First appearing in WMG’s Sweet Valentines in 2021, this bittersweet tale follows Gordon’s struggle to remember the past — and to hold on to what’s right in front of him…
The red runner lining the wooden floor in the upstairs hallway knew Gordon’s gait quite well. The intertwining foliage and vines in the middle of the rug had faded with a million footsteps, leaving only the floral motif and red woollen background at the edges bright and unmatted—much like Gordon’s memories, fading with a twinkling rim of clarity. His morning routine of orienting himself to the day ahead required much of the Persian. He and Gigi had chosen this rug from a flea market when they’d bought the house.
It used to have fringe. He remembered that.
But Sean had clipped all the glorious knots and strings away three months ago when Gordon had become stuck on his back in the upstairs hallway for half a day, cold and in pain, unable to get his feet back under him after sitting cross-legged.
Doing his counting. And sometimes his whispered chant.
Counting the strings of fringe. After he’d counted the knotted bumps in the cherry frame around the bulletin board in that same hallway. And the paperclips in his pocket.
He stuffed his hands inside his pockets, each one protecting paperclips of varying sizes. He let his fingers fill and empty of them as he paced the rug. If he concentrated, he could hear the muffled clinks they made against each other in between his socked steps. He counted steps. Five paces between Sean’s room and the bathroom. Six more to his room. Eleven back again.
He counted the paperclips as they dropped from his fingertips to the bottoms of his pockets. A dozen in each.
Gordon never meant for his counting to cause others stress. It was a coping technique to keep the dementia at bay. A little obsessive, Dr. Sanders had said, but harmless. Until one becomes stuck on the hardwood floor and biology causes massive embarrassment when one’s only grandson finds him in such a predicament.
That wasn’t harmless to his ego.
That memory he wished the dementia would mat down like his footsteps matted the vines in the runner.
Gordon sighed and whispered, “Bend, bend, bend, slice.”
He could sense something was happening today. Maybe Sean had told him and his brain swallowed it. That happened sometimes. More frequently this month than this time last year. The swallowing of vital information. Later, after the fact and at the most inopportune moment, his mind would spit it back at him, causing him to startle. Or cry. Or wake from a deep sleep bathed in sweat and worry.
Sean was banging around in his room now, mumbling words that Gordon couldn’t make out. The heavy oak door swallowed the importance of the day behind hinges and knobs. Gordon wanted to knock. But he also wanted to behave.
To be a proper adult, not in so much hourly need with incessant questions.
He didn’t want to bother Sean with another inquisition. Patient as his grandson was, Sean needed his space. Gordon remembered that.
Sean was all grown up now. A big man. Gigi and Gordon had taken the boy to raise twenty years ago after that snowy day had taken their only daughter and her handsome husband. Tears again. Today was important, he knew. Tears are neither necessary nor helpful. They stressed Sean. He could see it when the boy looked at him. He wiped them on his sleeve and stuffed his hands back in his pocket.
Gordon paced in front of Sean’s door, another fifteen steps back and forth, willing that instruction or date or reminder to come to the forefront on its own.
It didn’t.
He rehearsed his grounding chant, unmouthed. He kept it in his head lest Sean think Dr. Sanders needed to be called today.
Bend, bend, bend, slice.
He took four paces back to the bulletin board. His right hand abandoned the paperclips and ran along the cherry frame. He and Gigi and had found the knotted and marred piece at the same flea market where they’d found the runner. Though, it used to house a mirror. Sean covered the glass with a more useful material—cork.
To help Gordon remember.
Sean tacked and paperclipped all manner of things to the board. Gordon promised to take a break several times a morning from counting steps to stand and read the board. The day of the week was pinned to the top of the board. Sean changed it every morning before Gordon got out of bed.
Today was Saturday.
Another sheet held reminders that Gordon didn’t need yet, but might one day. These were printed in big block letters on a single sheet of white paper. Black and bold in bossy capitals, those commands. Shower. Bathe. Teeth. Those sorts of things.
Other reminders like doctor appointments or haircuts were scribbled in Sean’s handwriting and tacked next to the daily to-do list.
Two cards hung on the bulletin board this morning.
One was for Dr. Sanders later next week. A kind lady sometimes, but bossy like the capital letters at others. She’d helped him with his dementia meds and mental exercises to try to keep those bright specks around the edges from fading away.
Sean continued to thud and stomp and mumble behind his bedroom door. Gordon ignored the ruckus and pulled the other card from its pin. He ran his fingers along two sentences, printed one on top of the other. Blue ink. Sean’s writing. The first line said: Today is Valentine’s Day.
A flicker started in the deep recesses of Gordon’s mind. Valentine’s day.
The day he and Gigi had gone to Sean’s second-grade class party. The school had invited the parents to serve snacks and share interesting tales about their work and life. Bring a treat or keepsake.
And little Sean, blond curls and green eyes, didn’t want Pops and Gigi to come. Said their work was boring and all the other kids had real parents coming.
Gordon had wanted to paddle the boy, or at the very least take away his playtime or dessert. Teach him how to show respect. Gigi had other thoughts. “Tell them about your paperclips. How they’re made. About how they bind things together like love binds us.” Gigi reached for her necklace where a paperclip shaped into a rough circle the size of her left ring finger had hung for nearly thirty years.
