Re-Membering

It was pouring rain and chilly this afternoon, so I brought Margie take-out cappuccinos, a blueberry muffin, and a surprise.

“My brain’s not so good any more,” she said casually while she sipped her coffee and picked the blueberries out of the muffin and ate them. “I guess that’s because I’m very old. Do you know how old I am?”

Ninety-eight. 

“That’s very old. I love this apartment. It’s so beautiful. But who is paying for it? Am I a burden to my children?”

I explained that she has a wonderful pension after working for many years as a supervisor of social workers in California. At first she didn’t believe me. I said, “In Rehab” and her face relaxed, “Oh yeah, Rehab. And I have a pension from that? And it’s enough to pay for this place? Are we in California?”

No, I said, Oregon.

“Oh good. California is just a shell.”

Meaning?

“It’s su… wait a minute, I’ll get the word. Superficial. That’s it. California is superficial. People in California believe they’re in a movie. But if you work in Rehab, you see under the shell.” We rested in that for a while. “But I don’t remember what I did exactly. I wish I could remember more.”

Slowly I recited the litany of all she does remember: Camp Mikan. Lake Cohasset. Walking with your father on Prospect Avenue in the Bronx. Snubby. Your brother Bernie. 

As I named each of her loves, her body visibly relaxed. She smiled. She clapped her hands. She touched her heart. “Oh of course, of course. Oh my God. Oh yes, my father. Oh, Bernie. I have had so much to love.” 

After a long, appreciative silence, I brought out my surprise: Humans of New York, the book she bought me at Powell’s in August. I gave it to her, and she opened it and was immediately lost in the pictures and stories (Extra).

“Oh, how wonderful! Look at that face! And that avenue. Look what she says here. What a story. Oh, I love New York. I’m from New York, you know.” 

Yes, I said, beaming. I know. Before I left, I put the book by her chair, and I put her reading glasses on the book. I imagine her now, as the rain comes sluicing down and the dark deepens on this Oregon night, in New York again.