Page 11 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

Moments later, Grandpa guided Grandmother up to pick her award, acting as if he hadn’t just switched cards with her so she’d win. It was a beautiful, small sacrifice. He knew it would mean more to her than him in this moment. That was always his way with Grandmother. He had zero competitive instinct when it came to her. He’d lose it all, if it meant she’d win. I swiped a tear away before it could escape my left eye. Watching them brought back memories of pouting after a chess match, complaining that Grandpa never took it easy on me but would always let Grandmother win. He’d wink and say, ‘someday you’ll understand’.

Moving away from the entrance, I slowly walked toward the windows. I didn’t approach my grandparent’s table immediately, instead leaning against the back wall next to a potted fern that was basking in rays of sunlight. I touched a leaf, wondering how it could grow so well indoors, in a place like this. The topside of the leaf was slick, its underside obviously some sort of coated fabric. Fake. Convincing, but not real. No wonder it looked so alive.

My hand dropped. My eyes roved back to the front of the room.

I watched the only family I had in the entire world as they interacted and laughed with the Serenity staff and other residents. Grandmother was carefully examining every prize option. Grandpa wasn’t rushing her. They almost looked like they once had, so flush with life in a way that made it difficult to imagine them ever dying. Were they the same as the fern? Was their vitality convincing, yet not real?

Blinking, I tried to take a mental picture.

Isn’t that what people do?Quick snapshots of captured memory, hoping never to forget?

It didn’t work. The moment I closed my eyes a few seconds too long, the clear image of their faces began to fade. So, I partedmy lashes wide. I let my eyes hover over every inch of them instead. Not etching them into my brain but instead relishing the now. Ears. Eyes. Noses. Mouths. My grandpa’s broad shoulders. My grandmother’s slender wrists and fingers.

Still, I found myself hungrily trying to memorize.

I felt like an Etch-A-Sketch as I tried to capture how they looked. The minute I had them outlined, they began to shake away. I started turning the knobs again. Drawing desperately. Hoping the lines would stick this time. This was how it felt every time I visited now. Clinging fruitlessly. The seconds like sand, slipping through my fingers. Hoping for more time. Always knowing there was too little time. I couldn’t stash them away, preserving them for a later date when I’d desperately need them back. I could only have the now, no guarantee of tomorrow.

“That one!” Grandmother nearly squealed, finally making her choice, her voice excited and clear as she pointed at a small ceramic bird. It was blue with delicate wings extended, like it had just landed on the thin branch below, its body transitioning from flight.

The way the room was shaped, their voices carried with ease from the front to the back.

"Excellent choice, Mabel," the volunteer said loudly, handing her the figurine.

Grandmother cradled it in both palms like a treasure, turning to show Grandpa. “Look, Richard! It's just like the bluebirds that nested outside our kitchen window last year! Remember?”

“Of course I remember, sweetheart.” There was a reedy, thin quality to his voice this time. I peered at his face carefully, the knots in my chest and stomach—which seemed constantly present these days, waiting to activate—tightened. His words were like sound filtering through gauze. His face looked a shade paler now. His posture not as straight. God, I wish they’d justfigure out what was wrong and fix him. I hated watching him fade.

Grandpa held Grandmother’s elbow, gently guiding her away from the prize table.

“They were so lovely. Weren’t they, Richard? How many babies were there? Do you remember?” The questions were full of childlike enthusiasm. It was heartwarming, but also a reminder that time was moving backwards for her. These moments when she seemed herself again often didn’t erase what the doctor called time-shifting. She sometimes thought it was five years ago, or ten, or even twenty. She thought I was my mother last week. The family of bluebirds was during the summer before I went to San Francisco. Not last year.

“Three babies, sweetheart,” he answered gently.

“Three. I wish we could see them again,” she said wistfully, eyes trained down on the decorative bird.

I watched Grandpa pull out Grandmother’s chair, help her sit, then push the chair back towards the table. I didn’t miss how he had to hold the table for support as he made his way to sit down too. His body shook ever so slightly. He lowered himself ever so slowly against the cushion. I was going to talk to the nurse before I left. If the newest test results weren’t back, I was going to raise hell and demand they do more to help him.

I took a deep breath and finally approached them. Grandmother spotted me first, her eyes lighting up with recognition. It was a blessing I never took for granted anymore. I could tell she knew it was me. Not my mother. Me. The knots loosened. My heart felt lighter.

"Nelly!" She waved with one hand and showed off the bird with the other. "Look what I won!"

"It's beautiful, Grandma." I leaned down to kiss her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of rose water, baby powder, and plumeria that always clung to her body, detectable even nowbelow the layers of medicinal scents. "You're quite the bingo champion. Didn’t you win something last time too?"

"Your grandfather helped both times," she whispered conspiratorially, then frowned slightly. She turned to him. "Didn’t you help, Richard?" Momentary confusion clouded her eyes.

No. Stay with us a little longer. I just got here.

"You won fair and square both times," Grandpa said firmly.

“Exactly. He’d never cheat,” I added, resting one hand on her shoulder for a heartbeat before moving to Grandpa.

He reached for my hand. His grip felt lighter than before, his skin delicate and papery against mine. His eyes looked so odd. The whites of each too yellow.

“Doing okay?” I hadn’t meant to ask that. I’d just meant to greet him.

“Oh, fine. I’m always fine.” He squeezed my fingers, then let go.Why did that hurt? Why did I want him to hold my hand longer? If only I could be five again, happily walking between them, holding both of their hands as we made our way to the park.

“Are you sure? You don’t look?—”