My grandma has Alzheimer's, but sometimes I think I see it in me too.

We were sitting there in silence for what felt like hours, grandma and I. Her watching Days of our Lives on TV, me doing a crossword puzzle I’d found crumpled on the floor. I didn’t have a pen to do it, but I’d already mentally solved half of it through sheer force of will alone. <br><br>My mom came in to ask if grandma needed anything, and I almost expected her to respond with my usual dry wit, to tell her that yeah, she needed a younger less wrinkly child, one who didn’t have bed head and a small pickle of a pimple on her cheek. But she didn’t. She just said that she was fine, thanks, and that she’d be happy if she could just be left alone with her soap operas. I watched my mom nod sympathetically, and then she went back to the kitchen.<br><br>I looked back over at grandma, and I thought for a moment that she’d said “you need to go home.”<br><br>“I’m sorry?” I said, turning back to her.<br><br>“I said you need to go home,” she repeated. When I looked at her, I could’ve sworn she was my mom, it was just so weird to see her up and mobile. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was lucid, and she was a different person. I could see a flicker of my mom in there, jumping around in impatience, and just a hint of my aunt, grandma’s younger sister, who had passed away when mom was just a teen. I saw my mom and my aunt in there, and they were stranger than I remembered them.<br><br>“Okay,” I said, even though I knew that visiting hours weren’t over. “Thanks grandma.”<br><br>She nodded, and I walked out.<br><br>My mom caught up to me at the end of the hall, right before I reached the double doors leading out of the building. “What are you doing? You’re not leaving already are you?” she asked.<br><br>“Yeah, grandma asked me to,” I said. “She said she wanted to be alone.”<br><br>My mom narrowed her eyes. “What? No, that’s not right.”<br><br>I shrugged. “She was really clear about it.”<br><br>I think my mom wanted to say something, but I couldn’t tell what it was, because I’d already pushed open the doors. The storm of cold spring air that hit me full force made me blink, and when I opened my eyes again, I was standing in my own kitchen.<br><br>“Hey,” my roommate said, looking over at me from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, and the remains of a breakfast sandwich in a plastic container on the table in front of her. “Hey, did I startle you?”<br><br>“Yeah,” I said, it was such a stupid thing to say, but I didn’t know what else to call the heart thudding in my chest and the overwhelming urge I had to puke. “I wasn’t expecting you.”<br><br>“I thought you knew I was coming up?”<br><br>“You made a mistake, the sublet doesn’t work until the 1st. I’m still here until March.”<br><br>She laughed, and I was starting to feel a little weird. This was her place, her apartment, she’d lived here for five years, I was just subletting for the next six months while I looked for a house in the suburbs. She knew that she’d moved out a week after New Years.<br><br>“Okay,” she said, her voice softening. “That’s...fine. Is it okay if I crash on the couch for the night? I’m not really feeling up to getting on a bus. And visiting my family is not an option. They’ll just think I’m crazy.”<br><br>I shrugged, and waved a hand in the direction of the living room. “Yeah, fine.”<br><br>She nodded, and then she stood up from the table, leaving the remains of her breakfast behind. I watched her go into the living room, feeling confused, because it was such a stupid thing to have to clarify, and I was flustered and I’d made a mistake. She didn’t move out until March, I must have mistaked the date, or made a mistake with the moving truck. I felt like such an idiot.<br><br>I thought back to my mom, and then to my grandma, and I shook my head. My mind wasn’t there, it was at grandma’s house, watching her be lucid again, and then it was in the car as I drove home. I didn’t remember getting up to leave, or the drive home. I didn’t remember going in the door, or walking up to the apartment. I didn’t remember seeing her in the kitchen.<br><br>I sighed, and went over to the sink. It was a mess, because I’d had the same flu that was going around, I remembered that. But I didn’t remember the car ride, or getting up to leave grandma’s, or even my mom.<br><br>I shook my head, and opened up the cabinet to get the dish soap. There was none. I thought back to the last time I’d gone grocery shopping. The week before, I was sure of it. I remembered going down to the store, and buying all sorts of things, including dish soap. But I’d forgotten to bring it home.<br><br>I shrugged, and opened the dishwasher. I’d just run another load of dishes, that way I’d be able to take it out of the bottle in there when I did go to the store. But the dishwasher was full, and I knew I’d already run it twice that week. There was a scent like spoiled milk coming out of it, too. <br><br>I shrugged, it was just one of those things.<br><br>I got to work on the dishes, but my head kept wandering back to my car ride home. I wished I could remember it, but it was gone, just...gone. I got in the car, and then I was in my kitchen. Blacked out. Just gone.<br><br>I scrubbed harder on a particularly stuck on stain. I thought back to my grandma, and how it had felt like my mom was there inside. My grandma didn’t say that, did she? I wished I could remember. <br><br>I scrubbed harder again, and the plate shattered in my hand. It fell into the sink, and I cursed, and I wished I could remember grandma saying that she was my mom, but that was stupid, because I was an adult, and my mom was an adult, and grandma was old, really old. So old. <br><br>I thought back to grandma, and how it had felt like my mom was there inside. I wished I could remember.<br><br>I wished I could remember.<br><br>And then I wished really, really hard, closing my eyes, and scrunching them up, and putting my hands together like I was praying. I wished that my mind was there, in grandma’s living room, watching her be lucid again, and then it was in the car as I drove home. I wished it so hard, and I could feel my eyes stinging from holding them closed so tightly.<br><br>I opened my eyes, and I was...there.<br><br>Right back where I’d been, sitting on that couch, watching grandma watching Days of our Lives.<br><br>“Your mother has left, and you need to go home,” she said, not taking her eyes off the screen. She sounded like my aunt, my mom’s sister, who had died when my mom was twelve. I could hear my aunt in there, and my mom, and I felt a little weird.<br><br>“Okay,” I said, and I stood up. I walked through the doorway, and out into the hall.<br><br>The doors opened with a hiss, and I pushed them open and took a deep breath of the cool spring air. I blinked, and I was in my own kitchen.<br><br>“Hey,” my roommate said, looking over at me from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, and the remains of a breakfast sandwich in a plastic container on the table in front of her. “Hey, did I startle you?”<br><br>“Yeah,” I said. It was just such a stupid thing to say. <br><br>“I thought you knew I was coming up?”<br><br>“You made a mistake, the sublet doesn’t work until the 1st. I’m still here until March.”<br><br>She laughed, and I was starting to feel a little weird. This was her place, her apartment, she’d lived here for five years, I was just subletting for the next six months while I looked for a house in the suburbs. She knew that she’d moved out a week after New Years.<br><br>“Okay,” she said, her voice softening. “That’s...fine. Is it okay if I crash on the couch for the night? I’m not really feeling up to getting on a bus. And visiting my family is not an option. They’ll just think I’m crazy.”<br><br>I shrugged, and waved a hand in the direction of the living room. “Yeah, fine.”<br><br>She nodded, and then she stood up from the table, leaving the remains of her breakfast behind. I watched her go into the living room, feeling confused, because it was just so stupid to have to clarify, and I was flustered and I’d made a mistake. She didn’t move out until March, I must have mistaked the date, or made a mistake with the moving truck. I felt like such an idiot.<br><br>I thought back to my mom, and then to my grandma, and I shook my head. My mind wasn’t there, it was at grandma’s house, watching her be lucid again, and then it was in the car as I drove home. I didn’t remember getting up to leave, or the drive home. I didn’t remember going in the