end of the hall.  Once a week, she had her hair
and nails done.  Her hair was always set in big rollers to make white curls
around her soft, lined face.

“Not today. 
I don’t want,” she hesitated, and I kept my face pleasant as her mind struggled
to connect the right words and memories together.  “It was California, always. I
. . . found the train to . . . lunch.”

My
grandmother stopped talking, part of her finished with her thoughts but another
part of her seemed to know something wasn’t right.  She stared at me, and I
nodded smoothing out the almost.

“Would you
like me to read today?”

“Oh yes,
honey, thank you.”

I opened the
drawer under her nightstand and pulled out the book—the same book I always read
to her, the only one she ever wanted me to read.  It had a flowery cover, but I
didn’t know if there was any significance to it.  My mom didn’t seem to think
there was.  Then again, my mom only concerned herself with the now, almost as
if she were happy the way my grandmother was in the home.  Maybe it was just my
mom’s way of not upsetting her mother.  I wasn’t sure.

Anyway, I
never got past the first chapter of the book before my grandmother dozed off,
and she never wanted me to continue where I’d left off.