As a toddler, Annie was obsessed with her Papa. To the extent that her Papa would have to hide from her at adult social events. She would walk up to everyone at the function and with varying degrees of understandability say, “Papa?” or “Where Papa?” Maybe he darted behind the couch or hid behind a closet door, but eventually, she would always find him. When she did, a smile, or a knowing smirk, rather, would spread across that older face – slightly wrinkled but not too much yet, like a shirt that almost needs to be pressed. They were the truest of pals. At this stage of her life, the game of choice for the two of them was Go Fish. Easy enough for her to grasp but complicated enough to challenge her a little bit.

Go Fish Rules:

Players:

• One four-year-old Annie, blonde curly afro, bright blue eyes, round face
• One sixty-nine-year-old Papa, bald at the top of his head, grandfather belly, with a laugh that only sounded as a few “humphs” in succession
  

Set-up:

• Deal each player five cards.
• The remaining cards go into the draw pile.
  

Rules:

• Player one asks another player for a certain type of card, e.g. a 2. If the opposing player has said card, they must give it up. Unless, of course, the opposing player was her sneaky Papa, who often pretended he had none of the cards she was looking for. When he would finally give it up, Annie would laugh and laugh, high-pitched and bouncing through the air.
• Player one receives their desired card and goes again.
• 
  
• If the opposing player does not have the cards asked for, they say “Go Fish.” When they went fishing for cards, her Papa would pretend the cards were all different types of real fish. “Oh, you caught a salmon!” Papa would say. To which she would respond, “What is a Salmon?” Eventually, it would be she who yelled out, “You got Tilapia!” and “Oh, that one’s a nice Branzino!” To which he would reply, “Well, we will have to get a good Sauvignon Blanc to drink with that.”
• Play sets of 4 once you have them, the game ends when the first person runs out of cards, or, when Mama brings them lunch, and Annie becomes distracted by the many ways four-year-olds can play with food.
  

Example of Play:

They played at the kitchen table, a smooth white tabletop with wooden edges and legs, big enough to seat eight people around. While the two of them played cards, her Mama would be in the kitchen watching them interact and making her granddaughter’s favorite snack: toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No crust, of course. Annie was beginning to appreciate fine culinary things, and from everything she had tasted, these toasted PB&J sandwiches had to be the finest. She assumed her Mama was some sort of superwoman to be able to make something so delicious out of unremarkable things like sandwich bread, jelly, and peanut butter.
Sometime during their play, her grandmother would emerge from the kitchen and set down full plates in front of them. A toasted PB&J for her, and a decadent turkey and cheese sandwich loaded with mustard (gross, in little Annie’s opinion), mayo, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and, of course, one crunchy, vinegary pickle on the side (the largest grievance). She always considered this meal to be a sophisticated one. She had it in her mind that as one got older, one became less fun and was therefore forced to pretend to like things like loaded turkey sandwiches and pickles, instead of toasted, no-crust PB&Js. She couldn’t say she was excited for this rite of passage, but she also couldn’t say she was afraid of it. What she wanted the most out of growing up was not a sophisticated palate, but an understanding of how her Papa seemed to have the answer to every question she would pose. She wanted to be as tall as an adult, look them in the eye, and communicate with them in a way they would comprehend. She wanted to pretend to like turkey sandwiches.
But, perhaps what she wanted most of all, was to be an adult with her Papa, so that he would share all the secrets of life with her. He would teach her how to navigate the difficulties of life with rules as simple as those to Go Fish. He was her friend now, but she imagined how he was only waiting for her to reach the age of twenty, so they could really see each other eye-to-eye.

She was nine years old, small enough that everything still seemed big to her. But, even if she hadn’t been small, her grandparents’ living room would have seemed huge. It was a large room with white carpet. Its largeness was compounded by the fact that there were no real doors into the room but rather entrances to other areas of the house; four to be exact. One walkway into the dining room, which was complete with a long mahogany dining table for ten and glass cases housing fancy China. One walkway into the foyer. This led to the front door, always the darkest area of the house from its lack of natural sunlight. One into her grandfather’s office; there were doors here, but they were French doors with windows, so she could peer into the space with his imposing dark wood desk even if the doors were closed. The golden nameplate that read “Dr. Kelso” always fascinated her. She wondered what it would be like to be so important you had to have your name on a gold plate for strangers to read. She wondered if she would ever be that important. The fourth entrance also had a French door, but this opened to the solarium, her favorite room in her grandparents' house. Here lived all the beautiful plants her Mama tended to, including the elusive but beautiful night-blooming cactus. She had never seen the night-blooming cactus because it always opened past her bedtime. But she vowed when she got older, and she wasn’t bound by the constrictions of a child’s bedtime, she would finally lay eyes on that elusive flower. And maybe, she would understand something about the world she had never understood before.

The living room was outfitted with a gorgeous marble fireplace, atop of which sat a portrait of Annie’s aunt draped in pearls. Orange and green flowered couches laid perpendicular to the fireplace with a glass coffee table in the middle. In the corner of the living room by the entrance to the foyer, sat an upright piano. This was her Mama’s office. Her beautiful voice was the soundtrack for Papa’s important gold-name-plate work. In between the solarium and her Papa’s office was her favorite spot in the living room: a small white marble table, perfect for two. This is where Papa and she played war.

War rules:

Players:

• One nine-year-old Annie, dirty blonde curlyish, wavyish hair, one bright blue eye that tended to wander away from the other, a big gap between her front teeth, and steel green, rectangular glasses
• One seventy-four-year-old Papa, a little thicker in the jaw, a smile where he almost never showed his teeth, and hands decorated with sunspots from years on the golf green

Set-up:

• Shuffle a full deck of cards and deal each player half.

Rules:

• Each player flips over a card at the same time. The player with the higher card wins both cards. Unless, you are playing a sneaky Papa, who will try to take both cards even though he clearly played a five and you played a ten. He then will pretend he truly believes you get to bigger numbers by counting backward, to which Annie will exclaim, “Papa!! Don’t be a cheater! I know you know how to count!”
• In the event the same card is flipped over by each player, war is declared. Each player then puts three cards face down on the table and flips over the fourth. The higher card wins all the cards in the war. But when you play Papa, he will try to hoard all his other cards, and will say, “No, you really have to fight me if you want to get them.” To which Annie will stand up and go around the table to get her rightful cards, and Papa will tickle her until she is laughing so hard, there are tears on her cheeks. If both players flip over the same card the fourth time, they do the war process again. You can only imagine how dramatic this gets if you are playing a Papa.
• The game is over when one player has all the cards in their hand, or, when you’ve been playing for over an hour and it is well past Annie’s bedtime.

Example of Play:

Anne loved playing war. She delighted in the knowledge that they were about to embark on something with no time limit (and that it often pushed back her bedtime). She was not a good shuffler, so her Papa took the deck. He moved the worn and tired cards between his hands easily. She was mesmerized by the folding of the cards between each other and the arching of their thin spines into a bridge. She would never ask him to teach her because she loved to watch the way his hands maneuvered the cards. His sun-spotted hands, colored by years of playing golf and the nub on his forefinger in place of a fingernail. She asked what happened to his finger, and he told her it was bitten off by a dog. This scared her, but she soon stopped believing it. She had learned how much of a tease and goof her Papa was. This inspired her. Because even though she was excited to reach the maturity of adulthood, she never wanted to lose her silliness. And her serious, imposing, important gold-nameplate Papa, showed her it was possible to speak the language of a child and an adult.

Annie felt like an adult. She was sixteen now and could drive herself all over God's green earth, though she never did – she mostly drove around Des Moines. She was a straight-A student. She excelled in her extracurriculars. She had big thoughts about the world. She understood the word dichotomy. She could use the quadratic formula. She knew what a mole was (though she would forget this later). She read classic novels, like Wuthering Heights, answered plot questions, and, at times, drew bigger conclusions about deeper themes in the novel. She drank alcohol with her friends until the wee hours of the morning without her parents knowing. She kissed boys in the dark without her parents knowing. She talked about people behind their backs. She spread gossip. She was the subject of spread gossip. She was hurt by said gossip. She did not know that none of this meant you were an adult.

