going to the Science Center today," Lena said, grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge. "There's some exhibit about the human body. I need five dollars, remember?"
"Crap. That's right." I got up from the table and rummaged around in my bag for some cash.
"And I need a sack lunch," Lena said, giving me an angelic smile.
"Geez. Well, at least Mom remembered to sign the permission slip," I said, sliding the five bucks onto the table. I took out peanut butter and jelly from the cabinet while Lena dug into her breakfast.
"Holly," Grandpa Aldo said. "
Mangia.
"
"In a minute," I said, slathering wheat bread with filling and slapping the sides together. I found a paper bag and plastic wrap for the sandwich, along with an apple that was a little soft but still good. There weren't any chips or anything, but a granola bar from the back of the cabinet would finish off the lunch. I plunked down into a chair, setting the crumpled bag in front of my sister. "Enjoy."
Lena, who'd been chowing down, peered inside the battered paper sack and then rolled the top down in a sloppy seal. I guessed my effort was going to suffice. She ate a last bite of cereal and then pranced over to the sink with her empty bowl. A second later she was off, zooming down the hall toward our room.
When we were alone, Grandpa Aldo put his hand on my arm. "Last night I saw a boy."
I patted his fingers and then freed my arm. "Okay," I said. I reached for the milk carton, giving it a sniff and a testing shake. We were almost out, and I didn't know if Mom would remember to pick some up at work that night. I dribbled some down onto the flakes in my bowl.
"He was here," continued Aldo.
"So, a boy was here in the apartment?" I took a bite of cereal and studied my grandfather's eyes. They were sincere. He seemed to really believe that he'd seen someone, but I'd heard that Alz-heimer's patients often saw people and things that weren't there. "So, what was this guy doing?" I asked, playing along.
"He talked with me."
I spooned in another bite of breakfast. "You had a conversation?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?" I asked around the mouthful of barely moistened flakes.
"He was surprised to meet me. He said no one ever talks with him."
"How did this guy get into the apartment?"
Grandpa Aldo pressed his lips together. After a few seconds, he said, "I don't know." The frown on his face deepened, and he stared down at his coffee cup.
I felt bad suddenly. "So, this guy just showed up in our apartment and starting chatting away?"
"Yes." Shakily, he lifted the coffee to his mouth. He looked pensive, like he was trying to make sense of whatever he had seen.
I swirled my spoon, stirring up the cereal at the bottom that was mostly grainy dust. Crappy, cheap frosted corn flakes. We really should buy a different kind next time, but it always depended on what was on sale. I pushed the bowl away and held out a piece of toast to Grandpa. He shook his head, so I went ahead and took a bite.
"So—this guy," I said, "is he coming back again?"
My grandpa set down his coffee. "I don't know. He was awfully lonely,
cara mia,
so maybe he will return."
I was struck by how animated Grandpa was—how alert he appeared. Even if he'd been seeing things the night before, he didn't seem to be out of it now. "What did this guy look like?" I asked.
"Very young. Handsome. Sad, sad green eyes. Dark hair."
"That's a pretty good description," I said, giving Grandpa Aldo a smile.
"He was here in front of me, as close as you are now," he replied. "He said he knew you."
The toast clogged my throat. I got up from the table and poured a cup of the cold coffee from the machine on the counter. I washed down the crumbs. "He said that he knew me?"
Grandpa Aldo nodded, his face totally serious.
I sat down at the table again, concern rippling through me. How often did delusions actually talk back to patients like Grandpa? This couldn't be a good sign. "Did he say his name?"
"Roberto ... eh ...
"Crap. That's right." I got up from the table and rummaged around in my bag for some cash.
"And I need a sack lunch," Lena said, giving me an angelic smile.
"Geez. Well, at least Mom remembered to sign the permission slip," I said, sliding the five bucks onto the table. I took out peanut butter and jelly from the cabinet while Lena dug into her breakfast.
"Holly," Grandpa Aldo said. "
Mangia.
"
"In a minute," I said, slathering wheat bread with filling and slapping the sides together. I found a paper bag and plastic wrap for the sandwich, along with an apple that was a little soft but still good. There weren't any chips or anything, but a granola bar from the back of the cabinet would finish off the lunch. I plunked down into a chair, setting the crumpled bag in front of my sister. "Enjoy."
Lena, who'd been chowing down, peered inside the battered paper sack and then rolled the top down in a sloppy seal. I guessed my effort was going to suffice. She ate a last bite of cereal and then pranced over to the sink with her empty bowl. A second later she was off, zooming down the hall toward our room.
When we were alone, Grandpa Aldo put his hand on my arm. "Last night I saw a boy."
I patted his fingers and then freed my arm. "Okay," I said. I reached for the milk carton, giving it a sniff and a testing shake. We were almost out, and I didn't know if Mom would remember to pick some up at work that night. I dribbled some down onto the flakes in my bowl.
"He was here," continued Aldo.
"So, a boy was here in the apartment?" I took a bite of cereal and studied my grandfather's eyes. They were sincere. He seemed to really believe that he'd seen someone, but I'd heard that Alz-heimer's patients often saw people and things that weren't there. "So, what was this guy doing?" I asked, playing along.
"He talked with me."
I spooned in another bite of breakfast. "You had a conversation?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?" I asked around the mouthful of barely moistened flakes.
"He was surprised to meet me. He said no one ever talks with him."
"How did this guy get into the apartment?"
Grandpa Aldo pressed his lips together. After a few seconds, he said, "I don't know." The frown on his face deepened, and he stared down at his coffee cup.
I felt bad suddenly. "So, this guy just showed up in our apartment and starting chatting away?"
"Yes." Shakily, he lifted the coffee to his mouth. He looked pensive, like he was trying to make sense of whatever he had seen.
I swirled my spoon, stirring up the cereal at the bottom that was mostly grainy dust. Crappy, cheap frosted corn flakes. We really should buy a different kind next time, but it always depended on what was on sale. I pushed the bowl away and held out a piece of toast to Grandpa. He shook his head, so I went ahead and took a bite.
"So—this guy," I said, "is he coming back again?"
My grandpa set down his coffee. "I don't know. He was awfully lonely,
cara mia,
so maybe he will return."
I was struck by how animated Grandpa was—how alert he appeared. Even if he'd been seeing things the night before, he didn't seem to be out of it now. "What did this guy look like?" I asked.
"Very young. Handsome. Sad, sad green eyes. Dark hair."
"That's a pretty good description," I said, giving Grandpa Aldo a smile.
"He was here in front of me, as close as you are now," he replied. "He said he knew you."
The toast clogged my throat. I got up from the table and poured a cup of the cold coffee from the machine on the counter. I washed down the crumbs. "He said that he knew me?"
Grandpa Aldo nodded, his face totally serious.
I sat down at the table again, concern rippling through me. How often did delusions actually talk back to patients like Grandpa? This couldn't be a good sign. "Did he say his name?"
"Roberto ... eh ...