Eight Tickles

Eight Tickles

One

“How many times does an octopus tickle you?”

Three

The room is unfamiliar. Rose is suspended in a state between sleep and reality - a space where a person longs to drift back to dreams - a space where things are not what they appear. The firm mattress and soft pillow aren’t hers. Or is it? Rose throws her arm to the other side of the bed, but instead of a warm body, it falls onto a cold comforter.

“George?” Rose whispers to no one. She smells coffee. Of course, he is in the kitchen reading the paper in those ridiculous slippers Mary bought him for Christmas.

Blurry-eyed, Rose steps onto a worn carpet and stumbles down the hall to the bathroom. Something is happening today, but she cannot remember. The distorted interval between Christmas and New Year’s always throws her off-kilter. Is Mary stopping by with the baby this afternoon? What was the baby’s name? Tess? She will have to check her planner before breakfast.

Rose fumbles through a drawer, looking for her glasses before remembering that they are on the counter. They fit a little tighter than she remembered. She glances at the mirror. A stranger stares back at her. She is a wrinkled old woman with a stark white cowlick. Her skin droops low, creating tiny jowls like a floppy extended frown. Rose covers her mouth, and so does the woman. Rose screams. And so does the stranger.

Six

“Well, the good news is we caught it early, Mrs. Evens.” The doctor wore a tie under his lab coat. His diplomas and certificates hung on the wall, boasting of his experience and success. Yet, he still looked down at his chart to avoid eye contact. Rose didn’t blame him. No one likes to deliver bad news. No matter how long you have been a professional. He placed a brochure on the desk in front of them. “Here is some information on Alzheimer’s and a list of support groups in the area.”

Rose took notes as the doctor talked. George couldn’t make the appointment, which was fine by Rose. George scribbles. His sentences are fragmented with symbols and numbers. They are shorthanded reminders that most people don’t understand. Rose’s notes are detailed and immaculate. Ultimately, they referred to Rose’s notes for dates, phone numbers, and addresses, while George referenced his chicken scratch for the doctor’s advice and other information. He would call the doctor later when he realized Rose didn’t provide enough information.

“How can we slow progression?” Rose taps her pencil on the pad of paper.

“We’ve found a healthy diet and regular exercise are beneficial.” The doctor is making eye contact now. He is more confident knowing his patient accepted the diagnosis. “Let’s go over some options.”

As the conversation continued, a dull headache distracted her. The doctor’s words drifted away. A small boy climbed onto Rose's lap. He squeezed her cheeks together. “How many Ru Ru?”

The boy disappeared. Rose jolted back to the office. She became aware of the doctor watching her with soft eyes. His eyebrows were raised in concern rather than questioning. How long had Rose been absent?

“‘I’m sorry, I suppose I was daydreaming.”

“It’s a lot to take in. It happens more often than you think.” The doctor sympathized.

The time on the clock read 4:35. Rose promised to pick Tess up from soccer practice at 5:00 for Mary. She glanced at her notes. There wasn’t much written down. She hoped there weren't any dates scheduled during her daydream.

“Yes, of course. I should get going. My grandduagher is done with practice in 25 minutes, and I don’t want to be late.”

Two

“Ru Ru?” Tess rounds the corner into the bathroom. She sounds calm, but her speed betrays her efforts to look it. Tess and her husband had locked the door to her bedroom last night, but Rose Evens had always been somewhat of an escape artist. Questioning how her grandmother had walked through a locked door was not worth dwelling on.

“Oh, Mary. There you are. I thought I saw a witch in the mirror.” Rose turns to her daughter.

Tess relaxed her shoulders, assessing the situation. Physically, everything is all alright. Emotionally, it will consume Tess’s therapy session on Thursday. “Grandma, I’m not Mary. I’m Tess.”

“I know, Tess. That’s what I said.” It’s a weak lie, but neither addresses it.

Tess grabs the glasses that fell to the floor and puts them back on the counter next to the faucet handle. She goes through a checklist of why Rose would come into the bathroom. She ruled out showers. Grandma hates showers. It couldn’t be to brush her teeth. This is also an unpopular part of her bedtime routine. Grandma isn’t fond of brushing her hair. She went to the bathroom right before bedtime. Despite the rationale, her grandmother could be in here for all these reasons.