Growing up rules:

Players:

• One sixteen-year-old Annie, freshly minted driver’s license in hand, baby fat still hugging the edges of her face, newly braces-straightened front teeth (no gap) that boosted her self-confidence tremendously, self-absorption marinating in her bones
• One eighty-one-year-old Papa, skin that sagged a little more off his arms, seasoned, knowledgeable eyes, a frightening understanding, that yes, he really was getting older

Set-up:

• One weekend where Annie’s parents traveled out of town and left an empty house in Des Moines.
• One decree from Annie’s parents that she must stay at her grandparents’ that weekend.
• One reluctant, devious Annie, and two unassuming, sweet grandparents.

Rules:

• The younger player makes herself scarce over the weekend, popping in only for meals, the occasional shower, and sleep.
• The grandparents hope Annie will spend some time with them, a look of excitement on their face whenever she enters the room.
• Disappointment sets in as the grandparents realize their irrelevance in Annie’s bubble of herself.
• They begin to question their relevance anywhere.

Example of Play:

“Why do I have to stay at Mama and Papa’s?” Annie whined.

“Because you’re too young to stay here by yourself,” her mom said.

“What do you mean? I’m sixteen. I can drive! Do you not trust me?”

“This isn’t about trust,” her mom sighed while Annie marched out of the kitchen and slammed the door into her room. “Annie, you know, it would be good for you to spend some time with your grandparents!” She yelled after her.

Losing the battle with her mother, she reluctantly packed a bag and went to stay with her grandparents. She pulled up to their townhome after school on Friday to drop off her bags and quickly left to go over to a friend’s before they went to the football game. She came back well after both of her grandparents and aunt were in bed. She felt strange being awake in their house without them. This had really never been the case before. She walked around the kitchen and the living room taking in small details. Like the way you could hide behind the curtains covering the doors to the patio and pretend you were playing hide and seek. Or how funny it was that the same orange and green flowered couches from the big house had sleeves covering their arms. What did they need that for? Wary of stomping around too loudly and waking her grandparents up, she went downstairs to bed.

The next evening, she had dinner with her grandparents and aunt. Her Mama made her favorite: honey chicken. She rarely cooked anymore, but her granddaughter was over, it was special. Annie watched from the hightop chair looking into the kitchen as her Mama slowly walked between the oven and the prep counter and laboriously bent down to get out pans and put them on the counter. Annie did not offer to help.

As the kitchen became a heavenly concoction of honeyed smells, her Papa, Mama, aunt, and Annie gathered around the kitchen table, which Annie did have the good sense to set, but only after being asked by her Mama. They talked almost exclusively about Annie’s life. She regaled them with funny stories, shared the drama between her friends, and said naively how she couldn’t wait to be done with high school, to be an adult.

After dinner, Annie donned yellow rubber gloves and plunged her hands in and out of soapy water. While she was washing the dishes, her papa suggested they might play some cards. Annie easily said no, she was going to a friend’s. But she lied. She was actually sneaking into her parents’ house and having a party. Her friends would park down the street so as not to alert her neighbors. They would drink her parents' liquor, but refill the bottles with water, hoping her parents wouldn’t notice some of it was gone. She would drink so much that night she would vomit and some of other friends would too.

Only later would she recall the look on her Papa’s face when she declined his invitation to cards. The way the corners of his eyes dropped down as the edges of his mouth sank slightly. The way his lips parted as if to respond in protest but quickly closed after second thought. The way that if you were a really perceptive individual, you could see the fear of irrelevance bouncing around in his head, just behind the furrowed brow. She would remember this face and think it was no big deal – she would simply say yes next time. But what she didn’t quite understand yet was that moments with loved ones were numbered, and you best cherish them while you can.
It had been a while since she last saw Papa, and she was nervous standing before her grandparents' front door. She had heard he had gotten worse, but she had yet to see it with her eyes. She took a breath and walked into the house to find him sitting on his favorite green reclining chair, blanket over the top of him, her aunt’s dog, a black and white spotted Maltese with an underbite and proclivity to tilt his head, Louis, right beside him.

Dementia rules:

Players:

• One twenty-year-old Annie, short curly, brunette hair, contacts, a burgeoning confidence in herself
• One eighty-six-year-old Papa, thick-lensed glasses, always dressed in khakis and a polo tucked-in, a film over brown eyes, a weakening idea of himself

Set-up:

• The players sit in the plush chairs by the kitchen table. Annie stares anywhere but in her Papa’s eyes.

Rules:

• The younger player asks questions about the older player's life – though she knows she will not get a straight answer.
• The older player asks the same questions on repeat.
• The younger player tries to get him to go on a walk, he declines.
• The players move to the couch where they watch the endless stream of news.
• The game ends when Mama returns home, or when Annie feels overwhelmed by the prospect of a great, long life.

Example of Play:

Annie sat across from her Papa on the green loveseat after giving him a hug.

“It’s good to see you, Annie!” Papa said. From the kitchen, Mama heaved a sigh of relief. Annie glanced over at her and noticed a mix of terror and exhaustion in those brown eyes. She realized Mama thought Papa wouldn’t have remembered her. That he would’ve seen her face, the blue eyes, the light freckles, the button nose, the medium lips and not recognized it as his granddaughter. Annie had not known that this was what “worse” really meant – that she could be erased from a mind belonging to someone who had loved her from the moment he saw her. It was comforting that the floor was still there because she felt her spirit in freefall.

“You too, Papa. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, just fine.”

“That’s good. What have you been up to?”

“Oh nothing, much. Nothing much. Now, where are you at lately?”

She felt a momentary sting. It had only been a year since she left. “Oh, I’m in college. Finished my first year. At Northwestern, outside Chicago.” She smiled.

“Oh, good. Well, you study hard, then.” Papa had always been a big proponent of studying, and the familiarity of this part of his personality comforted her. He used to joke that the first grandchild of his to go to med school would get his 1980s baby blue Mercedes Benz convertible. Not one of the 20 ever did.

"I’ll be trying to.”

Just then her cousins, aunts, and uncles walked in, and, suddenly, the room was alive with chatter, appetizers, and cocktails. During this fast-paced talking, Papa remained in his corner. Concentrating, it seemed. Staring intently at these faces, listening to the words that rattled from their tongues. Annie saw him understand he was slipping away from himself and saw him doing everything in his power to hold on to the threads he had left. He was trying to study his way back into his life, convinced that with enough effort, he wouldn’t forget the people he loved, the bodies humming warmly around him. The fear coming from the green chair was palpable. But, perhaps, it felt scarier to think he could be forgotten by them. That as his mind let them go unwillingly, they would let him go, afraid of the commitment of handling someone who was reverting. She felt ashamed. Almost no one went up to talk to him during the before dinner hour, including her. Because what was she to talk about? When he was gone, she would wish she had been unafraid of silence and brave enough to simply sit with him and hold his hand. Brave enough to let him know she would love him even when he could not grasp he was somebody to be loved.


She gently took the deck from him and shuffled the cards. She had learned to waterfall the cards, but she never got the bridge. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she mashed the cards together. She longed for the ease of Papa’s shuffling, the ease of his past self.

Trash rules:

Players:

• One twenty-two-year-old Annie, short curly, brunette hair, wearing light-wash jeans and a white t-shirt, in a state of uncertainty about the future of her life
• One eighty-eight-year-old Papa, a white t-shirt tucked into sweatpants, in a state of uncertainty about himself

Set-up:

• Shuffle a full deck of cards and deal each player 10.
• The players arrange their cards on the table face down. If Annie was playing with Papa, she would have to flip over the cards he turned up by accident.
• The remaining cards are put in the draw pile.
• Aces are 1, jacks are wild, and Kings are trash.
• Queens are stealing cards, you can use them to steal another person’s card. No one can win with a queen in their hand. Unless, Annie is playing Papa, and he thinks he’s won with a queen in his hand, and she allows him to win because she doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.

Rules:

• The player who doesn't deal the cards starts the game. The first player draws from the stock pile. If they can play the card (meaning Ace through Jack) the player places the card in the appropriate spot on their grid. If they drew an Ace, for instance, they would place it in the top left position of the grid; a 10 would be the bottom right and so on. Unless Annie is playing Papa, and he puts a two where the six should go. When they place a card on the grid, they flip over the faced-down card previously in that position. If they can use that card, then they do the same thing until they get a card they cannot play (meaning a King, Queen, or a card they have already played). Unless Annie is playing Papa, and she has to move the cards into place for him when he tries to discard a perfectly good ten he needs in his deck.
• When they have an unplayable card, they place it face up beside the stockpile, forming the discard pile, and player 2 begins their turn. If Annie is playing Papa, she will discard his card for him when he forgets to do so.
• Starting with player 2's first turn, players can choose to either draw from the stockpile or the discard pile. Unless Annie is playing Papa, and he attempts to take a card she is using from her hand because he thought it was his turn. She lets him.
• The first player to fill out their entire grid wins, and the game is complete. Or, the game is complete, when Papa loses interest and doesn’t want to move his cards anymore. Or, when Annie loses patience and must stop. This action is often accompanied by guilt.

