Paper on Paper

            by Maggie Bond

 

The first time I saw Cinderella, curled up expectantly in my Princess Jasmine night gown. I watched unimpressed as a pretty, silver haired woman magically made the distressed heroine’s dream come true.

“Psssh, I’ve got one of those.”  I thought. That’s when I began to refer to my Gramma as my Fairy Grandmother, the grown up I could count on to make my every wish come true.

Gramma and I were shopping for my winter coat in the glistening San Mateo Mall. As a seven-year-old tomboy, I was looking for something with an edge. Then I spotted it, what must have been the coolest store in the whole mall, “Grunge”.

“Gramma, we have to go there.” I said, pointing from the escalator.

“Umm… I’m not sure they would have your size…in there.” Male mannequins in beanies and gigantic shorts glanced down disapprovingly at me.

“Pleeeeeease?” After trying on a couple of ankle length jackets, I began to realize this might not be the store for me. My grandmother asked the man if they had an XXS before we gave up. Gramma was always willing to enter my world.

Just when I turned twelve and my grandparents began to seem less like gift machines and more like actual people, my grandmother began her descent into Alzheimer’s. She began speaking less to cover up the fact that she was losing her words, and seemed to laugh at jokes when she thought she was supposed to, not because she understood them.  I would get teary every time I saw her, mourning the loss of a woman I would never really know.

Other family members have told tales of my grandmother’s infamous temper, but I had never seen it. Her scathing words and cruel truths were aimed at her husband, children and children-in-law, but never at her perfect grandchildren. We were golden.

Now I show up at the care facility to find a nurse dragging my grandmother, fuming and defiant, out of the common room.

“Is something wrong?”

“Your grandmother just started a fight with one of the other ladies.” She glares disapprovingly at Gramma.

“Gramma,” I put my hands on my hips, “Have you been getting into cat fights?”

Gramma giggles dangerously. “…Hee hee hee.”

Though she no longer knows who I am, my grandmother’s face lights up when she sees me.

“Gramma!” I wrap her delicate little frame in mine, but she just smiles; she doesn’t remember how to hug.

“You would not believe the day I had.” I tell her stories about my life, I tell her stories about her life. “You know what Grampa did?”

“Beeert?”

“Yes, Bert. When Grampa proposed to you, you were on lover’s lane. He said ‘So… how do you feel about the name Bernice Rifas?’ You looked down all shy ‘Fiiine.’ Then he said ‘I’m glad, because I’m thinking of changing my name to Bernice.’” She beams. Then it’s her turn.

“The paper the paper the paper’s sister and I said paper the paper paper. Paper.”

“I heard about that.”

“Yeah, the paper paper paper her paper the paper.”

Paper is Gramma’s word. It became all objects, then expanded to all nouns, and now for the most part is all words.

“When the paper the paper and the heavy paper then it’s a heavy paper.” Heavy is bad.

“Nooooo, I think it’s a pretty paper.” Pretty is good.

“It is?” She asks weakly, needing assurance.

“Yes. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay.” I am an authority on whether the paper is heavy or pretty.

“You remember that boy I told you about?” I know she doesn’t but she nods enthusiastically.

Gramma gushes in one of her clear, wise moments, “He likes you.”  Gramma and I love discussing boys together. I try to pick topics that fuel the most emotion into my face. Our animated expressions and patterns of speech communicate our feelings like words can’t anymore.

“And then the paper and the paper paper!!” She exclaims cattily. We laugh.

I love talking to my grandmother when something is bothering me. She senses my agitation right away, and puts her hand on mine. “When we go to Chicago the paper the paper the paper’s sister.” Her voice soothing and quiet, I can’t help but be comforted by this act of effortless love.

I brought my boyfriend to visit last summer when my grandmother and grandfather both occupied their huge, ancient house. Oliver’s more than a foot taller than my grandmother and me, and about seventy pounds heavier, just our type. Gramma has always had a thing for flamboyant gestures and over exaggeration. His long eyelashes and goofy awkwardness immediately endeared him to her.  

She put her hand on her chin. “You’re pretty.”

“—Thank you,” he replied stiltedly. I tried not to spit out my juice.

“So, what are your intentions toward my granddaughter?” My grandfather did his best to make Oliver uncomfortable. 

“I plan on getting her pregnant and skipping town.”

Grampa examined him through squinted eyes. “…Are you rich?”

“Yes, actually, I own a series of car dealerships.” I knew Oliver’s automotive vocabulary didn’t stretch much past this, and I squirmed in my seat.

Grampa squinted his eyes at me, “…I like him.”

I was taught to be as polite as I could bear around my grandparents, and tried never to talk back when my grandfather teased me. When I was eight, Grampa released me from these bonds. “You know Maggie,” He said, “I’ve always liked my lemonade sweet and my granddaughters sour.” There are teasers in my family, and those who hate to be teased. He and I fall into the former category, and are always there to laugh at each other’s jokes even when the recipient, or butt, of the joke is not laughing. I don’t know if I had his full respect, however, until Gramma had her fall.

It wasn’t quite a stroke, but it briefly left her unable to walk, and more disoriented and frightened than ever. She was moved back home after spending eight days in the hospital, but she couldn’t do anything for herself and needed personal 24/7 care. I was frightened to visit and see her like that, so helpless. That was when I really learned to control my feelings and face around her. She needed to see people smiling and reassuring, she needed our support and faith.

