The Simplest Thing in the World

I woke up to a loud, shrieking sound. I lay bunched up under blankets, and realized I had fallen asleep. My suitcase lay at the foot of the bed still packed tight. I sat up in record time, the screaming startling me. An elderly woman stood just outside my room. She wore a horrid look on her face, one of shock and anger. Her hand gripped tightly on the doorknob.

“Who are you?!” She shrieked. “Who do you think you are? Get out of my baby’s room! Where is he? What have you done with him?!”

My eyes were wide and frightened. Was this Grandma Ruth? The woman stalked off angrily, Hulk-smashing her way down the hall.

“Harold!” She yelled. “Harold, there’s an intruder! They’ve got my baby! They’ve got my little Carter!”

She continued to rant and rave like a crazy person. I felt frozen in place, too frightened to move even an inch. When Harold said grandma would be different, did he mean she’d be a complete lunatic? I thought grandmothers were sweet, kind, old ladies who gave slobbery kisses and knitted socks and didn’t wear bras. I could hear Harold now, his low voice urgent and calming at the same time.

“Now, honey, we’ve talked about this, remember?”

Slowly, I climbed out of the bed and made my way to the door. I crept down the hallway at a snails pace toward their voices. They stood in the middle of the living room, Ruth’s back facing me. Harold’s eyes flickered to me for an instant. Ruth noticed this acknowledgement and turned, “There she is, Harry! Call the police! Where is he!?” She sobbed. “Where is my baby!?”
Harold grabbed her by the shoulders gently.

“We’ve talked about this. Carter doesn’t live here anymore, remember? Our boy is all grown up in America. This is his daughter.” He turned his wife around gingerly, gesturing to me. “This is our granddaughter, Ruth. This is Celia.”



“What is wrong with her?” I asked Harold as we strolled down the sidewalks of London.

“I may not remember her very well, but I’m pretty sure she never accused me of stealing her son. To be honest I had a bit of a Goldilocks and the Three Bears moment.”

He turned left at the corner of a street where I actually saw a double decker bus. For some reason, I always believed those were made up. Don’t ask me why.

“Your grandmother,” he began, “was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a few years back. I had heard of it before, but I never knew how nasty the disease could be until…”

A couple of teenagers dodged through traffic, causing a few shouts and honks to be thrown their way from the cars.

“What exactly does it do?” I asked.

We came to a small café, and the waitress seated us at a small, round table outdoors. Harold gave our order to the young girl before answering.

“Mainly, it affects the memory.”

Obviously, I thought to myself.

“Alzheimer’s tends to make people forget names, events, and sometimes even entire years. They can get aggressive, depressed, or anxious. They have a lot of mood swings.”

I took a sip of water, “Umm…should she be home alone? Should we go back?”

“Nonsense. We have a neighbor, Mrs. Blanchard, and she is very fond of Ruth. Whenever, I need to go out and can’t bring Ruth or she just flat out refuses to go more like it, then Meredith keeps an eye on her. She’ll go over and spend time with Ruth, makes sure she doesn’t burn down the house.”

Across the street, a man stood. I guessed he was in his early twenties. He held a guitar, and its case lay open at his feet. A small crowd circled around him, but very few of them dropped any money down for him.

“Grandpa?”

“Hmm,” he mumbled.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter, “Did you not tell grandma about my dad. I noticed that you told her he was all grown up. You said, ‘Our boy is all grown up. Is. Does she not know? That he’s….”

“No. No, she doesn’t know. I can’t bear to tell her. She barely remembers he isn’t a child anymore, so I though it would be best if she didn’t know. I don’t want to add anymore pain and suffering to her life. I hope you understand, Celia.”

“No, I do. I understand.”

If I had a choice of not having to go through this pain, I would. For a moment, I was jealous of Ruth. She though her son was off making something big of himself in America, living happily with my mom.

“You won’t tell her, will you Celia? Promise me you won’t tell her.”

I nodded, “I won’t tell her. I promise.”

While part of me thought it would be better not knowing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just made a horrible promise. Carter Kay was, after all, her baby.



Harold didn’t take me sightseeing after all, not that it bothered me all that much. I wasn’t in the mood to pose by Parliament or Elizabeth’s big fancy house. I tried to trace our steps back home. If I was going to live here I may as well learn my way around as quick as possible. We passed a large, gray, brick building. I admired it for a few seconds, noticing the gargoyles perched near the roof. Two lions lay sphix-style on either sides of the staircase that led up to the entrance.

