Alzheimer’s

I sat for the Louisiana bar last week. In some respects, it was quite possibly the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. The stress drove me to new levels of insanity. I broke out into hives, could barely drive a car. Breathing and walking at the same time is still a challenge.

In others ways, it was just another set of tests. Just another way for the field of law to rape and pillage my feeble and vulnerable mind. My poor mind. My poor mind that can no longer remember where I left the keys, or whether I turned off the coffee pot. My poor mind that forgets to wait for the food at the drive thru window. My poor mind that may have fallen victim to a new sort of insanity–early onset of Alzheimer’s. I know what you’re going to say: “Claire, you’re a hypochondriac! You’re entirely too young for Alzheimer’s Disease!” And, while I wholeheartedly agree with you, I think I have a valid argument for this diagnosis.

Several times a day, the sight, smell, or sound of something conjures up an old memory. A crankity, old movie reel turns on in my head, and I fade into a trance-like state (much like JD’s daydreams, for those of you who watch Scrubs). The memory plays out in my head, in real time, just as if I were still there–in that moment. And then I wake from my trance, moments later, with a room or table full of people staring at me as though I have lost my mind. And I can’t blame them.

Just last night, Bruce and I were at a wedding reception at a museum in Alexandria. It was a beautiful reception. The floral arrangements were very elegant and ladylike, much like the bride. If I could make one complaint about the evening, it would be that it was hotter than David Beckham in there. Nothing, however, could have been done about the heat. It is late July in Louisiana. There isn’t an air conditioner on Earth that could have kept us cool. As Bruce wiped the sweat from his forehead, an eyelash fell to his cheek. Cue the memory reel.

I remember sitting on floor, leaning up against the white cabinets under Shelley’s bay window seat. (See, I know there’s a more articulate way to say this, but the Bar has robbed me of my ability to form sentences…anyway back to the memory). My head was on a green cushion. Shelley was sitting on the floor, opposite me, writing an essay for summer school. She had one of those cool writing boards that you put in your lap. You know, the one with a dry erase board on one side, and a bean bag on the other. The bean bag was made with a little red and white polka dotted fabric, if I remember correctly. I have always wanted one. Between us was a half-empty box of Cheese Nips we’d stolen from the kitchen. Shelley was trying to finish her essay before class.

I desperately wanted to be in school with Shelley. Oh, to have a writing assignment! Shelley was so lucky! I think I was around five years old, and could neither read nor write, but I knew she had the most beautiful manuscript I’d ever seen. Because I couldn’t read what she was writing, I sat there, eating the Cheese Nips, and asking her bothersome questions.

“What does the A with a circle around it mean?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” she responded, annoyed.

“The one on the skateboard. On the wall. Robbie’s skateboard.” I was completely oblivious to her thinning patience.

“It means anarchy.” She grumbled.

“What’s that mean?”

“Look it up.”

I sighed. Such an unfair answer. I couldn’t look it up if I tried. I couldn’t READ. It was so difficult to be 9 years younger than her. I would never catch up. I yearned to know and experience the things she took for granted. To have a boyfriend. To wear real, big girl lipstick–not the Barbie crap that smelled like bug spray. To go to a Prince concert.

I decided to stop asking questions. I knew I was on the brink of being tossed out of her room. I sat quietly, chewing my handful of Cheese Nips slowly, afraid that loud crunching would have me evicted.

Claudia, her gray tabby cat, rubbed up against me. I was allergic to everything about Claudia. Her fur. Her drool. Her mere presence sent me into fits of sneezing. After my series of sneezing and wheezing ended, Shelley looked up from her paper.

“God bless you,” she said. No matter how obnoxious I had been, she was always a gracious big sister. She looked at me, and smiled. “You’ve got an eyelash.”

An eyelash had fallen to my cheek during the sneezing raucous. I loved it when this happened. Shelley would stop, give me her undivided attention, and carefully lift the eyelash from my cheek. Her fingertips were as soft as my mothers, and I would sit as still as I possibly could, hoping that my good behavior would earn another five more minutes in her room. She would hold the eyelash on the center of her index finger, and say, “Make a wish.” I closed my eyes, and made a wish.

Just then, I snapped back into reality. I sat there with Bruce’s eyelash on my index finger, just as Shelley had taught me. “Make a wish,” I said. He obliged, and then blew the eyelash off of my finger.

“What’d you wish for?” I asked.

“Air conditioning,” he kidded. Or maybe he wasn’t kidding.

I sat there, wondering what it was I’d wished for that day. And then I remembered. I had wished that Shelley would let me take the box of Cheese Nips with me before she kicked me out of her room. CHEESE NIPS! I wished for Cheese Nips! Of all the Barbies and Pound Puppy mixtapes in the world I could have wished for, I WISHED FOR CHEESE NIPS.

These insanely isolated flashbacks, definitive proof of my early onset Alzheimer’s, all seem to have a moral. This particular one reminds me of the many things I have to be thankful for–a great big sister, a simple, uncomplicated childhood, and a love for the finer foods in life.

What would I wish for today? Probably to pass the Bar. Maybe for a more stable economy. Maybe for a trip to Europe. What will I ask for tomorrow? In 10 years?

Regardless of how my priorities shift over time, I hope that this memory stays with me until I am a crazy (err…crazier) old lady, mumbling to my grandchildren about Cheese Nips and eyelashes. Maybe these are the memories that my Grandma was mumbling about to me.