Example of Play:

She felt his eyes watch the movement of her hands, the way they maneuvered the cards, studying it. There is so much to be said about memory’s importance in the process of learning. She dealt them each ten cards, and he began to flip them over. She didn’t correct his mistake. They played the round. She answered his questions, or maybe not questions, but confused glances. She cherished the moments when she saw a flicker of recognition dance in his eye. When it was time to leave, she packed up the cards and gave him a hug.

He grabbed her arm and said, “Keep going, you keep doing what you are doing.” She smiled and, of course, told him she would.

Shortly after Papa’s death, Annie returned home. She stopped by her grandparents’ townhome unsure of what the inside would feel like. She no longer lived where her Papa lived; he was no longer in her daily life. Even though she saw his dead body, crinkled underneath layers of foundation, mouth parted, lips parched, cheeks sunken, even though she went to his funeral, the moment she flew away, her brain put him back in her hometown. Compartmentalized him to where he had always been. Her body thought she would simply see him when she returned, even though, rationally, she knew she wouldn’t.

Death Rules:

Players:

• One twenty-four-year-old Annie accompanied by everyone left behind by her Papa, to be exact: one Mama, seven of Mama and Papa’s children, five spouses of those children, nineteen grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren.

Set-up:

• One rosary service with an open casket; a papa in that casket with a sunken mouth looking much like the lips of a turtle, closed eyes, hands one over the other across his chest. One great-grandchild, who ran nonstop during this service and laughed while he went up to the coffin, not quite sure what to do with the person who looked like they were sleeping but really weren’t. This great-grandchild didn’t quite understand death yet; it will be confusing for him when he discovers he never will.
• One funeral in the form of a Catholic mass, which lasts about an hour. Three speeches given by grandchildren that will move the audience to tears. About 20 minutes of music performed by Annie and her cousin, which will distract Annie only long enough until the hour-long service is over, after which she will break down with her singing cousin. Crying softly into each other’s arms.
• One reception where many of the family members will indulge in too much wine, Annie included. One pushed back flight by Annie to stay for a few moments longer in the world of black clothes, tears, and embraces by family.
• Many planes taking off in different directions, spreading the family out once again.

Rules:

• None.

Example of Play:

She rang the doorbell. Mama came to the door and enveloped her in a tight hug. They exchanged pleasantries, and she asked if Annie would like something to eat. She declined. She wondered if you could taste loss. Because if so, she tasted it in the air. The crisp, pale air the air conditioner blew around the house, the way it stripped away her saliva and made her feel as if she had been laying in a casket for hours, playing dead, with her mouth open. She changed her mind about the food, and together, they made one of those splendid Turkey sandwiches. As she got older, she would understand the brilliance of a well-crafted turkey sandwich. The subtlety and nuance of the flavors combining, so that it wasn’t overbearing in any way – unlike the overbearing sweetness in a PB&J. She wished she could tell her Papa.

They walked around the townhome admiring the collection of Mama’s plants – something she had carried over during the move from the big house. There was no one who could keep a houseplant alive like Mama. Annie asked about her favorite plant, the night-blooming cactus.

“Well, it’s the strangest thing,” Mama said. “When we moved from Terrace Road, the plant was not happy at all. I moved it downstairs to give it more light. It didn’t like that. I moved it upstairs for some shade, and that was a no go. It wasn’t blooming. Well, finally, after Papa died, I decided to move it on the deck, and now, it’s blooming. Just like that.”

Mama told her she could spend the night, so she could see the flower bloom. Annie still had never seen a bloom outside of pictures on the internet. Later, Annie came back to her grandparents’, watched a movie with her Mama and her aunt, and went to bed. Alone, all she could think about was the taste of the air, and how, in the basement, two doors away, her Papa breathed his last breath. She knew you had to breathe to live, but she had a brief moment where she wondered if everyone was making it up. And, maybe, if you stopped breathing, you were ‘playing’ dead, and you joined a secret group of everyone who had ever gone before you in a glorious metropolis underground, and you were not really gone. She felt three again and realized she created her own distorted version of heaven (which she didn’t believe in anyway). She cried.

After a while, she got up to see the cactus. Tip-toeing lightly upstairs, so as not to wake anyone up. When she got to the deck, she noticed Mama sitting outside with a cup of tea.

“I wanted you to see it with someone,” she said and took Annie’s hand.

It was magnificent. White, spiraling, pouring itself open to the night. So incredibly vulnerable, this flower. She understood why it could only open at night when most of the world was asleep. She remembered her grandfather in his last days with eyes like this flower. Scared, open, vast. She remembered how he seemed to be reaching out, trying to find a ledge somewhere, something to hold on to. She remembered how slippery it felt trying to catch him. She remembered how impossible it felt to hold someone so fragile. She remembered she only tried her best to be there for him. She wished there was some way he could stay in her life forever, never ceasing to be around to give his wisdom. She felt like everything she knew about life, adulthood, and childhood had been turned on its head. But people told her, her Papa included, that this was what life was. To have the rules of life turned into a foreign language just when you figured out how to read them. She cried again, but this time she could grab her Mama’s hands and stare into her Papa’s eyes.

























The Rules of Life
By Anne Elise Teeling


























As a toddler, Annie was obsessed with her Papa. To the extent that her Papa would have to hide from her at adult social events. She would walk up to everyone at the function and with varying degrees of understandability say, “Papa?” or “Where Papa?” Maybe he darted behind the couch or hid behind a closet door, but eventually, she would always find him. When she did, a smile, or a knowing smirk, rather, would spread across that older face – slightly wrinkled but not too much yet, like a shirt that almost needs to be pressed. They were the truest of pals. At this stage of her life, the game of choice for the two of them was Go Fish. Easy enough for her to grasp but complicated enough to challenge her a little bit.

Go Fish Rules:

Players:

• One four-year-old Annie, blonde curly afro, bright blue eyes, round face
• One sixty-nine-year-old Papa, bald at the top of his head, grandfather belly, with a laugh that only sounded as a few “humphs” in succession

Set-up:

• Deal each player five cards.
• The remaining cards go into the draw pile.

Rules:

• Player one asks another player for a certain type of card, e.g. a 2. If the opposing player has said card, they must give it up. Unless, of course, the opposing player was her sneaky Papa, who often pretended he had none of the cards she was looking for. When he would finally give it up, Annie would laugh and laugh, high-pitched and bouncing through the air.
• Player one receives their desired card and goes again.
• If the opposing player does not have the cards asked for, they say “Go Fish.” When they went fishing for cards, her Papa would pretend the cards were all different types of real fish. “Oh, you caught a salmon!” Papa would say. To which she would respond, “What is a Salmon?” Eventually, it would be she who yelled out, “You got Tilapia!” and “Oh, that one’s a nice Branzino!” To which he would reply, “Well, we will have to get a good Sauvignon Blanc to drink with that.”
• Play sets of 4 once you have them, the game ends when the first person runs out of cards, or, when Mama brings them lunch, and Annie becomes distracted by the many ways four-year-olds can play with food.

Example of Play:

They played at the kitchen table, a smooth white tabletop with wooden edges and legs, big enough to seat eight people around. While the two of them played cards, her Mama would be in the kitchen watching them interact and making her granddaughter’s favorite snack: toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No crust, of course. Annie was beginning to appreciate fine culinary things, and from everything she had tasted, these toasted PB&J sandwiches had to be the finest. She assumed her Mama was some sort of superwoman to be able to make something so delicious out of unremarkable things like sandwich bread, jelly, and peanut butter.
Sometime during their play, her grandmother would emerge from the kitchen and set down full plates in front of them. A toasted PB&J for her, and a decadent turkey and cheese sandwich loaded with mustard (gross, in little Annie’s opinion), mayo, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and, of course, one crunchy, vinegary pickle on the side (the largest grievance). She always considered this meal to be a sophisticated one. She had it in her mind that as one got older, one became less fun and was therefore forced to pretend to like things like loaded turkey sandwiches and pickles, instead of toasted, no-crust PB&Js. She couldn’t say she was excited for this rite of passage, but she also couldn’t say she was afraid of it. What she wanted the most out of growing up was not a sophisticated palate, but an understanding of how her Papa seemed to have the answer to every question she would pose. She wanted to be as tall as an adult, look them in the eye, and communicate with them in a way they would comprehend. She wanted to pretend to like turkey sandwiches.

