Springtime Memories

“Listen to those birds singing!” Sonia says cheerfully. “Isn’t it beautiful, Mrs. Cassel?” It is, but there seems to be a disconnect between my brain and my mouth because I can’t seem to form the words to agree with her. Instead, I settle on a quiet hum that Sonia seems to take as an agreement.

           “Yes, Ma’am,” she continues. “Spring is well on its way. It’s so nice to get outside in this warm weather! Doesn’t the sun feel good?”

           I hum again. Sonia is a talker, but I don’t mind. She is always so cheery, and the more she talks, the less I feel like I have to. We make a good pair. I think she likes having such a captive audience, and I am happy just to smile and nod.

           We stop at a bench under a tree. Sonia carefully secures the brakes on my wheelchair before settling down on the bench. “Do you need anything, Mrs. Cassel?”

           I shake my head and give her a smile just so she’s sure I’m content. She always seems so worried about me. A nice young girl like her shouldn’t worry about an old bat like me, so I try to be as unproblematic as possible.

           My smile seems to work, and Sonia continues to sing her praises of springtime. I admit, the scene is making me a tad nostalgic. The white blossoms on the tree above me remind me of the old dogwood at the farm. That tree always looked so pretty in the spring. Everyone loved that tree. Well, everyone except Betty the summer she fell out of that tree and broke her arm. The poor girl was in a cast for six weeks! She was so upset when she couldn’t go swimming with the other children when we went to the lake.

           No, wait. That wasn’t Betty. That was Susan. Susan was the one that couldn’t go swimming, but why? Why didn’t Susan go swimming? I remember her crying all afternoon. “Mama!” she had told me. “It’s not fair! Why does everyone else get to go swimming except me?” And I told her . . . I told her-

           “Mrs. Cassel? Are you alright?” Sonia startles me as she leans over, her concerned face suddenly very close to mine. I try to smile again, but I know it doesn’t fool her. She sits back down on the bench still looking at me with searching eyes.

           We sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the birds, looking out at the dozens of blooming trees along the walking path, and soaking in the warm sunshine. This, at least, I can remember how to do. I know how to enjoy beautiful weather. Always have. I think I have, anyway.

           “Oh look, Mrs. Cassel!” Sonia interrupts my thoughts. “What a pleasant surprise! Look who came to visit!”

           I look down the path. A very nice-looking family is walking towards us; two young people – teenagers, most likely – along with their parents – a tall, sturdy-built man and a short, plump woman. They all smile warmly at me, though the younger ones shuffle their feet awkwardly. I return theirs smiles as best I can, but when the short woman calls me “Mom!” my smile drops.

           “How are you?” she asks. I look up at her. Why would this woman call me “mom”? She is far too old to be my daughter! My Susan and Betty aren’t even married yet!

           “Mom?” the woman asks again. There is something familiar in her chubby face, but I’m sure I don’t know her.

           The young girl shyly comes closer, and I instantly recognize her. “Susan!” I exclaim. “My pretty girl! Come and give your mother a hug!” Susan seems reluctant, but she bends down and hugs me and kisses my cheek. When she stands, I hold on to her hand and really look at her. Her brown eyes sparkle and her curly brown hair falls in ringlets to her shoulders. “One of these days, Susan, some boy will snatch you up! You best make sure he’s a good one!”

           “Mom.” The woman kneels in front of me as she speaks. “I’m Susan. This is my daughter, remember? Karlie?”

           No. No, this isn’t right. My Susan isn’t a chubby, middle-aged woman. This isn’t right! None of this is right!

           “Mrs. Cassel, it’s okay.” Another woman approaches from the side. She was here before, wasn’t she? I recognize her. I know her. I think she helps me sometimes. What is her name? “This is your family,” she tells me. “They came to visit.”

           No. I shake my head. No, this isn’t my family. I don’t know them. Where is my family? Where are my girls? My beautiful Susan? My sweet Betty? Where are they? Why can’t I remember?

           “Mom, please,” the woman on her knees in front of me pleads with me, but I won’t look at her. Why won’t she leave me alone? Why does she pretend to be my Susan? She could never be Susan.

           “I’m sorry,” the other woman says quietly. “She was having a good day. I thought-”

           The woman who is not Susan looks at me sadly. Why is she sad? “No, it’s okay,” she says. “I didn’t want to upset her, but I don’t want her to think . . . to think that we don’t . . . that I don’t . . .” She doesn’t seem to be able to finish her sentence. She looks at me again like she wants me to say something. “Whether you remember me or not,” she says, “I still love you, Mom.”

           Then, she stands up and rubs at her eyes. I look the other way as they start to walk away. They are a nice-looking family. “I have a family like yours,” I say softly. “I love them very much.”

           “They love you, too, Mrs. Cassel,” the woman next to my chair says. “I wish you knew how much.”

           “I want to go home,” I say, but I don’t really know what I mean by that. I remember a farmhouse with a dogwood tree with white blossoms. Is that home? But I also remember a small, cramped apartment painted an awful drab grey with handrails on the walls. Is that home?

           “Why don’t we go back inside, Mrs. Cassel?” Sonia suggests. “Maybe we can get something to eat.” She kneels down and unlocks the brakes on my chair, and then we’re moving back down the path.

           “Do you hear the birds singing?” I ask. “Spring is on its way here.”