“Were you doing anything in the bathroom?”

Rose looks at Tess as if she is contemplating what to say. “I was dreaming Goerge was making coffee. I must have slept walked in to get ready and then make breakfast. I always liked to look my best for your grandfather.”

Tess nods. She rests a hand on Rose’s shoulder to lead her back to her room. “Let’s be quiet down the hall. I don’t want to wake Liam.”

Five

Rose sucked in her breath one more time. Her spine went straight, and her chest popped open. She heard her mother behind her, muttering about Goerge’s mother.. After a final tug, her mother’s head poked up from behind her shoulders.

“Honey, you’re gorgeous!” Rose’s mother lavished her with compliments every centimeter lost around her waist since the engagement. Now that she was starving and trapped in a suffocating corset, Rose made it to her mother’s ideal shape. She was excited to be married, naturally, but Rose was preoccupied with dinner at the reception. She and George had chosen the menu at the beginning of her extreme diet. She was hungry then, unaware she’d be hungry for the next six months.

The wedding planner, Gail, entered. But then, it wasn’t Gail. It was Mary.

“Mary? I didn’t know you worked for Gail.” Rose stammered. How could that be? Mary didn’t exist. She wasn’t thinking straight. It must be the lack of food.

“I’m not sure who Gail is, but I’m Tess. Remember?” Mary responded.

Then, Gail was back at the doorway. Rose’s mother ignored the awkward exchange and waltzed over to Gail with intentions to reconfigure any part of the ceremony schedule she could manage. Gail made eye contact in the mirror. She winked and tapped her pencil lightly above her ear. A bit of reassurance that nothing would change.

Rose gazed in the mirror.. Curls framed her face. The wings of her eyeliner were subtle. Her skin was flawless. She felt as gorgeous as her mother had claimed. Rose vowed never again to let Goerge see her disheveled.

A fog crept through with a sharp pain above her brow. Surely, the long nights of preparation for this day caught up to her and now rushed in as a punishment for depriving her body of sleep and food.

Something in the corner of the mirror caught her eye. She leaned forward to get a better look and jumped back. She was no longer in her wedding attire, and the background in the mirror was not the bridal sweet. Her mother and Gail had disappeared. She was standing in a bedroom. Mary is buckling her belt. A young George sat next to her and colored. He looked up and smiled. His eyes twinkled. Rose looked away from the mirror.

Four

This must be a dream. Her feet remember the cold rain on her skin, the heaviness of a drenched coat, and the empty hole in her chest. Rose drifted elsewhere. Her body felt miles away as the casket lowered in front of her.

Rose remembered the day George knelt before her. He said that everyone changes every day. Therefore, the people we know are strangers to the people we knew yesterday. They are wiser, hopefully, and more experienced. The thing is, we know the stranger more than anyone else. After a few moments, they are no longer strangers. I want to fall in love with a stranger every day. Rose, I want you to be my stranger.

She thought of how he was now a permanent stranger.

Seven

“Ru Ru?” Tess entrelaces her fingers with Rose’s. This happens every time it rains. Tess doesn’t even bother to search the house. She only has to check the garden. “It’s so cold out here, and you’re soaking. Let’s go inside.”

“Oh, Mary, there you are. I seemed to have wandered outside again. It’s raining.” Rose wipes the tears from her face.

“It’s Tess.”

“Of course it is. That’s what I said.” Rose blinks. “You’ve grown up so fast.”

“I always do.” Tess sighs. She wraps an arm around her grandmother’s waist, and they walk back to the house.

Eight

Miniature hands grab her face. A tiny George pops into view. Face to face, he pulls her cheeks apart and then squeezes them together.

“Stop playing with Ru Ru and go wash your hands for breakfast.” Mary sighs. But young George doesn’t.

“How many times does an octopus tickle you?” The boy starts to tickle her. “How many, Ru Ru?

“One times. Two times. Three times. Four times,” he pauses to think. When he continues, it’s slower and with more thought. “Five times. Six times.” He looks at the ceiling. “Seven times.” He stops counting. Rose blinks. She looks at the small boy on her lap.

“Liam, you forgot.” Rose tickles her great-grandson. “It’s eight times.” He throws his head back and laughs like George.