“Ah, I wondered if you’d notice the library.” Harold said. “There are several around the city, but this one has always been my favorite, and not just because it’s close to home…which is a plus,” he added awkwardly.

“It’s beautiful,” I told him. “Libraries back home do not look as…grandeur.”

He smiled, “Grandeur, huh? You are a reader. Sometimes I come here, sit in one of the chairs and read. It’s nice, comforting. Of course, I don’t stay long, but that’s hardly the point.” He paused, watching me take all of it in. “Would you like to go inside?”

“No, that’s okay. We should get home.”

“Right,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Home. Let’s go home.”



“Ruth,” Harold said, walking inside the apartment. She sat in one of the reclining chairs, staring at the wall.

“We’re back.”

“I’m hungry,” she said, turning toward us.

Harold went to the kitchen to fix her something to eat. She glared at me. I stood there awkwardly, taking it. The hate was almost palpable.

“Um…I think I’ll just go…to my room now…”

Slowly, I inched my way toward the hall.

Ruth’s eyes narrowed even more, “That. Is. Not. Your. Room.”

“Okay.”

Before I made it to the room, Harold pulled me aside.

“Don’t let her get to you, Celia. She may seem a little mean right now, but she’ll come around. She’s wary of new people.”

“Except, I’m not new,” I said somewhat bitterly. “I’m her granddaughter."

In my…scratch that…in Carter’s room, I started up my laptop and brought up the Google search engine. Several links popped up with my inquiry. Alzheimer facts. Alzheimer support groups. I ran my fingers over the TrackPad, clicking on an article promising to tell me all I’d ever want to know about the disease currently ruining my grandparent’s lives. Harold’s overview had been correct. I had already experienced Ruth’s aggressiveness, distrust, and anxiety. A cheerful ringing noise was emitted from my computer.

“Hey, baby.”

Sean’s face filled my monitor. His eyes looked tired, and his hair stuck up in every direction.

“You look like you just woke up,” I told him.

He ran a hand down his face, “I did, which is surprising because I never wake up this early on weekends.”

“Well, you normally get up around noon, so you woke up right on time here,” I said with a smile.

He grinned back, yawned, and then replied, “So, how is it? It looks like your…well, I don’t really know where you are, but…”

“I’m at my grandparent’s house. This room used to be my dads.”

“Wow, what is that like?”

I could hear Harold clanking pots around in the kitchen while Ruth made angry comments about the “annoying American teenager currently occupying our sons bedroom and eating our food.” For the record I hadn’t touched their food, yet.

“It’s kind of weird, but also comforting at the same time. Harold gave me dad’s old books. I’m planning on reading them all.”

“Harold,” he asked with a yawn. “Who is that?”

“He’s my grandpa.”

Sean pulled off his shirt that I recognized as his pajama shirt and pulled on a fresh one he had picked up off his bed.

“How are they? Do you like them?”

I sighed, mainly to myself, “Um…Harold is really nice. He took me out for lunch and showed me a few things around the city. Ruth…she is sick.”

“What do you mean?” Sean asked.

“She has Alzheimer’s disease…she does not even know who I am. The first time she saw me she yelled, very loudly I might add and threatened to call the cops for kidnapping my dad.”

His eyebrows furrowed, taking in my words and trying to make sense of them, “Oh, Celia. I’m so sorry. Maybe…with time, it will get better.”

“No,” I told him softly. “I was doing some research on it and it gets worse over time. The brain cells…they get fewer, and they connect less and less with each other. I’m pretty sure she will not get better.”

There was a knock at my door before it creaked open and Harold’s head appeared.

“Celia, I…” He glanced at my computer. “Oh, who’s this?”

“Sorry,” I mouthed to Sean.

I turned my body in such a way that allowed Harold to get a full view of Sean.

“Grandpa, this is Sean. He is my boyfriend.”

He walked into the room a little more, smiled, and gave a little wave.

“Well, isn’t this something? This is pretty nifty,” he said, gesturing to the screen. “Hello, Sean! I am Harold Kay, Celia’s grandfather. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.”



Later that night when the darkness fell over the city, I sat by the window and took in the view. It reminded me of New York in a way, not that I had ever been there. The lights of London shone bright and numerous. I could spot the Eye in the distance, a small illuminated circle rotating over the river. I wondered how many times my dad had looked out this very window and saw the same skyline.