Family

“Who are you?” Grandma stares at us with furrowed eyebrows Our memories define who we are. They are the things that tie us to meaningful places as well as to the people we have loved. Memories are a part of us. So who are we without them? Who are we with nothing but lost, scattered memories? Who is my grandma? *          *          * The car ride to the retirement home is short. Dad parks the car right up front in between a black jeep and a red pickup truck. He turns to me with a thin smile. “Ready, honey?” I nod and get out of the car and can feel the thick heat bouncing onto my face from the sun. The fresh scent of flowers dances in the air and tickles my nose playfully. With hands clasped together, Dad and I walk up the steps to the large white retirement home. We push open the heavy glass doors, allowing the air conditioning to cool me down from the summer heat outside. I see Patty at the front desk and smile. She looks up happily and waves us over with bright eyes. “How are you today?” she asks from her swivel chair. “We’re doing good,” Dad replies. I grab a mint from the glass jar sitting on top of the desk. “How’s my grandma?” I ask as I unwrap the mint and plop it into my mouth. She gives me a reassuring smile and places a lock of black hair behind her ear. “She is doing well. I’m sure she will be very happy to see you both.” “Thanks, Patty,” Dad says as we begin to walk towards another set of glass doors. We push the doors open and enter a large room. One side of the room is filled with nice leather couches occupied by elders squinting at the television in the corner, and the other has corkboards filling the wall of the different activities occurring this month. Dad and I pass by old people mingling within the retirement home, canes and walkers in hand. We pass by an old woman wearing large glasses with white hair pulled back into a bun. “Hello!” She smiles and waves. I don’t know who this woman is, but I smile and wave back. Dad has always told me that I should do this. He tells me that living in places like this can be sad. Living here can remind you of your limitations. And sometimes the families of those living here don’t even bother to visit—they don’t even say hello. If I ever had to live in a place like this, I would be sad, too. We walk down a red-carpeted hallway with doors on both sides leading into bedrooms. Names are written in a slot next to each door in thick black letters of those who live here. At the end of the hall we stop. The door to Grandma’s room is wide open, and I can feel a humid breeze. Dad walks in first, looking concerned, with me following from behind. Usually Grandma’s door is shut tight when we come to visit. I can see Dad’s shoulders relax in front of me and feel mine do the same. Grandma is sitting in her wooden rocking chair by the corner in front of an open window. I puzzle at this for a moment. Grandma never has her window open, either. But I shake the thought off quickly to put on a smile for her. “Who are you?” Grandma stares at us with furrowed eyebrows. “Hi, Mom.” Dad takes a seat in the other wooden rocking chair next to Grandma. “It’s me, Daniel, your son.” “Oh, Daniel!” Her face lightens up and produces a wrinkled smile. “And this is your granddaughter, Maggie,” he says as he gestures to me. “Hi, Grandma!” I say as I take a seat on her neatly made bed. She puts a delicate hand to her pale cheek. “I didn’t know that I had a grandchild…” My heart aches for a moment as I look at her. Grandma’s faded blue eyes show nothing. There is no sign of recollection at all. “That’s OK, Mom.” Dad takes her hand into his. “Maybe you don’t recognize her. She probably looks different…” Dad frowns suddenly and looks down at Grandma’s hand. “Dad, what’s wrong?” I straighten up and try to read his face. He looks back up at Grandma in panic. “Mom, where’s your ring?” Grandma blinks. “What ring?” “Your wedding ring, Mom,” Dad speaks louder, “the one that your husband gave to you?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.” Dad rummages quickly through her dress pockets, fishing out nothing but tissues. He turns to me with a stern look. “Maggie, go push the employee assistance button,” he says quickly. I nod and run to the bedroom door. Next to it on the right side is a large red button with bold letters underneath it saying Employee Assistance. I push it urgently. And then, after waiting only a second more, I push it again. Suddenly Alex, one of the employees, walks in. “Do you need…” he begins. Dad cuts him off. “Her wedding ring. It’s not on her!” Alex’s eyes grow behind his glasses as he lets his mouth hang open. “I need help finding it!” Alex nods quickly and stumbles into the room. “Yes, of course.” Dad turns to me briefly. “Maggie, sit down next to her, OK?” I rush over to Grandma and take a seat next to her in the wooden rocking chair. We both watch in a blur as they rummage through the drawers and shelves. Dad and Alex go through her bin of dirty clothes and delicately turn over each dress and each pair of pants to make sure the ring couldn’t be hidden inside them. They rip off the sheets of what was once her neatly made bed and even crawl around on the floor, looking under everything. I turn to Grandma and wonder