But, perhaps what she wanted most of all, was to be an adult with her Papa, so that he would share all the secrets of life with her. He would teach her how to navigate the difficulties of life with rules as simple as those to Go Fish. He was her friend now, but she imagined how he was only waiting for her to reach the age of twenty, so they could really see each other eye-to-eye.


She was nine years old, small enough that everything still seemed big to her. But, even if she hadn’t been small, her grandparents’ living room would have seemed huge. It was a large room with white carpet. Its largeness was compounded by the fact that there were no real doors into the room but rather entrances to other areas of the house; four to be exact. One walkway into the dining room, which was complete with a long mahogany dining table for ten and glass cases housing fancy China. One walkway into the foyer. This led to the front door, always the darkest area of the house from its lack of natural sunlight. One into her grandfather’s office; there were doors here, but they were French doors with windows, so she could peer into the space with his imposing dark wood desk even if the doors were closed. The golden nameplate that read “Dr. Kelso” always fascinated her. She wondered what it would be like to be so important you had to have your name on a gold plate for strangers to read. She wondered if she would ever be that important. The fourth entrance also had a French door, but this opened to the solarium, her favorite room in her grandparents' house. Here lived all the beautiful plants her Mama tended to, including the elusive but beautiful night-blooming cactus. She had never seen the night-blooming cactus because it always opened past her bedtime. But she vowed when she got older, and she wasn’t bound by the constrictions of a child’s bedtime, she would finally lay eyes on that elusive flower. And maybe, she would understand something about the world she had never understood before.

The living room was outfitted with a gorgeous marble fireplace, atop of which sat a portrait of Annie’s aunt draped in pearls. Orange and green flowered couches laid perpendicular to the fireplace with a glass coffee table in the middle. In the corner of the living room by the entrance to the foyer, sat an upright piano. This was her Mama’s office. Her beautiful voice was the soundtrack for Papa’s important gold-name-plate work. In between the solarium and her Papa’s office was her favorite spot in the living room: a small white marble table, perfect for two. This is where Papa and she played war.

War rules:

Players:

• One nine-year-old Annie, dirty blonde curlyish, wavyish hair, one bright blue eye that tended to wander away from the other, a big gap between her front teeth, and steel green, rectangular glasses
• One seventy-four-year-old Papa, a little thicker in the jaw, a smile where he almost never showed his teeth, and hands decorated with sunspots from years on the golf green

Set-up:

• Shuffle a full deck of cards and deal each player half.

Rules:

• Each player flips over a card at the same time. The player with the higher card wins both cards. Unless, you are playing a sneaky Papa, who will try to take both cards even though he clearly played a five and you played a ten. He then will pretend he truly believes you get to bigger numbers by counting backward, to which Annie will exclaim, “Papa!! Don’t be a cheater! I know you know how to count!”
• In the event the same card is flipped over by each player, war is declared. Each player then puts three cards face down on the table and flips over the fourth. The higher card wins all the cards in the war. But when you play Papa, he will try to hoard all his other cards, and will say, “No, you really have to fight me if you want to get them.” To which Annie will stand up and go around the table to get her rightful cards, and Papa will tickle her until she is laughing so hard, there are tears on her cheeks. If both players flip over the same card the fourth time, they do the war process again. You can only imagine how dramatic this gets if you are playing a Papa.
• The game is over when one player has all the cards in their hand, or, when you’ve been playing for over an hour and it is well past Annie’s bedtime.

Example of Play:

Anne loved playing war. She delighted in the knowledge that they were about to embark on something with no time limit (and that it often pushed back her bedtime). She was not a good shuffler, so her Papa took the deck. He moved the worn and tired cards between his hands easily. She was mesmerized by the folding of the cards between each other and the arching of their thin spines into a bridge. She would never ask him to teach her because she loved to watch the way his hands maneuvered the cards. His sun-spotted hands, colored by years of playing golf and the nub on his forefinger in place of a fingernail. She asked what happened to his finger, and he told her it was bitten off by a dog. This scared her, but she soon stopped believing it. She had learned how much of a tease and goof her Papa was. This inspired her. Because even though she was excited to reach the maturity of adulthood, she never wanted to lose her silliness. And her serious, imposing, important gold-nameplate Papa, showed her it was possible to speak the language of a child and an adult.


Annie felt like an adult. She was sixteen now and could drive herself all over God's green earth, though she never did – she mostly drove around Des Moines. She was a straight-A student. She excelled in her extracurriculars. She had big thoughts about the world. She understood the word dichotomy. She could use the quadratic formula. She knew what a mole was (though she would forget this later). She read classic novels, like Wuthering Heights, answered plot questions, and, at times, drew bigger conclusions about deeper themes in the novel. She drank alcohol with her friends until the wee hours of the morning without her parents knowing. She kissed boys in the dark without her parents knowing. She talked about people behind their backs. She spread gossip. She was the subject of spread gossip. She was hurt by said gossip. She did not know that none of this meant you were an adult.

Growing up rules:

Players:

• One sixteen-year-old Annie, freshly minted driver’s license in hand, baby fat still hugging the edges of her face, newly braces-straightened front teeth (no gap) that boosted her self-confidence tremendously, self-absorption marinating in her bones
• One eighty-one-year-old Papa, skin that sagged a little more off his arms, seasoned, knowledgeable eyes, a frightening understanding, that yes, he really was getting older

Set-up:

• One weekend where Annie’s parents traveled out of town and left an empty house in Des Moines.
• One decree from Annie’s parents that she must stay at her grandparents’ that weekend.
• One reluctant, devious Annie, and two unassuming, sweet grandparents.

Rules:

• The younger player makes herself scarce over the weekend, popping in only for meals, the occasional shower, and sleep.
• The grandparents hope Annie will spend some time with them, a look of excitement on their face whenever she enters the room.
• Disappointment sets in as the grandparents realize their irrelevance in Annie’s bubble of herself.
• They begin to question their relevance anywhere.

Example of Play:

“Why do I have to stay at Mama and Papa’s?” Annie whined.

“Because you’re too young to stay here by yourself,” her mom said.

“What do you mean? I’m sixteen. I can drive! Do you not trust me?”

“This isn’t about trust,” her mom sighed while Annie marched out of the kitchen and slammed the door into her room. “Annie, you know, it would be good for you to spend some time with your grandparents!” She yelled after her.
Losing the battle with her mother, she reluctantly packed a bag and went to stay with her grandparents. She pulled up to their townhome after school on Friday to drop off her bags and quickly left to go over to a friend’s before they went to the football game. She came back well after both of her grandparents and aunt were in bed. She felt strange being awake in their house without them. This had really never been the case before. She walked around the kitchen and the living room taking in small details. Like the way you could hide behind the curtains covering the doors to the patio and pretend you were playing hide and seek. Or how funny it was that the same orange and green flowered couches from the big house had sleeves covering their arms. What did they need that for? Wary of stomping around too loudly and waking her grandparents up, she went downstairs to bed.

The next evening, she had dinner with her grandparents and aunt. Her Mama made her favorite: honey chicken. She rarely cooked anymore, but her granddaughter was over, it was special. Annie watched from the hightop chair looking into the kitchen as her Mama slowly walked between the oven and the prep counter and laboriously bent down to get out pans and put them on the counter. Annie did not offer to help.

As the kitchen became a heavenly concoction of honeyed smells, her Papa, Mama, aunt, and Annie gathered around the kitchen table, which Annie did have the good sense to set, but only after being asked by her Mama. They talked almost exclusively about Annie’s life. She regaled them with funny stories, shared the drama between her friends, and said naively how she couldn’t wait to be done with high school, to be an adult.

After dinner, Annie donned yellow rubber gloves and plunged her hands in and out of soapy water. While she was washing the dishes, her papa suggested they might play some cards. Annie easily said no, she was going to a friend’s. But she lied. She was actually sneaking into her parents’ house and having a party. Her friends would park down the street so as not to alert her neighbors. They would drink her parents' liquor, but refill the bottles with water, hoping her parents wouldn’t notice some of it was gone. She would drink so much that night she would vomit and some of other friends would too.