“And what will you do to impress our young charge?” Gordon remembered the days even further back when he’d feared he’d never be able to impress the love of his life. He hadn’t even been able to afford a proper wedding band. Silver steel had to do. Gigi had been so patient as he’d fumbled from his knees to unbend the paperclip and work the thin metal around and around her small finger.
She’d said yes, and he’d promised once the factory reinstated the overtime that he’d get her a proper ring. She’d worn the handmade one around her neck until her last day.
Gigi grinned at him. Sparkle in her eyes. “Why, Gordon, dear. I’ll do what I do best.”
And she did. She’d whipped out her sewing basket and created tiny hearts stuffed with dabs of white cotton fluff. She sewed the tops together with a loop of ribbon. Pinks and reds and whites and a few blues for the too-tough boys, including Sean. She embroidered each child’s name onto a heart.
Gordon drew a makeshift diagram of his station at the paperclip machine on the blackboard. He remembered how the white dust clung to his fingertips as he drug the chalk across the slate. He showed the knobs where the thin steel would bend, bend, bend the metal. He drew the blade that would slice the paperclip from the spool. He mimicked the sounds the machine made as he explained the process, and by the end of his talk, the kids chanted to each other and marched and hopped to the rhythm of “Bend, Bend, Bend, Slice.”
Afterward, the class used the stash of paperclips in Gordon’s pockets to hang each of their hearts above the blackboard in that little second-grade classroom.
The kids had cheered.
Sean apologized later and never complained, at least not to Pops or Gigi, that fate and tragedy had left a couple of old geezers to look after him.
Tears again. His sleeve would be soaked before Sean emerged from his room, but Gordon was pleased this memory stayed with him, sparkling and clear.
Today is Valentine’s Day.
Under that line, Sean had written: Today I propose to Miriam.
That was it! Sean’s big day. Gordon replaced the card on the bulletin board and stuffed his hands back in his pockets just as Sean stumbled into the hallway, pulling on his trouser socks. “Pops, you doin’ okay out here?”
“Morning, Sean.”
Sean’s shoulders drooped a little and Sean patted Gordon on the shoulder. That meant Gordon had done or said something wrong. Or had forgotten something. Again. “The nurse will be here soon.”
Nurse. Gordon wasn’t much on the nurse, but after the incident in this hallway, Sean insisted someone be in the house with him if Sean were to be gone more than an hour. And today was Sean’s big day. Gordon had forgotten, though he knew now that Sean had talked about this for days. Maybe weeks.
It was hard to remember.
“You remember what today is, Pops?”
Gordon grinned. Happy that he’d taken the time to study the corkboard. “I sure do. You got the ring?”
“Got the ring in my pocket. Got the roses downstairs.” Sean fiddled with his bowtie.
“Awful early for formal wear.” Gordon paused, confusion threatening to destroy the moment. “Have we had breakfast yet?”
“Bacon, Pops. And soup for lunch, and the nurse will heat your dinner up.” He wrestled the black silk around his collar and tried to tie the piece. “I’ve got a photographer hiding to capture her reaction, so you can see. She’ll be all dolled up, too. I’m about to sweat all the way through my jacket.” He made a sour face and whipped the tie from the collar.
“You got the ring?” It had to be better than what Gordon had proposed to his Gigi with. Sean had a good job, though Gordon couldn’t remember Sean’s title right off hand… A tick of panic set in his chest. He wanted to remember this moment. His grandson all grown up and off to start a new adventure.
Bend, bend, bend, slice.
Sean took Gordon’s shoulder again. “I got the ring, Pops. What I don’t got is how this dumb bowtie works.” Sean tried to smooth the fabric against his pants. Gordon took it from him and turned his grandson toward the wall, facing the bulletin board.
Gordon upturned the stiff white collar and laid the black silk in proper position. He fumbled at first, not having done this particular task for eons. Sean helped a little, old and young hands struggling to work the fabric into a bow worthy of an important event. They managed to get it tied, but it was still just slightly crooked. “I just wanted today to be perfect, Pops.”
“I remember my day with Gigi. It wasn’t perfect, but she said yes anyway.”
Sean faced Gordon and tugged at the bow, trying to get it straight. Above his head the corkboard reminded Gordon that today was Saturday.
Valentine’s Day. Sean’s big day.
“Do you have the ring?”
Sean stopped fussing with the tie and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a simple circle of thin-gauged steel.
“That’s your Gigi’s.” Gordon took it from Sean’s palm.
“That’s still okay, right, Pops? We talked about this.”
Gordon let his tears chase down his cheeks right down to the stubble on his chin. “Yes, Sean. It’s perfect.” He handed the ring back to Sean. “Gigi would be proud. Your mom and dad, too.”
“I’m glad you remember her, Pops. All of them. I’m glad you remember them.” Sean’s eyes brimmed wet and he replaced the ring into jacket pocket then reached again for that crooked bowtie.
Gordon retrieved one of the twelve paperclips from his right pocket and began unwinding it, shaping the ends into tiny loops. He threaded the wire behind the tie and worked the black silk and the white collar into submission. “I don’t remember breakfast.”
“Bacon.” Sean reached to feel the tie. “Hey, it’s straight. Great job, Pops!”
Pride welled up in Gordon, an all-too-strange feeling these days. Pride for Sean. Pride that he’d done something important to help, though he couldn’t quite grasp what that was...
Bend, bend, bend, slice.
The pair headed for the top of the steps. “Sean?”
“Yeah, Pops?”
Gordon grinned. “I do remember paperclips.”
