The nurse knocked on the door of Room 125 at Sunny Hills Care Center and peaked into a very plain room that contained a rocking chair, a dresser with two picture frames on it, and a bed with a very old, plain woman slowly knitting an unrecognizable blob of yarn.

“Otillia, you have visitors.”

Tillie didn’t raise her head from the blob she was knitting. “Tillie,” she said quietly.

“What was that, dear?”

“My name is Tillie,” she said in a slow, thick voice.

“That’s right, Tillie. Why don’t you show your family that pretty scarf you are making?”

“It’s a sweater,” she snapped.

“Hi Grandma!”

Tillie snapped her head up; yanking her needles out of the row she was working on. That voice sounded familiar. Two children, a boy and a girl, maybe around ten years old, approached her bed. The girl was a little older and her face was partially hidden by strait brown hair. The boy was shorter with a face that had not quite lost all his baby fat. Tillie knew she should be able to recognize them, especially if one would call her grandma. That must mean she had had a child at some point. And that child had children. Through the foggy mist in her memory she saw a little blond haired girl running naked around the house, towel trailing behind and dripping wet. “Julie! Come here, you’ll catch cold.” Her voice was scratchy and worn from years of use. It didn’t sound right, like listening to a recording of your own voice and wondering if you really sound like that.

“I’m right here, Mom.”

There middle aged woman standing at the end of her bed. Her deep brown eyes were watery with concern. She remembered her eyes; they have never changed. But she could not understand why her hair had become brunette laced with red streaks. That color did not belong to that face. 

“Julie?” 

“How are you feeling?”

Feeling? Her hands were sweaty and she did not know who these children were hovering over her bed. Her tooth was sore, she didn’t know why; maybe she cracked it on something. What does she mean, feeling?

“Mom?” 

Tillie could only stare at this woman. Her mouth was held lank, her tongue trying to remember how to make a word. “Pppeeeehhh” Why wasn’t it working? What did she want to say anyway? “What, can you say it again?”

Say what? She didn’t say anything. Nothing would come out. Why were these people bothering her?

“Go away.” Tillie knew how to say that, she said it often enough during the day. Those two simple words, affected this woman differently than the nurses in their simple blue scrubs. Her daughter, yes, she could see it now. Her eyes, it must be her daughter. 

“Mom, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Her eyes closed briefly and two tiny rivulets of tears fell down her face. Black mascara leaving trails for more tears to follow. Tillie was alarmed by her daughter’s distress. What had made Julie so sad?

“Julie? Do you need something?”

Relief fell around her daughter at the mention of her name, her recognition. 

“No, Mom, I’m very happy. Don’t worry about my need. I’m going to speak to one of the nurses. I’ll be right back. Kids, why don’t you show Grandma your surprise?”

Tillie’s gaze followed her daughter as she left her small room out into the hallway. She caught the words “better” and “dementia” before the door closed. She turned her attention to the wide-eyed children shuffling their feet before her bed. If she believed what her daughter had said, these kids must be her grandchildren. She tried to remember them but only recalled the smell of the pine needles from an unseen Christmas tree. Christmas with snow. Wrapping paper crinkling as it was stepped on, being tossed aside after hiding treasures. 

Tillie looked out the window at the red and gold leaves outside. Leaves crinkling like wrapping paper. Could it have been that long? Did her daughter abandon her to this world of medicine and sterile bed pans? She had to look away from those faces. She glanced down at the sweater she was working on. Her hands began the familiar patterns of purls and knits.

The girl—Charlotte, yes, her name is Charlotte—fingered the sleeve she had begun to work on. “This looks real pretty.” Tillie snatched it away and tucked it under her pillow.

“It’s not done yet,” she mumbled.

“Daniel,” The younger boy jumped at Charlotte’s voice. “Why don’t you show Grandma the picture you found?”

Tillie studied the youth’s face. His plump lips filled by the baby fat still weaning from his cheeks. His crystal blue eyes were slightly hidden from his straw blond hair that needed to be cut badly. She remembered this face more than the girl’s.

It was the face she sneaked peeks at during class. The hands that held her tight as they walked home from school. The wild flowers he picked for her. The boy held out a small flat package wrapped in paper.

“Thank you, Clarence.”

“But my name—”

“Shhhh, just let her go, Daniel.”

“But—ow! Why’d ya step on my foot?”

Tillie tried to listen to their conversation but they didn’t seem to want her to hear. She fingered the colorful paper and tried to tear it but her fingers wouldn’t grab the creases. She studied the words written in the circles. No they weren’t circles, they were longer and they had lines coming out.

“Baaaaloon?”

“It says ‘Happy Birthday,’ Grandma. Sorry, we didn’t have any other kind of paper besides Christmas stuff.” Christmas with wrapping paper crinkling. Children’s laughter. There are children and there are presents. Why is there no laughter?

“Can she open it?”

Who said that? Where did these kids come from? Tillie chewed on her lip as if she was sucking on a lemon. Her finger scratched at the paper again. The boy looked at her the way Tillie would look at a tomato with fuzz growing on it.