Only later would she recall the look on her Papa’s face when she declined his invitation to cards. The way the corners of his eyes dropped down as the edges of his mouth sank slightly. The way his lips parted as if to respond in protest but quickly closed after second thought. The way that if you were a really perceptive individual, you could see the fear of irrelevance bouncing around in his head, just behind the furrowed brow. She would remember this face and think it was no big deal – she would simply say yes next time. But what she didn’t quite understand yet was that moments with loved ones were numbered, and you best cherish them while you can.


It had been a while since she last saw Papa, and she was nervous standing before her grandparents' front door. She had heard he had gotten worse, but she had yet to see it with her eyes. She took a breath and walked into the house to find him sitting on his favorite green reclining chair, blanket over the top of him, her aunt’s dog, a black and white spotted Maltese with an underbite and proclivity to tilt his head, Louis, right beside him.

Dementia rules:

Players:

• One twenty-year-old Annie, short curly, brunette hair, contacts, a burgeoning confidence in herself
• One eighty-six-year-old Papa, thick-lensed glasses, always dressed in khakis and a polo tucked-in, a film over brown eyes, a weakening idea of himself

Set-up:

• The players sit in the plush chairs by the kitchen table. Annie stares anywhere but in her Papa’s eyes.

Rules:

• The younger player asks questions about the older player's life – though she knows she will not get a straight answer.
• The older player asks the same questions on repeat.
• The younger player tries to get him to go on a walk, he declines.
• The players move to the couch where they watch the endless stream of news.
• The game ends when Mama returns home, or when Annie feels overwhelmed by the prospect of a great, long life.

Example of Play:

Annie sat across from her Papa on the green loveseat after giving him a hug.

“It’s good to see you, Annie!” Papa said. From the kitchen, Mama heaved a sigh of relief. Annie glanced over at her and noticed a mix of terror and exhaustion in those brown eyes. She realized Mama thought Papa wouldn’t have remembered her. That he would’ve seen her face, the blue eyes, the light freckles, the button nose, the medium lips and not recognized it as his granddaughter. Annie had not known that this was what “worse” really meant – that she could be erased from a mind belonging to someone who had loved her from the moment he saw her. It was comforting that the floor was still there because she felt her spirit in freefall.

“You too, Papa. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, just fine.”

“That’s good. What have you been up to?”

“Oh nothing, much. Nothing much. Now, where are you at lately?”

She felt a momentary sting. It had only been a year since she left. “Oh, I’m in college. Finished my first year. At Northwestern, outside Chicago.” She smiled.

“Oh, good. Well, you study hard, then.” Papa had always been a big proponent of studying, and the familiarity of this part of his personality comforted her. He used to joke that the first grandchild of his to go to med school would get his 1980s baby blue Mercedes Benz convertible. Not one of the 20 ever did.

"I’ll be trying to.”

Just then her cousins, aunts, and uncles walked in, and, suddenly, the room was alive with chatter, appetizers, and cocktails. During this fast-paced talking, Papa remained in his corner. Concentrating, it seemed. Staring intently at these faces, listening to the words that rattled from their tongues. Annie saw him understand he was slipping away from himself and saw him doing everything in his power to hold on to the threads he had left. He was trying to study his way back into his life, convinced that with enough effort, he wouldn’t forget the people he loved, the bodies humming warmly around him. The fear coming from the green chair was palpable. But, perhaps, it felt scarier to think he could be forgotten by them. That as his mind let them go unwillingly, they would let him go, afraid of the commitment of handling someone who was reverting. She felt ashamed. Almost no one went up to talk to him during the before dinner hour, including her. Because what was she to talk about? When he was gone, she would wish she had been unafraid of silence and brave enough to simply sit with him and hold his hand. Brave enough to let him know she would love him even when he could not grasp he was somebody to be loved.


She gently took the deck from him and shuffled the cards. She had learned to waterfall the cards, but she never got the bridge. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she mashed the cards together. She longed for the ease of Papa’s shuffling, the ease of his past self.

Trash rules:

Players:

• One twenty-two-year-old Annie, short curly, brunette hair, wearing light-wash jeans and a white t-shirt, in a state of uncertainty about the future of her life
• One eighty-eight-year-old Papa, a white t-shirt tucked into sweatpants, in a state of uncertainty about himself

Set-up:

• Shuffle a full deck of cards and deal each player 10.
• The players arrange their cards on the table face down. If Annie was playing with Papa, she would have to flip over the cards he turned up by accident.
• The remaining cards are put in the draw pile.
• Aces are 1, jacks are wild, and Kings are trash.
• Queens are stealing cards, you can use them to steal another person’s card. No one can win with a queen in their hand. Unless, Annie is playing Papa, and he thinks he’s won with a queen in his hand, and she allows him to win because she doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.

Rules:

• The player who doesn't deal the cards starts the game. The first player draws from the stock pile. If they can play the card (meaning Ace through Jack) the player places the card in the appropriate spot on their grid. If they drew an Ace, for instance, they would place it in the top left position of the grid; a 10 would be the bottom right and so on. Unless Annie is playing Papa, and he puts a two where the six should go. When they place a card on the grid, they flip over the faced-down card previously in that position. If they can use that card, then they do the same thing until they get a card they cannot play (meaning a King, Queen, or a card they have already played). Unless Annie is playing Papa, and she has to move the cards into place for him when he tries to discard a perfectly good ten he needs in his deck.
• When they have an unplayable card, they place it face up beside the stockpile, forming the discard pile, and player 2 begins their turn. If Annie is playing Papa, she will discard his card for him when he forgets to do so.
• Starting with player 2's first turn, players can choose to either draw from the stockpile or the discard pile. Unless Annie is playing Papa, and he attempts to take a card she is using from her hand because he thought it was his turn. She lets him.
• The first player to fill out their entire grid wins, and the game is complete. Or, the game is complete, when Papa loses interest and doesn’t want to move his cards anymore. Or, when Annie loses patience and must stop. This action is often accompanied by guilt.

Example of Play:

She felt his eyes watch the movement of her hands, the way they maneuvered the cards, studying it. There is so much to be said about memory’s importance in the process of learning. She dealt them each ten cards, and he began to flip them over. She didn’t correct his mistake. They played the round. She answered his questions, or maybe not questions, but confused glances. She cherished the moments when she saw a flicker of recognition dance in his eye. When it was time to leave, she packed up the cards and gave him a hug.

He grabbed her arm and said, “Keep going, you keep doing what you are doing.” She smiled and, of course, told him she would.


Shortly after Papa’s death, Annie returned home. She stopped by her grandparents’ townhome unsure of what the inside would feel like. She no longer lived where her Papa lived; he was no longer in her daily life. Even though she saw his dead body, crinkled underneath layers of foundation, mouth parted, lips parched, cheeks sunken, even though she went to his funeral, the moment she flew away, her brain put him back in her hometown. Compartmentalized him to where he had always been. Her body thought she would simply see him when she returned, even though, rationally, she knew she wouldn’t.

Death Rules:

Players:

• One twenty-four-year-old Annie accompanied by everyone left behind by her Papa, to be exact: one Mama, seven of Mama and Papa’s children, five spouses of those children, nineteen grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren.

Set-up:

• One rosary service with an open casket; a papa in that casket with a sunken mouth looking much like the lips of a turtle, closed eyes, hands one over the other across his chest. One great-grandchild, who ran nonstop during this service and laughed while he went up to the coffin, not quite sure what to do with the person who looked like they were sleeping but really weren’t. This great-grandchild didn’t quite understand death yet; it will be confusing for him when he discovers he never will.
• One funeral in the form of a Catholic mass, which lasts about an hour. Three speeches given by grandchildren that will move the audience to tears. About 20 minutes of music performed by Annie and her cousin, which will distract Annie only long enough until the hour-long service is over, after which she will break down with her singing cousin. Crying softly into each other’s arms.
• One reception where many of the family members will indulge in too much wine, Annie included. One pushed back flight by Annie to stay for a few moments longer in the world of black clothes, tears, and embraces by family.
• Many planes taking off in different directions, spreading the family out once again.

Rules:

• None.