He needed his own special place Jasper stared out the window of the van and thought. He thought that he would not like his new home. His friends and his father were at his real home, the home he wanted to be his. The home that used to be his. His mother and father got divorced six months ago and his mother wouldn’t let her husband take Jasper. Jasper would rather have gone with his father. His mother could not teach him to fold paper airplanes or throw a football. She could not throw a basketball or sing him his favorite lullaby. She could show him drawing techniques and read to him. Jasper did not like those things. He had shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. Like his father. Jasper stared out the window and looked at the sea. He had everything in common with his father. His father was behind him, like his past. As a matter of fact, his best days were behind him. How would he ever get along with his mother, and how could he do it alone? Jasper looked down at his notebook. A droplet of water splashed onto one of the pages. Jasper knew where it had come from. He wiped his grimy arm across his eyes and listened to the radio. “… and it is one hundred three degrees out, humid,” the reporter said energetically. One hundred three degrees, thought Jasper. No wonder I’m sweating. “Jasper, darling,” his mother whispered, “we’re here.” They stepped out of the car and Jasper looked at his new home. It was a nice place, two stories, and painted sky blue with white shutters. There was a basketball hoop attached to the garage door and a large backyard. The beach was just down the road and there was a dock and an ice cream parlor. Jasper’s mother sent him to the beach while she sorted things out with the moving truck guy. She gave Jasper ten dollars for ice cream. Jasper walked down the road. The beach was deserted. It was too hot. First he went into the ice cream parlor and bought a cone of fudge ripple. He slung his feet over the dock and squinted into the sun. His feet made ripples in the water. Just like my ice cream, thought Jasper. His mind directed back to the move. I’ll have to make new friends, he thought. I’ll have to get along with Mom, he thought. I’ll have to be missing dad, he thought. But he knew he had to get along with Mom, because otherwise his father would be mad at him. Now he was totally confused about how to do that. When he got home, his hands sticky from the ice cream, his mother showed him his room. She bought some wooden letters and spelled JASPER over his bed. His room had a desk and a bed and a closet and a dresser and a bookcase. Like any old room. “It’s nice,” he told his mother politely. Then Jasper excused himself and went to sit in the backyard. What would he do? What he really needed was something to keep him calm, to calm him when he was upset. He needed his own special place, that had a sound that calmed him down. So the next day, he rode around the neighborhood and looked at all the places. The playground, the beach, the ice cream shop… He settled on the dock. He loved to put his feet in the water, the dock was almost always empty, and it had the sound of the sea. One day Jasper and his mother went to the beach and Jasper found a conch shell. He sent it to his father, along with a tag that said, “A gift from your boy, Jasper.” *          *          * But then one evening, Jasper had a big fight with his mother. Naturally, it was about his father. And Jasper was so angry and upset he ran out into the backyard and hugged his knees until the lights went out in his house and the stars came out. Jasper tiptoed back into his room and got ready for bed. He got in bed and closed his eyes. But the pesky burden that was sleep would not come, and Jasper could not stop his brain from squeezing into thoughts about the fight. Then he remembered his special place. He looked at his clock. It read 10:02 p.m. Pretty late, thought Jasper, but not too late. So he walked into the bathroom and put on some shorts and a T-shirt that read, “The Beach Is Cool,” then tiptoed out onto the street. His feet ruffled the water and he lay back on the dock and felt the breeze rustle his hair. For once since he moved, he felt, not exactly happy, but at peace. Not upset. He leaned his head back and thought. Then he took out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote a letter to his dad. *          *          * A week later, Jasper lay on his bed, tinkering with his broken radio until he became bored by trying to fix it. He rolled over on his back and stared at the clock. It read 11:57 a.m. Jasper would have to wait. It wasn’t happening until one o’clock. The letter had worked. Jasper was waiting on the front steps. He leaned his head back and let the breeze rustle his hair. Then secretly, he smiled, something he hadn’t done much since his parents got divorced. Jasper knew his father wouldn’t come exactly on time. He was famous in the family for being late. The times where his mother and father had laughed about that seemed ages ago. So this time, Jasper went into the house around 12:25 p.m. to have lunch. At 12:38 p.m., he came out, licking a purple Popsicle. Then he sat down on the front steps again. Around 1:15 p.m., Jasper was getting anxious. He hoped his father