Memories

“Hi, grandma, are you awake?”

“Oh, hello dear.”

Her hair cascaded down her back in wild curls, and she turned tired eyes up to look at me.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Sarah, grandma.”

“Oh. I have a granddaughter named Sarah.”

I know.

I tossed my keys onto the table, and kissed the top of her head. The stove top was on, but there wasn’t anything on the hot burner. I thought we had that disabled. She wasn’t supposed to be able to turn it on.

“How are you doing today?”

Her eyes wandered over her knitting needles, which clacked together without any yarn.

“Paul is coming in for breakfast. I should get started.”

She limped over to the stove, and flipped it on, again. She set her shawl onto the stove, and wandered into the living room. I turned off the stove and followed her. All of her plants had been replaced with plastic years ago, but she still watered them several times a day.

Four hours later, she was still waiting for Paul to come in for breakfast.

“I need his box, Sarah. I need his box.”

She mumbled over and over.

“What box?”

Her gaze shifted away from the window.

“His memories. He’ll want his memories when he comes home.”

I sighed and went to the bathroom. She always asked for his memories, but I wasn’t sure what she meant. I fixed my make-up, and curled my hair while I was in there. David and I had another date tonight. I wished I could tell grandma about it, but she wouldn’t remember tomorrow so there really was no point. By the time I made it back out to the kitchen, she’d scrambled some eggs, and set the table.

“Paul will be here soon. Has he called?”

I hated this part. It came every day. It was inevitable.

“Grandma… Paul’s dead. He died fifteen years ago.”

Her shoulders slumped, and slowly nodded her head.

“How?”

Her voice cracked. It always cracked.

“Farming accident. His tractor rolled over.”

She was the one that found him. I wasn’t home that day, so I couldn’t spare her.

“And I already knew that. Why was I making him breakfast?”

Just like every other day, she pushed back from the table, and retreated to her room. I didn’t normally follow her, but today I did. I wanted to know what she did in there every day. She hadn’t shut the door all the way, so I could peek in easily. Old papers were strew across her bed, and she picked up each one and read them. Tears ran down her face as she noticed me in her doorway.

“What are those papers?”

“Hospital records.”

She handed some to me. I didn’t understand what I was reading.

“Those are my hospital records from before Paul died. I went in several times a month back then. I haven’t been to the hospital since he died.”

“Why did you visit so much? Were you sick?”

I was young then. I didn’t remember her being sick, but I could have forgotten.

“He loved me. Really he did. But the farm was struggling, and the pressure got to him. He needed to let off steam.”

“Grandma, did he hurt you?”

Her lips pressed together, and turned white.

“I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just guessing. I hoped the tractor would blow up, and kill him painlessly, but I guess it got the job done anyway.”