The Memory Artists - Jeffrey Moore [27]
Burun, sentenced to five years, was known to have attempted suicide twice after killing his mother.
On March 16, the National Parole Board granted Burun day parole, to be spent in a halfway house. He was also serving part of his sentence at the Philippe Pinel Institute, a Quebec government psychiatric hospital. A report issued by the board indicated Burun had difficulty in dealing with his mother’s death, experiencing ‘severe depression and recurrent nightmares’.
I don’t know why I typed this out. And why did I substitute Noel’s name, and my own? What does that mean? Am I seeing the future? Should I phone ... what’s his name, the doctor? Émile? Should I tell Noel what I’ve done? Now I’m getting worried. I’m starting to panic. Am I losing my mind? I’d better go to bed.
23 March. I looked all day for my car keys. Then Noel said he’d prefer that I not drive any more. So I became furious and stormed outside in my housecoat to see if the keys were in the ... whatever it’s called. So I went outside and the doors were all locked and then I couldn’t remember what I was looking for. And then I saw my licence plate and laughed. ‘Je me souviens,’ it says.13
The ignition. (Thank you, Noel.)
May? This is so hard to write. The typing part is OK, I still have most of my dexterity and finger-memory, but I have to keep looking in the dictionary for certain words and for the spelling and then I forget which word I’m looking for!
Alzheimer’s is like when they switched to metric. When everything you’d known for years suddenly got mixed up. The numbers weren’t the same, they didn’t mean the same thing. You didn’t really know how much things cost, or what the temperature was, or how far it was to the next town.
Or it’s like when we came to America, when we switched from driving on the left side. Oh, you get used to it, eventually, but I’m in that place before you get used to it.
June? I’ve made a decision. If I can’t make sense while talking, I just won’t talk.
July? I think I lost my car keys Awful really the way I’ve let this place slide. But the hedges are clipped. Maybe I do better when I’m not quite all there. I wake up from a nap, look out my window ... and the hedges are clipped. Somebody must have done it. It had to be me, I guess. Who else?
I must get my eyes checked. Or change this ribbon. Things are starting to fade.
I must get my eyes checked. Or change this ribbon. Things are starting to fade
Thurs. (or Sunday ?) Haven’t the foggiest notion where I am or why. I woke up this morning and I was here in this place. They tell me it’s my home, but I find that hard to believe. I know I wasn’t here yesterday. A young lad came to the door. Or a lass, it’s hard to tell these days. Maybe not young. With a brush. They’re always coming and going. I don’t like all the hurly-burly, it’s so ... I don’t know the word. And she doesn’t know how to make tea. I told her so. I will not tolerate bags, nasty things. And she doesn’t hot the pot! I think I’ll go out for tea. I can’t find the keys to my car. Why are these drawers open? Who opened them? A robber? Are my keys in here? I have lots of socks in here. Must put some in the suitcase. What time does the train leave again? I would like to take this photograph too. He looks familiar. I don’t remember putting this poppy in here. Why would someone have done that? This is not my toothbrush anyway. I think it belongs to those people who were here. I’ll take it downstairs and give it to them. That woman who came to the door. I thanked her for coming and told her I was not well but she doesn’t leave. She doesn’t have any right to be here after I’ve asked her politely to leave. This is still my home. She says I have to talk to my son. Fine, give me the phone and I’ll call him now. When the bank answers I’ll ask them how much money I have in my account. I will need money for the trip. But first I will eat this food on a tray. Is it for me? No. I’ll just