Alzheimer’s begins at the periphery, shading small pieces. We are talking on the phone, my mother and I. I’m drying dishes, the phone between my right shoulder and cheek, a strip of my brown hair caught by the mouthpiece. “Do you remember?” she asks again. “Do you remember that girl? That girl, what is her name? Oh what is her name? You know, that girl.” I push my lips together so that I won’t finish her question for her, so that I won’t answer before she can finish asking. I close my eyes s...

Brent and I always get closer when he doesn't have a girlfriend. He tries to nudge his way in when I have a boyfriend; I don't let him. He's persistent, but I can be too. I sit in the brown chair beside the couch if I have someone. If I'm uncomfortable I pace in front of the television, knowing that he's still watching me. He either sits on the couch or at my feet on the worn beige carpeting. The couch reminds me of a big tweed jacket; Brent just doesn't look right on it. But that's where I ...