Example of Play:

She rang the doorbell. Mama came to the door and enveloped her in a tight hug. They exchanged pleasantries, and she asked if Annie would like something to eat. She declined. She wondered if you could taste loss. Because if so, she tasted it in the air. The crisp, pale air the air conditioner blew around the house, the way it stripped away her saliva and made her feel as if she had been laying in a casket for hours, playing dead, with her mouth open. She changed her mind about the food, and together, they made one of those splendid Turkey sandwiches. As she got older, she would understand the brilliance of a well-crafted turkey sandwich. The subtlety and nuance of the flavors combining, so that it wasn’t overbearing in any way – unlike the overbearing sweetness in a PB&J. She wished she could tell her Papa.

They walked around the townhome admiring the collection of Mama’s plants – something she had carried over during the move from the big house. There was no one who could keep a houseplant alive like Mama. Annie asked about her favorite plant, the night-blooming cactus.

“Well, it’s the strangest thing,” Mama said. “When we moved from Terrace Road, the plant was not happy at all. I moved it downstairs to give it more light. It didn’t like that. I moved it upstairs for some shade, and that was a no go. It wasn’t blooming. Well, finally, after Papa died, I decided to move it on the deck, and now, it’s blooming. Just like that.”

Mama told her she could spend the night, so she could see the flower bloom. Annie still had never seen a bloom outside of pictures on the internet. Later, Annie came back to her grandparents’, watched a movie with her Mama and her aunt, and went to bed. Alone, all she could think about was the taste of the air, and how, in the basement, two doors away, her Papa breathed his last breath. She knew you had to breathe to live, but she had a brief moment where she wondered if everyone was making it up. And, maybe, if you stopped breathing, you were ‘playing’ dead, and you joined a secret group of everyone who had ever gone before you in a glorious metropolis underground, and you were not really gone. She felt three again and realized she created her own distorted version of heaven (which she didn’t believe in anyway). She cried.

After a while, she got up to see the cactus. Tip-toeing lightly upstairs, so as not to wake anyone up. When she got to the deck, she noticed Mama sitting outside with a cup of tea.

“I wanted you to see it with someone,” she said and took Annie’s hand.

It was magnificent. White, spiraling, pouring itself open to the night. So incredibly vulnerable, this flower. She understood why it could only open at night when most of the world was asleep. She remembered her grandfather in his last days with eyes like this flower. Scared, open, vast. She remembered how he seemed to be reaching out, trying to find a ledge somewhere, something to hold on to. She remembered how slippery it felt trying to catch him. She remembered how impossible it felt to hold someone so fragile. She remembered she only tried her best to be there for him. She wished there was some way he could stay in her life forever, never ceasing to be around to give his wisdom. She felt like everything she knew about life, adulthood, and childhood had been turned on its head. But people told her, her Papa included, that this was what life was. To have the rules of life turned into a foreign language just when you figured out how to read them. She cried again, but this time she could grab her Mama’s hands and stare into her Papa’s eyes.


Anne Elise Teeling is a professional singer and fledgling author based in New York City. She studied creative writing at Northwestern University. This story is about her experience watching her grandfather slowly lose his mind, and, later his life, to dementia. It is dedicated to his memory, and the love he never failed to show her. 































The Rules of Life
By Anne Elise Teeling

As a toddler, Annie was obsessed with her Papa. To the extent that her Papa would have to hide from her at adult social events. She would walk up to everyone at the function and with varying degrees of understandability say, “Papa?” or “Where Papa?” Maybe he darted behind the couch or hid behind a closet door, but eventually, she would always find him. When she did, a smile, or a knowing smirk, rather, would spread across that older face – slightly wrinkled but not too much yet, like a shirt that almost needs to be pressed. They were the truest of pals. At this stage of her life, the game of choice for the two of them was Go Fish. Easy enough for her to grasp but complicated enough to challenge her a little bit.

Go Fish Rules:

Players:

• One four-year-old Annie, blonde curly afro, bright blue eyes, round face
• One sixty-nine-year-old Papa, bald at the top of his head, grandfather belly, with a laugh that only sounded as a few “humphs” in succession

Set-up:

• Deal each player five cards.
• The remaining cards go into the draw pile.

Rules:

• Player one asks another player for a certain type of card, e.g. a 2. If the opposing player has said card, they must give it up. Unless, of course, the opposing player was her sneaky Papa, who often pretended he had none of the cards she was looking for. When he would finally give it up, Annie would laugh and laugh, high-pitched and bouncing through the air.
• Player one receives their desired card and goes again.
• If the opposing player does not have the cards asked for, they say “Go Fish.” When they went fishing for cards, her Papa would pretend the cards were all different types of real fish. “Oh, you caught a salmon!” Papa would say. To which she would respond, “What is a Salmon?” Eventually, it would be she who yelled out, “You got Tilapia!” and “Oh, that one’s a nice Branzino!” To which he would reply, “Well, we will have to get a good Sauvignon Blanc to drink with that.”
• Play sets of 4 once you have them, the game ends when the first person runs out of cards, or, when Mama brings them lunch, and Annie becomes distracted by the many ways four-year-olds can play with food.

Example of Play:

They played at the kitchen table, a smooth white tabletop with wooden edges and legs, big enough to seat eight people around. While the two of them played cards, her Mama would be in the kitchen watching them interact and making her granddaughter’s favorite snack: toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. No crust, of course. Annie was beginning to appreciate fine culinary things, and from everything she had tasted, these toasted PB&J sandwiches had to be the finest. She assumed her Mama was some sort of superwoman to be able to make something so delicious out of unremarkable things like sandwich bread, jelly, and peanut butter.
Sometime during their play, her grandmother would emerge from the kitchen and set down full plates in front of them. A toasted PB&J for her, and a decadent turkey and cheese sandwich loaded with mustard (gross, in little Annie’s opinion), mayo, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, and, of course, one crunchy, vinegary pickle on the side (the largest grievance). She always considered this meal to be a sophisticated one. She had it in her mind that as one got older, one became less fun and was therefore forced to pretend to like things like loaded turkey sandwiches and pickles, instead of toasted, no-crust PB&Js. She couldn’t say she was excited for this rite of passage, but she also couldn’t say she was afraid of it. What she wanted the most out of growing up was not a sophisticated palate, but an understanding of how her Papa seemed to have the answer to every question she would pose. She wanted to be as tall as an adult, look them in the eye, and communicate with them in a way they would comprehend. She wanted to pretend to like turkey sandwiches.

But, perhaps what she wanted most of all, was to be an adult with her Papa, so that he would share all the secrets of life with her. He would teach her how to navigate the difficulties of life with rules as simple as those to Go Fish. He was her friend now, but she imagined how he was only waiting for her to reach the age of twenty, so they could really see each other eye-to-eye.

She was nine years old, small enough that everything still seemed big to her. But, even if she hadn’t been small, her grandparents’ living room would have seemed huge. It was a large room with white carpet. Its largeness was compounded by the fact that there were no real doors into the room but rather entrances to other areas of the house; four to be exact. One walkway into the dining room, which was complete with a long mahogany dining table for ten and glass cases housing fancy China. One walkway into the foyer. This led to the front door, always the darkest area of the house from its lack of natural sunlight. One into her grandfather’s office; there were doors here, but they were French doors with windows, so she could peer into the space with his imposing dark wood desk even if the doors were closed. The golden nameplate that read “Dr. Kelso” always fascinated her. She wondered what it would be like to be so important you had to have your name on a gold plate for strangers to read. She wondered if she would ever be that important. The fourth entrance also had a French door, but this opened to the solarium, her favorite room in her grandparents' house. Here lived all the beautiful plants her Mama tended to, including the elusive but beautiful night-blooming cactus. She had never seen the night-blooming cactus because it always opened past her bedtime. But she vowed when she got older, and she wasn’t bound by the constrictions of a child’s bedtime, she would finally lay eyes on that elusive flower. And maybe, she would understand something about the world she had never understood before.

The living room was outfitted with a gorgeous marble fireplace, atop of which sat a portrait of Annie’s aunt draped in pearls. Orange and green flowered couches laid perpendicular to the fireplace with a glass coffee table in the middle. In the corner of the living room by the entrance to the foyer, sat an upright piano. This was her Mama’s office. Her beautiful voice was the soundtrack for Papa’s important gold-name-plate work. In between the solarium and her Papa’s office was her favorite spot in the living room: a small white marble table, perfect for two. This is where Papa and she played war.

War rules:

Players:

• One nine-year-old Annie, dirty blonde curlyish, wavyish hair, one bright blue eye that tended to wander away from the other, a big gap between her front teeth, and steel green, rectangular glasses
• One seventy-four-year-old Papa, a little thicker in the jaw, a smile where he almost never showed his teeth, and hands decorated with sunspots from years on the golf green

Set-up:

• Shuffle a full deck of cards and deal each player half.