“Here, let me help,” said the girl, reaching for the balloons. A large rip appeared on her present. Why couldn’t she do that? She picked at the torn edge; the rest came off surprisingly easy. It was a piece of cardboard? Why would she need cardboard? But it was still nice to get a present.

“Thank you, Clarence. It’s pretty.”

“No, Grandma, like this.” The girl flipped the cardboard over. It looked much more like a picture frame this way. Why couldn’t she figure that out? She looked down at the aged black and white photo in the black plastic frame. A younger version of herself looked back at her. The woman was much thinner and wearing a white swimsuit with USA printed across the front and a medal fell across her small breasts. Her hair was hidden in a white cap with the American flag on it. Water dripped from her face and her upheld arms.

“Me and Mom found it in an old photo album. She thought it would be a good idea to give it to you.” The boy’s smile faded as his grandmother continued to stare blankly at the photo. “UmDo ya like it?”

Tillie didn’t answer, didn’t hear the question. Her blue-veined fingers stroked the glass as her eyes studied the woman’s face. It held strength, power, and achievement. Her face no longer knew such things. She wanted her life to be the one in the picture. The woman in the picture smiled back at Tillie. When was she ever so happy? Could she feel that blissful even now, with two strangers staring at her and a knitting needle poking her in the side? She stared even longer at the photo, trying to remember what made her so happy. What was had she done that was so important? Who would give her that pretty medal? Images filtered through her memory like morning fog burning off a lake. She saw a crowd. They were waiting for her. Waiting for what? Why was she so high up? Looking down over everyone, like some kind of god. Flags of every color blurred their tiny faces. They were waiting for her. But she couldn’t do anything until she saw Clarence. Saw his face, his sandy hair, his blue eyes she could spot ten miles away. Why couldn’t she find him now? She had to move, she had to do something. “Clarence,” she said softly.

“Grandma? Are you ok?” That girl was shaking her shoulder, touching her. “Should I get a nurse?”

“Who are you?”

“Your granddaughter, Charlotte. And this is Daniel, remember.” She said this matter-of-factly, like rehearsing a spelling bee.

“NoClarence. I want”

“Grandpa died a long time ago. Please remember.”

That girl actually said “please.” He’s right in front of her, why can’t he see that? The crowd...so high Clarence the picture Why couldn’t she remember? Her eyes screwed shut, shutting out the room, the sterile smells, the hum of machine. All she wanted was to remember, to know.

Something ripped inside her and she couldn’t stand it anymore. She started screaming, yelling, anything to get that torn feeling away from her. She thrashed her arms and the picture frame crashed against the wall. She dimly heard the tinkling of glass.

“Mom! What happened, what’s wrong?”

“Where’s Clarence? He was right here! Right next to me! Talking to me.” Tillie looked around the small room; her eyes were wild and scared. Her small chest was heaving up and down and her arms shook as the nurse tried to restrain her. She saw two children scrunched into the corner of the room, attempting to be as small as possible. She vaguely thought that she had seen them before. Why was she here and why was that nurse gripping her arms so hard?

“Mom, listen to me!” Another woman pushed the nurse out of the way. She liked her, she had nice eyes. Her arms stopped struggling but her hands were still bunched into clammy fists.

“Mom, Dad died six years ago. Do you understand me?” The woman pronounced each word slowly as if each were a ball she was tossing to a child, hoping she would be able to understand. “Why do you think Dad was here?” Hoping she would grasp them with chubby little arms.

Before Tillie could answer the girl in the corner piped up. “I think it was Daniel, Mom. Grandma kept calling him Clarence.” The girl’s nose quivered and her eyes began to water. “What’s wrong with Grandma?”

Tillie wondered where this “grandma” was. She couldn’t possibly be talking about her? Could she? She had a child once, a blond haired curly girl who loved to laugh in a high pitched squeal. Where was that child?

“Charlotte, its ok,” the woman said. “Here, give me a hug.” She crossed the room and held the child tight. Did her arms hurt too? That’s when she saw it, right when the woman bent down on her knees and dried the girl’s tears. Light from the window reflected off the back of her head. It glittered gold, gold like the tangles Tillie used to comb out of her daughter’s hair.

“Julie?”

Tillie watched as Julie’s shoulder’s sagged and might have even heard a “thank you.” The boy shuffled over to some shattered glass by the window and began to pick it up. How did that glass get there? Did the window break? “Daniel,” Julie snapped, “don’t touch that. You’ll cut yourself.” She paused, took a deep breath, starting over in a much calmer voice she said, “how about you two wait out in the lobby. Maybe you can ask the lady at the reception desk to turn on some cartoons for you.” What are those kids doing in here?

The boy sulked, “I was just trying to help.” He looked like he needed to cry but Tillie felt this boy was too proud, like all young boys.

“I know.” Julie said letting out another sigh and shooing the two out of the room, “I’ll be out in a little bit.”

After the children left the room, Julie walked over and bent over Tillie again who was still trying to figure out how her daughter had grown so old without her realizing it. “Does she throw things a lot?” she asked the wall. 

