inside of his eyelids.
I’m a little girl. I am an honors student. I am going to college. Look at that boy over there in the gymnasium. What’s your name? Joe Keizer? My name is Lynn Wilkinson. It’s nice to meet you. Yes, I’m free this Saturday night. And the Saturday after that. I am looking down at my hands. Oh, my God. The engagement ring is going on my finger. We are holding hands in the church. I am not Lynn Wilkinson anymore. I am Mrs. Joseph Keizer now.
Christopher sat up in bed. He looked into the window and saw a little boy’s reflection. But when he closed his eyes, the reflection was Mrs. Keizer’s home movie.
Joe! Joe! I’m pregnant. It’s a girl! Let’s name her Stephanie after my mother. Okay. Fine. Kathleen after yours. Kathy Keizer, you come here right this minute! Wait until your father sees what you did. Joe, stop it. She’s freezing. Let her come into the kitchen. Fine, then I will! Joe, stop! You’re hurting me. Joe, please. Our baby is a teenager. Our baby is graduating. Our baby is getting married. She won’t be Kathy Keizer anymore. She’ll be Mrs. Bradford Collins. Joe, she’s pregnant! Joe, we have a grandson! Bradford Wesley Collins III! What a regal name. Joe, what’s wrong?! Joe! Joe! Wake up! Joe!
Christopher opened his eyes and saw that nice woman coming out of the bathroom. What was her name again? Mrs. Reese. Yes. That was it. Kate Reese.
“Can you hear me, Christopher?” she asked.
Mrs. Reese turned the pillow to the cool side to make him more comfortable. Christopher closed his eyes, and her concerned face was replaced by Mrs. Keizer’s memories. Flickering like an old movie with each blink of the eye.
No, Brady. Grandpa died. I know. I miss him, too. We had been married for forty…forty…God, how long had it been? Forty something? It’s on the tip of my tongue. God, why can’t I remember? I’m not feeling right. I can’t remember where I put my…my name. What do you mean my name is Lynn Keizer? Since when? I don’t remember getting married. No, you’re wrong. I’m not Mrs. Keizer. My name is…my name is…Lynn…I don’t remember. Who are you? Kathleen who? Who is that little boy with you? He’s not my grandson. I don’t know that kid. Nurse! Someone stole my memories! Someone stole my name! Don’t tell me to calm down! Don’t you know what’s happening? Don’t you understand? Death is coming. Death is here. We’ll die on Christmas Day!
Mrs. Reese brought a straw to his mouth to drink. He tasted ice-cold apple juice. It was the most delicious he’d ever had. He loved it more than even Froot Loops. But old women don’t like Froot Loops. So, he wasn’t an old woman, was he? He was a little boy with little-boy hands.
“That’s it, honey. How are you, Christopher?”
His name was Christopher. That’s right. Mrs. Reese wasn’t a nurse. She was his mother. They were in the hospital together. The doctor was holding a chart. The doctor thought it was a fever, but Christopher knew it wasn’t. He had just had Alzheimer’s for a couple days. That’s all.
“How are you feeling, son?” the doctor asked.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Are you sure, Christopher?” his mother asked.
He wanted to tell his mother the truth. He wanted to tell her that he could still feel Mrs. Keizer’s suffering. Her illness ravaged his joints. He didn’t know if he could walk. Let alone stand. But he couldn’t tell her with the doctor here.
Not the doctor who was scratching his arm.
“Yes, Mom. I’m fine,” Christopher said.
The doctor brought the stethoscope to Christopher’s chest. The cold metal touched his skin, and the itch shot through him. The doctor’s entire medical school education flowed into Christopher’s mind in an instant. The doctor thought it was the temperature of the stethoscope. He shook it and tried again.
I don’t understand this. The boy’s lungs are fine. His heart rate is normal. I’ve run every test, and everything checks out. He has no fever according to the thermometer, but it looks like this kid is…dying.
Christopher forced a smile. They couldn’t know how sick he was. Sick meant drugs, and drugs meant sleep, and sleep meant the hissing lady. But the itch was so powerful that it was going to sweep him out to sea. Christopher had nowhere to put it, so he took a massive breath and brought it deep into his lungs.
“That’s a good deep breath, son,”