I watched her napping, a little caterpillar in a cocoon of blankets, her hospital bed striking discord with the bright family room. “She hasn’t smiled yet.” Grampa said quietly.

When she woke she was groggy and starving, having slept till the middle of the afternoon. She was fed in delicate spoonfuls, a scarf tying her waist to a chair. She couldn’t sit up, and would slowly sink down further and further if you didn’t pay attention. She was reminded to swallow. She looked utterly defeated. I mustered up my courage.

“Hey Gramma, I’m happy to see you.” I managed a weak smile at her blank face.

“I can take that.” I said unconfidently to the caregiver, pointing to the spoon. Feeding my grandmother felt unnatural and bizarre, but I lifted a spoonful of mush to her lips and said, “Score! Mashed bananas.”  Rising up from her blue eyes was a hint of a smile.

After a few years of hiring caregivers to be at home with my grandmother, it finally got to the point where she needed to be in a care facility. The first time I went to visit her, I was greeted in the plush lobby by the crooning of a grand piano being played by a displaced Nordstrom pianist in a tux and tails. Elderly men and women lounged on couches in their nightclothes and slippers, chatting haughtily.

Unfortunately this otherworldly place was run by forces of evil. My grandmother was drugged up and emptied of all fire, especially after the catfight incident. We had to get her out of there. There were many obstacles in our way, however. They were trying to telling other possible care facilities how difficult she was; they were putting her on increasingly heavy sedatives. We were afraid if they knew she was moving, they would treat her worse. I’m not exactly sure of the specifics, but basically, we snuck her out.

We got there in the morning, an army of relatives consisting of my grandfather, my parents, my uncle Leonard and me. Tag teaming it, one group stealthily packed up my grandmother’s furniture and photographs while the other group stole her away. We found her napping over her breakfast, no one was helping her eat it. They did wake her up for her morning drugs, though. She barely even recognized us.

Uncle Leonard and Grampa were on either side of her holding her up, and her feet trailed slightly behind. Her expression was cold and stony, bewilderment and fear shined through her clouded eyes. She had no idea she was moving to a new nursing home, she would either have gotten upset, or not understood had we tried to convey this to her. We brought her to an unfamiliar building, and into an unfamiliar room. Every wall hanging, vase, and pillow case that had been in the last room was now neatly arranged in this one, as if we had entered some parallel universe. Gramma spun slowly to the ground in utter confusion. We were all crowded into her new little room, trying to be of some comfort, but failing miserably. She just stared at us, with wide, panicked eyes, asking questions we didn’t know how to answer. Frustrated, her voice rose in exasperation, and spewed molten anger. At Grampa, at Leonard; her words were meaningless, but her unbridled rage was so real.

My grandmother’s head whipped around, towards me. “The paper paper and the  paper and I said where’s the paper!! Where is it!!!”

Over Gramma’s shoulder a woman hobbled down the hall in nothing but a silk head scarf, a yellow raincoat and slipper’s.

Gramma’s eyes seared into mine and she shrieked ferociously “Paper and the paper paper paper and I wanted Chicago and how could you.”

Shocked, I tried to contain myself, “Gramma, I know this is scary-“

“No! I want the paper the paper and you just the paper paper.” Her voice was mocking and cruel, and I shrank away from her.

 One hot tear rushed down my cheek. I left the room, tears would only make it worse for Gramma. My chest burned, and my uncle’s hand on my shoulder released the dam.

“She’s never yelled at me before.”

“Frightening, huh?” I could only nod.

When we went back into the room, my grandmother was still disoriented and irritated. But I didn’t try to help. In this moment she had ceased to be my Fairy Grandmother.

Of course, the next time I saw her I felt a little awkward.  But she didn’t remember what happened, and greeted me with the same zeal as usual, so why should I hold on to it? The thin woman from across the hall walks casually into my grandmother’s room. Her dark red lipstick is smeared across her thin lips, and two scarlet streaks adorn her eyelids, giving her a vaguely evil appearance. I can tell she’s proud of doing it herself.

“I like your lipstick, Mary Louise.”

She looks at me incredulously. “What!!”

“I—um, I like your lipstick.”

“You don’t like my lipstick! And you don’t like me!” This frightening outburst I could handle.

“I do like your lipstick, and I think you’re very nice too.”

She looks sullen. “Well…alright.”

Her attention turns to my grandmother.

“The other day? The what what and I understand and the hall and I said.” She says apologetically.

“The paper the paper I understand the paper paper.” They speak quietly and have an edge to their voices, something dignified and slightly condescending. I gather that there has been some sort of nasty quarrel, and they’re both sorry, though neither feels she’s in the wrong. I stand between them like a referee, making sure their reconciliation doesn’t turn ugly. I’ve seen how ugly it can get.

When it’s time for me to end our visit, I try to distract her with “Philadelphia Story” so I won’t really have to say good bye, thinking it’s better for her or something, but she isn’t fooled. She is somber and accepting, and insists on walking me to the elevator.

“It was nice seeing you, Gramma. I’ll see you soon.”

“Soon?”

“Really, really soon.”

I’m in the elevator now, she stands watching me from where I hugged her. Her eyes stay on mine as the doors softly shut. I’ve left her world for today, but I’ll be back.