Rules:

• Each player flips over a card at the same time. The player with the higher card wins both cards. Unless, you are playing a sneaky Papa, who will try to take both cards even though he clearly played a five and you played a ten. He then will pretend he truly believes you get to bigger numbers by counting backward, to which Annie will exclaim, “Papa!! Don’t be a cheater! I know you know how to count!”
• In the event the same card is flipped over by each player, war is declared. Each player then puts three cards face down on the table and flips over the fourth. The higher card wins all the cards in the war. But when you play Papa, he will try to hoard all his other cards, and will say, “No, you really have to fight me if you want to get them.” To which Annie will stand up and go around the table to get her rightful cards, and Papa will tickle her until she is laughing so hard, there are tears on her cheeks. If both players flip over the same card the fourth time, they do the war process again. You can only imagine how dramatic this gets if you are playing a Papa.
• The game is over when one player has all the cards in their hand, or, when you’ve been playing for over an hour and it is well past Annie’s bedtime.

Example of Play:

Anne loved playing war. She delighted in the knowledge that they were about to embark on something with no time limit (and that it often pushed back her bedtime). She was not a good shuffler, so her Papa took the deck. He moved the worn and tired cards between his hands easily. She was mesmerized by the folding of the cards between each other and the arching of their thin spines into a bridge. She would never ask him to teach her because she loved to watch the way his hands maneuvered the cards. His sun-spotted hands, colored by years of playing golf and the nub on his forefinger in place of a fingernail. She asked what happened to his finger, and he told her it was bitten off by a dog. This scared her, but she soon stopped believing it. She had learned how much of a tease and goof her Papa was. This inspired her. Because even though she was excited to reach the maturity of adulthood, she never wanted to lose her silliness. And her serious, imposing, important gold-nameplate Papa, showed her it was possible to speak the language of a child and an adult.

Annie felt like an adult. She was sixteen now and could drive herself all over God's green earth, though she never did – she mostly drove around Des Moines. She was a straight-A student. She excelled in her extracurriculars. She had big thoughts about the world. She understood the word dichotomy. She could use the quadratic formula. She knew what a mole was (though she would forget this later). She read classic novels, like Wuthering Heights, answered plot questions, and, at times, drew bigger conclusions about deeper themes in the novel. She drank alcohol with her friends until the wee hours of the morning without her parents knowing. She kissed boys in the dark without her parents knowing. She talked about people behind their backs. She spread gossip. She was the subject of spread gossip. She was hurt by said gossip. She did not know that none of this meant you were an adult.

Growing up rules:

Players:

• One sixteen-year-old Annie, freshly minted driver’s license in hand, baby fat still hugging the edges of her face, newly braces-straightened front teeth (no gap) that boosted her self-confidence tremendously, self-absorption marinating in her bones
• One eighty-one-year-old Papa, skin that sagged a little more off his arms, seasoned, knowledgeable eyes, a frightening understanding, that yes, he really was getting older

Set-up:

• One weekend where Annie’s parents traveled out of town and left an empty house in Des Moines.
• One decree from Annie’s parents that she must stay at her grandparents’ that weekend.
• One reluctant, devious Annie, and two unassuming, sweet grandparents.

Rules:

• The younger player makes herself scarce over the weekend, popping in only for meals, the occasional shower, and sleep.
• The grandparents hope Annie will spend some time with them, a look of excitement on their face whenever she enters the room.
• Disappointment sets in as the grandparents realize their irrelevance in Annie’s bubble of herself.
• They begin to question their relevance anywhere.

Example of Play:

“Why do I have to stay at Mama and Papa’s?” Annie whined.

“Because you’re too young to stay here by yourself,” her mom said.

“What do you mean? I’m sixteen. I can drive! Do you not trust me?”

“This isn’t about trust,” her mom sighed while Annie marched out of the kitchen and slammed the door into her room. “Annie, you know, it would be good for you to spend some time with your grandparents!” She yelled after her.
Losing the battle with her mother, she reluctantly packed a bag and went to stay with her grandparents. She pulled up to their townhome after school on Friday to drop off her bags and quickly left to go over to a friend’s before they went to the football game. She came back well after both of her grandparents and aunt were in bed. She felt strange being awake in their house without them. This had really never been the case before. She walked around the kitchen and the living room taking in small details. Like the way you could hide behind the curtains covering the doors to the patio and pretend you were playing hide and seek. Or how funny it was that the same orange and green flowered couches from the big house had sleeves covering their arms. What did they need that for? Wary of stomping around too loudly and waking her grandparents up, she went downstairs to bed.

The next evening, she had dinner with her grandparents and aunt. Her Mama made her favorite: honey chicken. She rarely cooked anymore, but her granddaughter was over, it was special. Annie watched from the hightop chair looking into the kitchen as her Mama slowly walked between the oven and the prep counter and laboriously bent down to get out pans and put them on the counter. Annie did not offer to help.

As the kitchen became a heavenly concoction of honeyed smells, her Papa, Mama, aunt, and Annie gathered around the kitchen table, which Annie did have the good sense to set, but only after being asked by her Mama. They talked almost exclusively about Annie’s life. She regaled them with funny stories, shared the drama between her friends, and said naively how she couldn’t wait to be done with high school, to be an adult.

After dinner, Annie donned yellow rubber gloves and plunged her hands in and out of soapy water. While she was washing the dishes, her papa suggested they might play some cards. Annie easily said no, she was going to a friend’s. But she lied. She was actually sneaking into her parents’ house and having a party. Her friends would park down the street so as not to alert her neighbors. They would drink her parents' liquor, but refill the bottles with water, hoping her parents wouldn’t notice some of it was gone. She would drink so much that night she would vomit and some of other friends would too.

Only later would she recall the look on her Papa’s face when she declined his invitation to cards. The way the corners of his eyes dropped down as the edges of his mouth sank slightly. The way his lips parted as if to respond in protest but quickly closed after second thought. The way that if you were a really perceptive individual, you could see the fear of irrelevance bouncing around in his head, just behind the furrowed brow. She would remember this face and think it was no big deal – she would simply say yes next time. But what she didn’t quite understand yet was that moments with loved ones were numbered, and you best cherish them while you can.
It had been a while since she last saw Papa, and she was nervous standing before her grandparents' front door. She had heard he had gotten worse, but she had yet to see it with her eyes. She took a breath and walked into the house to find him sitting on his favorite green reclining chair, blanket over the top of him, her aunt’s dog, a black and white spotted Maltese with an underbite and proclivity to tilt his head, Louis, right beside him.

Dementia rules:

Players:

• One twenty-year-old Annie, short curly, brunette hair, contacts, a burgeoning confidence in herself
• One eighty-six-year-old Papa, thick-lensed glasses, always dressed in khakis and a polo tucked-in, a film over brown eyes, a weakening idea of himself

Set-up:

• The players sit in the plush chairs by the kitchen table. Annie stares anywhere but in her Papa’s eyes.

Rules:

• The younger player asks questions about the older player's life – though she knows she will not get a straight answer.
• The older player asks the same questions on repeat.
• The younger player tries to get him to go on a walk, he declines.
• The players move to the couch where they watch the endless stream of news.
• The game ends when Mama returns home, or when Annie feels overwhelmed by the prospect of a great, long life.

Example of Play:

Annie sat across from her Papa on the green loveseat after giving him a hug.

“It’s good to see you, Annie!” Papa said. From the kitchen, Mama heaved a sigh of relief. Annie glanced over at her and noticed a mix of terror and exhaustion in those brown eyes. She realized Mama thought Papa wouldn’t have remembered her. That he would’ve seen her face, the blue eyes, the light freckles, the button nose, the medium lips and not recognized it as his granddaughter. Annie had not known that this was what “worse” really meant – that she could be erased from a mind belonging to someone who had loved her from the moment he saw her. It was comforting that the floor was still there because she felt her spirit in freefall.

“You too, Papa. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, just fine.”

“That’s good. What have you been up to?”

“Oh nothing, much. Nothing much. Now, where are you at lately?”

She felt a momentary sting. It had only been a year since she left. “Oh, I’m in college. Finished my first year. At Northwestern, outside Chicago.” She smiled.

