by Maya Drexler

"Do not open the windows on Sundays." Though Ava was used to hearing this request, the intensity still startled her.

"I know, Celia." 

"Is it Sunday?"

"No, it's actually Thursday. See the calendar? Thursday, November 14^th, 2009."

"Do not open the windows on Sundays," Celia repeated, but she was not talking to anyone in particular. She stared straight ahead. She did not blink. 

"I know, Celia." 

Ava was exhausted. She felt the heaviness weighing on her eyelids and the tension building in her head.  It was a familiar feeling, one she was used to having around this time of day.  She took a seat on the pleather armchair. It was a stiff chair, but even so, she released a sigh of relief when she sat down. That chair was the most familiar thing in the whole room to Ava. The only thing that could remember her.  It never forgot the shape of her butt or the curve of her back. When she returned to it, it remembered her. But it seemed to be the only thing in that whole room, maybe even that whole hospital, that could remember. 

Ava sat in that chair for what felt like hours. She read to herself, then out loud just to see if anyone would notice. No one did. Surprise, surprise. She completed word puzzles and a book of sudoku that her father had given her as a sort of  "thank you" for taking on the job no one else in the family seemed willing to do. As if a book of number games was enough to make up for what she went through day after day. 

She turned on the black and white TV that sat in front of her grandmother’s bed. You would think that with all the money her family was giving this place they could at least afford a color TV. But, then again, what purpose would it serve if the patients didn't even know what they were watching? 

She flipped through the 12 channels that were available on this joke of a television until she settled on an infomercial about stain remover. 

“Just one splash of Taylor’s-Take-It-Away, and we can promise you a happier day!” The jingle was catchy and reminded her of her childhood.  She and her sisters would sing it whenever they spilled something. Before their mom would see the mess and get mad, they would run to the cabinet, retrieve the handy stain remover and sing the jingle to bring a smile to their mom’s face. This trick was always successful in lightening the mood. 

Replaying the tune in her head triggered another memory. She was in Westchester, New York at her grandparents' house.  She couldn’t have been more than five because she remembered wearing her Barney shirt, something she grew out of when she turned six and hit her chubby phase.  Something had spilled in the kitchen.  Ava and her sisters went into the living room but they could still hear the yelling. Celia, what the hell is wrong with you? Go in there and clean up that damn mess! All you do is stay at home and you’re supposed to be keeping the goddamned house in order! When I come home you make a mess! Clean up the fuckin mess goddamn it! Then there was a crash. She remembered not knowing what was going on, but understanding the words her grandpa was using because he used them often when Grandma made him mad. It was coming back to her in bits and pieces like most memories from her childhood. Why did Grandma always have to make Grandpa mad? Grandpa, don’t worry. Just one splash of Taylor’s-Take-It-Away, and we can promise you a happier day! She remembered trying to console him with the jingle when he came into the living room. She hoped singing it would have the same effect on him as it did on her mother. He smiled and swooped Ava onto his lap. Thank you, baby. You always know how to make Grandpa feel better. 

Ava sighed. She missed her grandpa. She looked over at her grandmother sitting on the bed, staring at nothing. She felt a pang of resentment towards her grandmother at that moment  for causing Grandpa to stress thanks to her inability to be a competent wife. Even though she didn't directly cause his heart attack, secretly the whole family blamed her for it given that she was always giving him reason to yell. Ava and Celia had never gotten along. Unfortunately, the rest of the family felt the same.  Because she was the only grandchild out of school and without a job, she became the one responsible for nursing her grandmother and her advancing Alzheimer’s. 

The nurse knocked on the door but entered without asking. She wore a cheery smile that looked about as fake as the bowl of shiny plastic fruit sitting on the table in the middle of the room. 

“Hellooo, ladies,” she spoke with an overly enthusiastic tone that seemed unfit for the dull environment of the room. “Celia, my dear! How are you this morning?”

Celia looked straight ahead as if she was being summoned by some powerful being that resided just within her field of view. The nurse paused for a long moment looking at Celia and hoping to get some kind of response out of her. She gave Ava a sympathetic look. She was growing accustomed to receiving those from most of the on call nurses. Whatever, she thought. I’m totally fine, can’t they tell? I’m here completely out of obligation. 