Immediately a nurse appeared beside Julie. Tillie didn’t think it made much sense that the nurse was in the room the whole time but she never did see her come in. “Sometimes.” said the nurse, “its part of the frustration Mrs. Hawkes feels when she can’t connect with what is going on. She’s just venting her anger,” she finished lamely.

“Mom,” Julie leaned over and looked into her eyes. Tillie looked back at the black smudges under her watery eyes. “How do you feel?”

There was that word again: feel. She was tired of that word. What did that word mean? Why did they keep asking her that? Tillie sucked on her lip. Her daughter-that-was-not-her-daughter was looking into her eyes again, like she could find all the answers in her pupils. She watched her brown and red hair swish in front of her face, moving forward and backward with each breath Julie took. She remembered those golden curls hanging wet around her face as she pulled her from the bathtub long after her fingers had grown pruney. She remembered putting a towel around her tiny body and rubbing her vigorously. Her daughter shrieked and ran off giggling.

“Julie, why are you running away?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Mom. I’m right here.”

Her blank gaze was snapped away from the memory she saw better than the woman in front of her. Who was she? Why was she here? “No, Julie left me, I have to find her.”

“Mom, I’m Julie. Please just look.”

Tillie did look, she studied the smooth curves of her cheeks, the crow’s feet just beginning to form around her eyes. This was not her child. But her eyes, they were the same pools of deep brown that mimicked the photograph. They held the same concentration she had before each dive. When she would fly through the air, twisting and bending.

until just before she hit the water. Oh, how the water felt after each dive. It was a miracle that never changed. She could always depend on that water wrapping around her body and caressing her in every move. Oh to feel that again. Feel. That was how she felt.

“Water.”

“You want some water, Mom? Here, let me pour you some.” Julie—yes, it was her daughter, she grew up—reached for the pitcher next to her bed and filled a cup with water. She gently grasped Tillie’s hand and guided the fingers so they could hold onto the rings of the plastic cup. Tillie smiled and stuck two fingers into the water and wiggled it around. It wasn’t the same but it was a start.

“Aren’t you thirsty?”

No, why would she be thirsty? She stared at Julie but could not form the words to tell her. She wiggled her fingers viciously until water splashed onto her shirt. Julie tried to take the cup away but Tillie wasn’t ready to let go yet. The two wrestled silently over the cup. The nurse was busy picking up pieces of glass on the floor. Where did that mess come from? Tillie let go of the cup unexpectedly and Julie’s arm snapped back, the water splashed right into the nurse’s face. The nurse gasped at the shock and shook her head, dripping droplets onto the picture in her hand. Tillie laughed, the nurse loved the water too! Julie looked at her and began to giggle along with her until they were both howling with laughter. Tillie could see the tension drop from her shoulders.

“Well, you, um, just let me know when you’re leaving,” the nurse stammered, dropping the picture on the dresser and attempted to walk with some dignity out of the room. 

“Mom, you really need to learn to control yourself,” Julie said still laughing. 

Tillie had stopped laughing when she noticed something on her dresser. “What did” she tried to continue but she couldn’t find the right words. “Picthingy.” She pointed futilely at the object on the dresser. Julie went over and picked up the photo and sat down on the bed next to her mother. The photo still had a few water droplets on it and there was a big scratch down the middle from the glass.

Tillie took the picture from Julie, holding it as if it would shatter like the glass frame. She loved that picture even though she never saw it before. Or had she? She could never be sure of anything.

“Remember when this picture was taken, Mom?” her daughter asked. “Dad used to tell this story so often when I was little. Maybe I should tell it to you.” She snuggled closer on the bed, let out a sharp gasp and removed the sweater and knitting needles from under the pillow. “Mom, you can’t leave these under things, you’ll get hurt.” She set them on the nightstand and scooted down the bed farther. “You remember this picture?” Tillie didn’t say anything, didn’t shake her head, didn’t make any gesture that she had heard her. But she did.

“It was way back in 1948, right before you and Dad got married.” Julie began. Tillie felt like she was child being read a bedtime story but she didn’t feel like complaining, she still wanted to know. Why couldn’t she remember? “You guys traveled all the way to London. It was the first Olympic Games after World War II and the whole world was excited to see everyone compete. You traveled with the rest of the U.S. swim team, Dad tried to get on the same ship as you but it was all booked up. Dad always said that was the worst trip he ever took waiting for you. When you two finally met up, he wouldn’t leave your side, even got chased out of the hotel twice by security. Remember that, Mom?” Tillie chuckled. She didn’t remember that happening but she remembered Clarence and that was definitely something he would do.

“The day you competed Grandpa said you were so nervous. He told you over and over that he would be in the stands and would be right up on that platform with you in heart. Dad always told me that when you climbed up there, you looked all over the stadium until you both saw each other eye to eye before you would even get in your diving stance. And every time he told this story he said your dive was perfect. Always used the word ‘perfect.’” Julie said this word with a hard “p” sound, like the cooking guys on TV. Tillie scrunched her eyes trying to remember. Tried to remember the face in the crowd, the one that she always knew. But oh, how good the wind would always feel as she twisted in the air. The first crash into the water was always the best.

It wasn’t really a crash but the shock from air to water was always harsh and incredible.