Like Crazy by Dan Mathews

Author:Dan Mathews
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2020-08-11T00:00:00+00:00

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After Asia’s birthday bash, Jack and I arrived home to find Perry having a surprising family moment of her own. She had decided not to join us for the party as she worried it would be impossible for her to read people’s lips or distinguish voices in such a large group. However, she had no problem distinguishing the voice on the phone—whoever it was—as she gabbed away in the kitchen. Walking through the front door, Jack and I were intrigued by the animated conversation, so we quietly eavesdropped from the foyer.

“When is the last time she even heard well enough to carry on a phone conversation?” Jack whispered.

“I don’t know, years. Maybe she ordered a new one online with supersonic earbuds.”

“You really must see this movie,” Mom exclaimed. “Your grandfather is from Russia, though he left when he was younger than you are now. What’s that? Oh, I think he was about six. They fled the anti-Jewish pogroms at the turn of the century. Look it up. Anyway, you are part Russian and this film really shows the soul of the country. Grab a pen and write it down.”

Mom paused for several seconds.

“She must be talking to one of my nephews, or to Paige,” I whispered. “My dad’s dad fled Russia as a child.”

“All set? It’s called Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears.” She relayed the title slowly so that the person she was talking to could write it down. “Got it? It won an Oscar back in ’81, though I know that’s way before your time, Grant.” Grant was my teenage nephew in Los Angeles.

“I’d send you my VHS but you probably don’t have a player,” she continued. “Watch it on Netflix, or watch when you visit again.”

I started to feel guilty snooping, so we walked into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom,” I said casually.

“Oh, hi, Danny, I was just catching up with Grant, he sounds great.” She was all smiles but held no phone in her hand. Jack and I subtly scoured the kitchen island she was leaning against and spotted no phone there, either.

It was another imaginary conversation.

At first, I was startled. Was this glitch from the same part of Mom’s aging brain that made her think she heard a plane crash, ghosts of children playing on the stairs, and off-key big-band numbers? Then I thought about what a comparatively pleasant “exchange” it was—she had even spoken fondly about my dad’s side of the family, which was often a bitter subject.

Old people can get stuck in recall mode. I figured it must be soothing for Mom to conjure up such a nice blend of memories over a fake phone, especially in the safe environment of our home, where I could monitor such delusions. When I moved her in, I had no idea Mom would be bringing along so many imaginary friends, but this was all part of my fluid responsibility as her guardian.

As long as the fantasy discussions remain positive, where’s the harm?

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