Page 6 of June: Jess' Story

Things like finding her keys in the freezer. Or waking up in the middle of the night to see the front door left wide open. It was little oopsies like that that started adding up until eventually, one day, Julia forgot…me.

I walked into the apartment like I did every day senior year. Just praying to get to the end of the semester.Once I graduate, it’s peace out NYC, hello college campus.

My mom was in the kitchen, so I went to say hi and grab a glass of water.

The look on her face when she saw me should have toldme right away something was wrong. She looked crazed. She had eyes that went too wide, mid bite into a sandwich just hanging halfway to her face.

“What are you doing in here?” She asked me in a voice that sounded so unlike her normal, calming lilt.

“Uh, getting a glass of water?” I posed it back at her. I couldn’t piece together what was happening at the time. It’s just not something you ever really think about, you know? You don’t expect to come home one day, and find that your parent just…forgot who you are.

“This is my house, you need to leave!” Mom said back to me in a raised voice. It hurt. I was confused. She was confused. It sucked.

I immediately called May thinking maybe I’d missed something.Are they kicking me out?Did they find out about the rave I went to and I’m in trouble?Let’s be honest, no, they wouldn’t kick me out over that. May and Jules are hippies at their core, and partying was kind of their thing in the 70s.Maybe they know I had sex with David (pronounced Da-veed)?First off, of course they know. They know everything about me, and they certainly wouldn’t fault me seeing as May started slipping fresh condoms in my dresser every few years starting at the age of 13.

I stepped outside the front door, tears rolling down my face silently. Thankfully, May picked up after the first ring. Sort of like she anticipated this call.

“May?” I kind of cried out.

“Oh, JJ, what happened?” May asked.

“Is it something I did? I came home, and Mom told me to leave, that this was her house.” I was still crying, but May was silent.

“Can you come to my office? I have a meeting I can’t miss, but then I’ll meet you there and we can talk? And JJ, I promise you haven’t done anything wrong. Jules is…well, I’ll explain when I see you.”

“Yup.” It came out sniffly.

I walked the four blocks to the NYU campus. I waited an hour for May, and when she came back, she told me that Mom had early onset Alzheimer’s. And then we cried and held each other for a long time.

After that, things changed for us. May took her sabbatical, and so did Jules. May shielded me from my Mom’s worst days and brought me in with them on the good, but still it was a struggle. I think when I left for school it was a relief all around.

I went to college where my dad was the long-standing men's lacrosse coach. He’d worked there my whole life. A small university in Kentucky, near Louisville, and I loved it. It wasn’t New York, but for the first time in my life, that was a perk, not a deterrent.

I was undoubtedly a city girl through and through, but something about the city darkened my last few years there. Just like if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around. Well, if Jules couldn’t remember my childhood, the latest Broadway show we saw, our memories, did they really happen?

The first year at college was great. Spending time with Dad, making new friends, hooking up with new guys, parties — it was college. Then for spring break, Jules and May came to visit. They stayed with Dad and me, and it was like seeing a new side of each parent.

The second day in, Jules had a bad day. She couldn’tremember May, but she remembered my dad and it was heartbreaking. For each of them. I never realized until that day how much my dad still loved my mom, how my mom might have once loved my dad, and how itkilledMay to see this alternate reality play out before her. I felt for each one of them, but probably no one more than my dad.

He might have dated after my mom. I wouldn’t know, it’s not something I thought to ask, but he never introduced me to anyone, talked about anyone, nothing. I don’t remember anything from my childhood that would suggest there were other women, or men (no discrimination), or love, period.

What I will remember is the way my dad stroked Jules’ cheek when she embraced him that day. The way you’d embrace a lover. He looked into her hazel eyes, and I could see it written all over him. There hadn’t been another for himbecauseof her.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, held her chin in his hand and Jules looked at him adoringly. All while May and I stood by and watched. That’s not something I’d wish for anybody to see, least of all May.

May might not have birthed me, but she was my mom. My protector, my nurturer, my ally, and I watched that day crush her soul.

I don’t know exactly what happened between Jules, May, and my dad back then. I just know my mom moved to Kentucky in the late 80’s, but was back in NYC for my birth in 1990. That’s it. Just one big gray area of time I’m not privy to in my parents’ lives. And seeing the three of them that day, it made sense. The whole situation reeked of pain.

All these years later, I still haven’t gotten the nerve to ask May what happened. She’s really the only one left Icouldask, and she’d only be able to tell her part of the story, which might be the reason why.

I take a seat at my small desk with a pinboard hung above it. It’s littered with photos of Jules, May, and me. There’s a photo of Dad and I decked out in scarlet for one of his playoff games. A few photos of old friends from prom, and a few from past vacations.

It’s the photo of my dad and his sister with me and my cousin that gives me pause, though. I was never super close with that side of my family. It was a bit weird if I’m honest, but I was close with Amy. I always loved her. She was like the big sister I never had. God, I haven’t talked to her in ages. I think last I heard she had a baby and a husband, but that was like three years ago, and okay, I’m an asshole. Sure, my dad passed away, but I could’ve called.

She could’ve called, too, but like having a baby is distracting. I get that.

I don’t know whether it’s the nostalgia of today, the longing for something to feel familiar, or the need to hear a friendly voice, but I pick up my phone and hit Amy’s contact.