10th Place Winner: Lisa Pang

Puzzles

I was used to being taller than most of the patients at the Alzheimer's Family Day Center. They shuffled from room to room with hunched backs, as if they hid under invisible tortoise shells, or perhaps ladybug wings. Watching them, I unconsciously stood straighter, cherishing the ability to align my vertebrae and hold my chin level. So, although I was only average in height, I had to bend down to say hello, one hand always on their arm, keeping them steady.

Consequently, the first time I joined Todd*, we knew them by their first names only, at the "Art & Activities" table, I was surprised to find that I barely reached his shoulder. He appeared to be younger too, in his late forties, his hair still an ashy brown. With his straight back, aquiline nose, and the thoughtful expression he wore as he stared down at the two poorly fitting puzzle pieces in his massive hands, he seemed to be less like a patient and more like a misplaced CEO. For a second, I wondered if I should call him Mr. Todd. Sensing my presence, Todd turned and looked down at me with a benign smile. "I'm not very good with puzzles," he informed me.

I laughed. "I'm not either. Puzzles are hard for me too." "I don't like them," he said. "I can only fit them together a little." He gestured down at the puzzle pieces. I could see that they were part of a jungle scene. The jammed together pieces in Todd's hands obviously came from completely opposite sides of the finished picture. The animal that resulted was a mutant chimera with a ruby frog head and a mammalian-fingered body.

"I know they all come together though. Like this." Todd waved the pieces in his hand in front of my face, interrupting my reverie. "They all come together, don't they?" He asked again, waving the pieces a little more urgently.

"Yes they do." I wanted to reach out, snatch those pieces away from him, unite the frog's abandoned body with its wayward head, and let him wave around those pieces instead.

"They all come together and make a picture," Todd repeated. I nodded vigorously. "Put this baby together." I jumped as a new, female voice suddenly crooned into my ear. A faded hand thrust two new puzzle pieces in front of my face. It was Madeline with her favorite puzzle, a laughing baby with big blue eyes and soft pink skin.

Madeline smiled and brought a piece up to her wrinkled lips. Like the baby's kissable cheeks, her hands and face were soft and delicate; but it was the softness of ancient Egyptian linen that would crumble away at too harsh a touch. It was not the dewy suppleness of a baby's forehead. Looking at her, at the contrast, I was struck with pity. Madeline used to be a nurse who, I imagined, took care of babies every day.

Most of the time, I forgot that these patients ever had former careers and lifestyles, that they were adults with dignified pasts. They lived so much in the moment. Like children, they were guileless, accepting, blunt, and friendly. They could be short tempered, sometimes snapping at me for not helping them in their preferred way. But mostly they were great company. I usually came home after seven straight hours of work at the center, exhausted but content.

"It's so sweet!" Madeline pressed a piece into my arm, demanding my attention.

"Yes it is." I led her over to the rest of the puzzle pieces. "Let's put it together now."

She nodded happily, beaming first at me and then at Todd. He bowed gallantly back.

Unexpected tears heated my eyes. I wiped them away, smiling.

"Come on Madeline." I held out my hand. She nodded.

Gently, she curled her fingers around mine. Then, together, we made the puzzle whole.

*To protect the patients' identities, their real names have not been used.