It had been a year since Celia was admitted and her Alzheimer’s was rapidly progressing. At first it was her short-term memory that went. She was unable to remember her previous meal or where she was coming from. Then it grew more serious when she was unable to remember faces. As far as Ava was from having any emotional ties to her grandmother, it still felt odd knowing Celia didn’t even remember her name or that she was her granddaughter. Ava knew they never got along, but come on; she couldn’t even remember her name? What the hell was that?  Maybe this is some sort of karma for never liking her. Ava thought this to herself as she heard her grandmother mumbling something. It had been a few hours since she made her frequent request to not open the windows, so Ava thought her mumbling was just a repeat performance. 

“Angie…Angie I just don’t know anymore,” Celia was whimpering and seemed to be calling for someone Ava didn't know. There were no nurses named Angie that Ava was aware of so she was confused, especially since it had been weeks since she heard Celia speak anyone’s name. Ava walked over to her grandma’s chair. 

“Grandma, it’s not Angie its Ava, who’s Angie?”  

“Angie I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave the kids. And he won’t let me leave even if I could take the kids. Oh, Angie, please tell me what to do,” She grabbed Ava’s hand. Ava was startled. 

"Grandma, stop...it's me, it's Ava, " She traced her mind for any memory of someone named Angie.  No cousins, aunts, in-laws, no one. 

Ava dropped her grandmother's hand and backed away from her. As much as Ava complained about having to take care of  her grandmother, it had been relatively easy until now. She much preferred the boredom of the task over this bizarre behavior. Ava was growing irritated and felt uncomfortable. She  left the room and notified a nurse she would not be returning for the day. 

The next morning as Ava walked into her grandmother's room she was relieved to find her asleep. She sat there next to Celia for over an hour wondering what she dreamt about. What were dreams like with out memories?  Ava looked away for a moment to check the time and was surprised to hear Celia's voice. 

"Angie, it's so good to see you again," she said in a warm voice. 

"Grandma, I am not Angie. Do you hear me? Do you understand? AVA! I am AVA!" Ava's irritation was growing and so was her impatience. Celia closed her eyes and was shaking her head over and over. A nurse rushed into the room to see what the noise was about. As she entered Ava stormed out. 

A few minutes later the nurse came outside in hopes of calming Ava down. She kept going on and on about how hard it can be to take care of a relative with Alzheimer and handed her brochures for various support groups offered in the area. 

"The one over in Glendale is supposed to the best, and I hear they always have refreshments," she tried her best to make it sound appealing. "And apparently the guy working at the front desk is very cute which is always  a --"

"Do you know someone named Angie? A nurse here maybe? Janitor?"  Ava interrupted the nurse who was taken aback by Ava's  rudeness. 

"Umm, no there are no  Angies that work here...I've been here six years and not one Angie...there was an Annabelle, do you mean Annabelle?" 

"No not Annabelle, Angie. Never mind," Ava's annoyance was very clear as she started walking back inside. 

"Is there some kind of problem I can help you with, Ma'am?"

"Nothing, my grandma just keeps calling me Angie and talking nonsense and it's driving me crazy and I don't know who this Angie person even is or what the hell she's talking about," Ava stopped once she realized everyone in the lobby was looking at her. She brought her voice down a few octaves. 

"Well actually Ms. Coats, this is not uncommon for Alzheimer patients. When a patient is in the stage that your grandmother is in, their minds often travel back to another time in their life and they can only live in that time, in those moments. They aren't here with us. They're in there own time and place and there isn't anything that can be done about it," the nurse gave Ava another one of those familiar sympathetic I'm-so-sorry- looks that drove her crazy. 

"Well, what should I do just let her talk?"

"Yes, that would be good. But what would be better is if you played the role she gives you. Interact with her, pretend to be living in her world. That will cause the least irritation to her." 

Ava took a deep breath. This was way more than she signed up for. 

"So I have to pretend to be Angie? Thats what you're saying?"

"Yes, if that's who she thinks you are, you are Angie for the few hours you are here," the nurse gave Ava's hand a squeeze and escorted her back to Celia's room. 

"Angie you're back, good, your tea's getting cold," Celia's hands were shaking as she grasped a tea cup to hand to Ava.

"Oh...I guess it is," Ava reached for the tea cup and looked over to see the nurse smiling then turning to leave.

"Angie look: I really need your help this time. I know I talk about Hank's temper and maybe in times past I could have prevented it by cleaning better or making the steak just how he wanted, but this time I really...I swear I don't know what I did to trigger it and I just I don't know what to do I am so scared, Angie, I'm just scared," Celia kept shaking her head and she began to cry. Ava didn't know what to do. She was talking about her grandpa. She knew grandpa had a temper but she never knew it scared Celia, she always thought her grandma made him mad on purpose. This wasn't right, Ava didn't want to hear this but as she tried to get up from her chair Celia grabbed her arm. 

