Further Interpretations of Real-Life Events
“Lena walks alone. She is not drunk. She’s had several glasses of wine, but wine doesn’t seem to affect her lately. Possibly her legs are drunk. Waiting to cross the street after talking to Bern from her support group, she repeats what she said to him and it sounds perfectly sensible, perfectly sober. She said: thank you.
On Boylston, she sees old Mrs. Appleman in a yellow sweatshirt, pulling weeds. She waves Lena over to ask her name, where she lives, what her husband does for a living. Mrs.... Appleman has some type of exquisitely benign dementia. She asks Lena these questions several times a week, amazed anew by each answer. “Your husband’s overseas, you say?”
“He spends winters in South America. Except it’s not winter there, it’s summer.”
“Everything’s so big,” Mrs. Appleman says. “The world, my house.” She kneads her hands together. The backs are chafed and intricately mottled. “Which house are you again?”MoreLess
On Boylston, she sees old Mrs. Appleman in a yellow sweatshirt, pulling weeds. She waves Lena over to ask her name, where she lives, what her husband does for a living. Mrs.... Appleman has some type of exquisitely benign dementia. She asks Lena these questions several times a week, amazed anew by each answer. “Your husband’s overseas, you say?”
“He spends winters in South America. Except it’s not winter there, it’s summer.”
“Everything’s so big,” Mrs. Appleman says. “The world, my house.” She kneads her hands together. The backs are chafed and intricately mottled. “Which house are you again?”MoreLess
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