“Oh, good. Well, you study hard, then.” Papa had always been a big proponent of studying, and the familiarity of this part of his personality comforted her. He used to joke that the first grandchild of his to go to med school would get his 1980s baby blue Mercedes Benz convertible. Not one of the 20 ever did.

"I’ll be trying to.”

Just then her cousins, aunts, and uncles walked in, and, suddenly, the room was alive with chatter, appetizers, and cocktails. During this fast-paced talking, Papa remained in his corner. Concentrating, it seemed. Staring intently at these faces, listening to the words that rattled from their tongues. Annie saw him understand he was slipping away from himself and saw him doing everything in his power to hold on to the threads he had left. He was trying to study his way back into his life, convinced that with enough effort, he wouldn’t forget the people he loved, the bodies humming warmly around him. The fear coming from the green chair was palpable. But, perhaps, it felt scarier to think he could be forgotten by them. That as his mind let them go unwillingly, they would let him go, afraid of the commitment of handling someone who was reverting. She felt ashamed. Almost no one went up to talk to him during the before dinner hour, including her. Because what was she to talk about? When he was gone, she would wish she had been unafraid of silence and brave enough to simply sit with him and hold his hand. Brave enough to let him know she would love him even when he could not grasp he was somebody to be loved.

She gently took the deck from him and shuffled the cards. She had learned to waterfall the cards, but she never got the bridge. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she mashed the cards together. She longed for the ease of Papa’s shuffling, the ease of his past self.

Trash rules:

Players:

• One twenty-two-year-old Annie, short curly, brunette hair, wearing light-wash jeans and a white t-shirt, in a state of uncertainty about the future of her life
• One eighty-eight-year-old Papa, a white t-shirt tucked into sweatpants, in a state of uncertainty about himself

Set-up:

• Shuffle a full deck of cards and deal each player 10.
• The players arrange their cards on the table face down. If Annie was playing with Papa, she would have to flip over the cards he turned up by accident.
• The remaining cards are put in the draw pile.
• Aces are 1, jacks are wild, and Kings are trash.
• Queens are stealing cards, you can use them to steal another person’s card. No one can win with a queen in their hand. Unless, Annie is playing Papa, and he thinks he’s won with a queen in his hand, and she allows him to win because she doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.

Rules:

• The player who doesn't deal the cards starts the game. The first player draws from the stock pile. If they can play the card (meaning Ace through Jack) the player places the card in the appropriate spot on their grid. If they drew an Ace, for instance, they would place it in the top left position of the grid; a 10 would be the bottom right and so on. Unless Annie is playing Papa, and he puts a two where the six should go. When they place a card on the grid, they flip over the faced-down card previously in that position. If they can use that card, then they do the same thing until they get a card they cannot play (meaning a King, Queen, or a card they have already played). Unless Annie is playing Papa, and she has to move the cards into place for him when he tries to discard a perfectly good ten he needs in his deck.
• When they have an unplayable card, they place it face up beside the stockpile, forming the discard pile, and player 2 begins their turn. If Annie is playing Papa, she will discard his card for him when he forgets to do so.
• Starting with player 2's first turn, players can choose to either draw from the stockpile or the discard pile. Unless Annie is playing Papa, and he attempts to take a card she is using from her hand because he thought it was his turn. She lets him.
• The first player to fill out their entire grid wins, and the game is complete. Or, the game is complete, when Papa loses interest and doesn’t want to move his cards anymore. Or, when Annie loses patience and must stop. This action is often accompanied by guilt.

Example of Play:

She felt his eyes watch the movement of her hands, the way they maneuvered the cards, studying it. There is so much to be said about memory’s importance in the process of learning. She dealt them each ten cards, and he began to flip them over. She didn’t correct his mistake. They played the round. She answered his questions, or maybe not questions, but confused glances. She cherished the moments when she saw a flicker of recognition dance in his eye. When it was time to leave, she packed up the cards and gave him a hug.

He grabbed her arm and said, “Keep going, you keep doing what you are doing.” She smiled and, of course, told him she would.

Shortly after Papa’s death, Annie returned home. She stopped by her grandparents’ townhome unsure of what the inside would feel like. She no longer lived where her Papa lived; he was no longer in her daily life. Even though she saw his dead body, crinkled underneath layers of foundation, mouth parted, lips parched, cheeks sunken, even though she went to his funeral, the moment she flew away, her brain put him back in her hometown. Compartmentalized him to where he had always been. Her body thought she would simply see him when she returned, even though, rationally, she knew she wouldn’t.

Death Rules:

Players:

• One twenty-four-year-old Annie accompanied by everyone left behind by her Papa, to be exact: one Mama, seven of Mama and Papa’s children, five spouses of those children, nineteen grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren.

Set-up:

• One rosary service with an open casket; a papa in that casket with a sunken mouth looking much like the lips of a turtle, closed eyes, hands one over the other across his chest. One great-grandchild, who ran nonstop during this service and laughed while he went up to the coffin, not quite sure what to do with the person who looked like they were sleeping but really weren’t. This great-grandchild didn’t quite understand death yet; it will be confusing for him when he discovers he never will.
• One funeral in the form of a Catholic mass, which lasts about an hour. Three speeches given by grandchildren that will move the audience to tears. About 20 minutes of music performed by Annie and her cousin, which will distract Annie only long enough until the hour-long service is over, after which she will break down with her singing cousin. Crying softly into each other’s arms.
• One reception where many of the family members will indulge in too much wine, Annie included. One pushed back flight by Annie to stay for a few moments longer in the world of black clothes, tears, and embraces by family.
• Many planes taking off in different directions, spreading the family out once again.

Rules:

• None.

Example of Play:

She rang the doorbell. Mama came to the door and enveloped her in a tight hug. They exchanged pleasantries, and she asked if Annie would like something to eat. She declined. She wondered if you could taste loss. Because if so, she tasted it in the air. The crisp, pale air the air conditioner blew around the house, the way it stripped away her saliva and made her feel as if she had been laying in a casket for hours, playing dead, with her mouth open. She changed her mind about the food, and together, they made one of those splendid Turkey sandwiches. As she got older, she would understand the brilliance of a well-crafted turkey sandwich. The subtlety and nuance of the flavors combining, so that it wasn’t overbearing in any way – unlike the overbearing sweetness in a PB&J. She wished she could tell her Papa.

They walked around the townhome admiring the collection of Mama’s plants – something she had carried over during the move from the big house. There was no one who could keep a houseplant alive like Mama. Annie asked about her favorite plant, the night-blooming cactus.

“Well, it’s the strangest thing,” Mama said. “When we moved from Terrace Road, the plant was not happy at all. I moved it downstairs to give it more light. It didn’t like that. I moved it upstairs for some shade, and that was a no go. It wasn’t blooming. Well, finally, after Papa died, I decided to move it on the deck, and now, it’s blooming. Just like that.”

Mama told her she could spend the night, so she could see the flower bloom. Annie still had never seen a bloom outside of pictures on the internet. Later, Annie came back to her grandparents’, watched a movie with her Mama and her aunt, and went to bed. Alone, all she could think about was the taste of the air, and how, in the basement, two doors away, her Papa breathed his last breath. She knew you had to breathe to live, but she had a brief moment where she wondered if everyone was making it up. And, maybe, if you stopped breathing, you were ‘playing’ dead, and you joined a secret group of everyone who had ever gone before you in a glorious metropolis underground, and you were not really gone. She felt three again and realized she created her own distorted version of heaven (which she didn’t believe in anyway). She cried.

After a while, she got up to see the cactus. Tip-toeing lightly upstairs, so as not to wake anyone up. When she got to the deck, she noticed Mama sitting outside with a cup of tea.

“I wanted you to see it with someone,” she said and took Annie’s hand.

It was magnificent. White, spiraling, pouring itself open to the night. So incredibly vulnerable, this flower. She understood why it could only open at night when most of the world was asleep. She remembered her grandfather in his last days with eyes like this flower. Scared, open, vast. She remembered how he seemed to be reaching out, trying to find a ledge somewhere, something to hold on to. She remembered how slippery it felt trying to catch him. She remembered how impossible it felt to hold someone so fragile. She remembered she only tried her best to be there for him. She wished there was some way he could stay in her life forever, never ceasing to be around to give his wisdom. She felt like everything she knew about life, adulthood, and childhood had been turned on its head. But people told her, her Papa included, that this was what life was. To have the rules of life turned into a foreign language just when you figured out how to read them. She cried again, but this time she could grab her Mama’s hands and stare into her Papa’s eyes.




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