"It's gotten very bad, Angie. Very bad." Celia got up from her chair and lifted the back of her shirt up. 

"Grandma what are you doing, come sit back--" but Ava fell silent when she saw what her grandma had to reveal on her back. Half of her back was covered in third degree burns. Her skin was discolored and slightly deformed. Ava cringed and felt her eyes brim with tears. She was afraid to ask where the burns were from. She didn't want to think that he caused them... he could never do that...

"I guess I didn't clean the kitchen well enough for him. He likes everything very clean and very neat, you know? And no dishes in the sink or  anything like that. I had tried as best as I could. I always try to clean them, but Claire was sick so I had to run to the store to get a thermometer and when I got home I didn't have time to finish before he got home from work. When he got home and poured himself a glass of scotch, he saw the dishes in the sink. I was already working on dinner because I knew if he came home and dinner wasn't ready that would set him off too. I had some water boiling on the stove for spaghetti. His favorite is spaghetti. And then he saw the dishes. And then he started yelling. The kids were in the back yard so he had no reason to calm down. He rarely shows his temper in front of the kids. They love him so much, they would never believe he was capable of doing what he does.

"But he got louder and louder. Then he grabbed me. I was apologizing and crying but he didn't see that. All he saw were the dishes. And then that's when he pushed me. He pushed me with such a force that I could feel my body breaking air as I slammed into the stove. I hit it so hard that the pot of boiling water spilled all over my back. It was pain I have never felt, Angie. And it wasn't just the burn of the water scorching my skin. It was knowing my husband was capable of this and that I have no way of stopping it. Thats a whole other kind of pain, Angie. A whole other kind of pain." 

Ava had no words. She had no thoughts. Just tears. She wept silently and then grabbed her grandmother's hand. 

"I'm so sorry Celia, I had no idea."

This was not the last story Ava heard her grandmother tell. She heard numerous accounts of incidents similar to the one causing the scar on her back and each one was equally surprising and disturbing as the one before it. And each one caused Ava to weep, heavy, deep sobs of guilt and sorrow. She rarely asked questions. Just let the stories pour out. However one day she felt the need to clarify something.

"Celia, do the kids know? I mean, do they have any idea what their father is doing to you? It seems like they always blame you for everything when you are really trying your best." 

Celia smiled. "Those children don't need to know. They love their father. And he loves them. He is a great father.  A horrible husband, but being a father is really what he does best. And I would never want to change that. If I need to be the bad guy in their eyes, so be it. I do love those children even though we don't get along at all times, and I don't want them to know what their loving father is capable of. Spare them that pain."

Ava was speechless.  She felt so much guilt it was overwhelming. She was raised to feel angry at her grandmother. It was all she new how to feel towards her. She was always making grandpa mad, she was always causing him stress which hurt his heart which caused him to have a heart attack which caused him to die. That was how she was taught to see it. That is how her mother and aunts and uncles always made it seem. But there was so much that was unspoken that was now coming to the surface. 

"That is why I never open the windows on Sundays," Celia said softly. 

"What did you just say?" Ava was surprised to hear her grandma saying this. It had been weeks since she heard her talk about the windows.

"On Sundays, Hank would take the kids to baseball games down at the park. It was the only time during the week when I was given some time alone.  It was time when I let myself cry, scream, yell. Just relieve myself of some of the pain I was dealing with. But I was always so afraid the kids would come home early or a neighbor would hear my crazy screaming. So I never opened the windows on Sundays to make sure no one heard me. It became a ritual. The only thing I did for myself."

..................................................................................................................................

Two weeks later Celia passed away.  The funeral took place the following Sunday. It was a lovely service and afterwards family and friends went back to Celia and Hank's old house for the reception. 

Noticing Ava's tears, her mother walked over to her. "Ava, sweetie, I didn't know you got so close to grandma. I always got the impression you guys didn't get along, like the rest of us--" she paused mid-sentence to fan herself, it was getting extremely stuffy in the room. "Gosh it's so hot hold on, I'm just gonna open this window," Ava's mom reached for the window latch. 

"No! Mom, don't...it's Sunday...don't open the windows on Sundays," Ava smiled slightly as the tears poured down her cheeks. "Please, don't open the windows on Sundays."