Eve was confused as to why she was holding a butter knife in one hand and a charger in the other. She was standing in the kitchen of her 3 bedroom apartment that's been getting emptier eversince she moved in.
What was I about to do? Eat a sandwich or... where's my phone? – she was wondering.
These frustrating scenes became rather common after the anniversary of her 70th birthday. Misplaced objects, forgotten deadlines and birthdays, running taps and starving cats.
One morning a tall, sour girl came over. Eve knew her name was Emma, who was a nurse, sent by her doctor every Tuesday and Thursday and weekend to check on her, always bringing medicine and cat food and some groceries and she knew she was 24 years old with a fiancee and she was an aries, yet Eve was absolutely convinced that she's never seen her before. And that happened every Tuesday and Thursday and weekend. If she had kids, she wouldn't remember them either. Sometimes Emma had to remind her to swallow or breathe. Oh, to be there but not present. In her day, she was never dependent on anybody. Always did what, where and who she wanted. She was travelling the world as an artist, always making memories. Then she forgot all of them as a dementia patient. Her mind was a treasure chest but the key got lost under a huge pile of illness. Though Eve was truly one of a kind.
On an October afternoon, she was baking a birthday cake. Though she had no idea whom it was for, or how much flour she'd used, it was lovely. As Emma arrived, she confidently took a bite then carefully offered the rest to the trash can.
- Are you ready for your bath? – asked the nurse.
- Of course, dear. – answered the patient.
Emma filled the tub with sparkling, warm water. She was very gentle and always took care of her Eve, even when it was difficult. The bathroom was filled with the scent of a thousand lotions and soups, the air was moist and welcoming. Emma carefully and caringly helped her little lady into the water, guarding her from any unpleasant slips. Eve was as cheerful as a toddler as she was moved around and cleaned. She was playing with the bubbles, barely opening her eyes, in fear of shampoo getting into it.
But then, she did.
As she took a curious look around herself, she noticed the many many little doddles in the water. Her arms, legs, knees and toes were covered in pictures. She could even feel them on her back. She raised her leg a little higher and took a closer look. It was a beautiful image of two birds building a nest together. All black dotwork. As she put her hand on the wrinkly art piece she started mumbling in her head.
This is from London. It was cheap, they needed someone to practise on.
The words didn't feel certain just yet, so she looked even farther. A heart on her belly, clouds covering her forearm, a thousand little dots and circles. Though there was a lot to look at, something on her arm caught her eye. It was well preserved and clear. She traced along the lines with her shaking fingertip as Emma was patiently admiring her discoveries. Eve wanted to feel every inch of the image. It semmed as if she was reading it. Once finished, she started speaking with regained sobriety and warmth in her eyes.
- I was a painter. – said Eve while slowly turning to Emma, still holding onto her arm – I loved it. And funny enough, I got to be canvas too. Do you see this one? – Emma nodded as the tattoo was proudly presented to her – This was made by a close friend of mine, he helped cover up a couple regrets too. I asked him to do something he's always wanted to do. That's how I ended up with a two headed lion eating a two headed snake – the two women chuckled – Oh, Eric loved his art... and he loved life too, just me... just like me. He also made this little heart right here. It was for my mother, she died almost a week before her birthday on October 5th.
Slowly but surely Eve finished all of her stories. Not every tattoo had a special origin, but they certainly held the key to her precious memories. All the ups and down and heres and theres of her life, Emma loved listening to them. Even though they were the same stories that Eve would forget again and again, then retell again and again every Tuesday and Thursday and weekend.
