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Psychedelic Soul (Le Voir N. Lewis - New Orelans, LA)


I knew something was wrong with Gran-Gran when she forgot what to put in the potato salad. Auntie Tilly asked repeatedly what new and interesting thing her oldest sister was putting in it today, but as always everyone ignored Tilly’s aimless rambling. The potato salad was a bit orange, and there were no potatoes in it.

Grandpa thought Gran-Gran was making carrot salad or something, deciding to keep his mouth shut and stay far away from the kitchen. One thing Gran-Gran made perfect every time was her cinnamon-raisin biscuits. The aroma of autumn spices and baked bread made everyone forget about the travesty going on in the salad bowl.

It wasn’t until a month later when Gran-Gran mistook her daughter, Eliza, for Tilly, then we realized she suffered from Alzheimer’s. Ninety-five years of history slowly fading into darkness, limited lucid memories sparking the mind on occasion, inconveniently. The family, at their wit’s end, seeing Gran-Gran’s activities become unhinged by the days, forced to make the decision to move her into a home of equally infirmed, elderly people.

Dr. Hans W. Nilsen, too busy to be bothered with important questions found it petty, as he examined Gran-Gran looking off into the distance. We wondered what unwritten memoirs swam in her head, what recollections she couldn’t illustrate to her loved ones. He rattled off his accomplishments in science and medicine in an attempt to appease us, but Dr. Nilsen was a dipstick, an avaricious opportunist who yearned for money and prestige.

Then he unveiled intelligence in a pill. Klartsinn.

Dr. Nilsen assured us that Gran-Gran’s lucid state would be more frequent, slowing down the process of Alzheimer’s. He stated that we could get our old Gran-Gran back along with cognitive exercises and taking the pill regularly. We were doubtful, watching her swallow the pill.

The two seconds of convulsions made our nerves on edge and our hearts drop. Then her eyes became alert and steady, her face brightened, and her hands less animated. She recognized all of us.

The joy in speaking to the lady who made us homemade ice cream every weekend, who taught us how to dance the two-step…she was back. Pure elation filled the room. We wanted to take Gran-Gran home right away and get our money back from the leasing office, but Dr. Nilsen implored against it, demanding she undergoes observations for a week.

Our fears subsided but our thoughts remained on Gran-Gran while she stayed at the nursing home. We left grudgingly. Her second dose of the pill and she discussed science, and ways to improve the ecosystem as if she reunited with a long-lost friend, catching up on old times.

Gran-Gran knew nothing about the ecosystem except for how to deplete it of its blue crab population. Dr. Nilsen grinned at Gran-Gran’s excitement, leaning her backward in the examining chair. He dimmed the overhead lights and switched on a series of black lights, making her nervous.

She wasn’t expecting such an intimate setting for her treatment. He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a silver 3D movie visor, causing the black light in the room to bounce off its shiny exterior. Neon colors inside the room were irradiating around the examining chair, emitting fluorescents and loud pastels. Dr. Nilsen placed one hand on her shoulder and handed her the visor with the other.

He motioned her to put them on and she obeyed almost instantly.

The closer the visor approached her eyes, she could already see the collage of vibrant scenes and pictures presenting a movie of some sort. She ensured the visor was on tight enough, uncertain of the actions going on around her. As vibrant as the scenes of people gyrating were, dancing in an eruption of exhilaration, she watched attentively.

A musical arrangement of lively beats bounced within the room as Dr. Nilsen turned up the soundtrack to her therapy. Lying motionless in the examining chair with nothing but the movie and music in animation, Gran-Gran felt the uncontrollable sensation to move her shoulders. Shrugging them in rhythmic unison with the beat, she felt like a teenager again on the dance floor of life, sliding her feet, hopping on one leg, but remained to lie still in the chair.

Was she dreaming? Her mind reached a utopic level of clarity while her eyes remained affixed on the movie playing in the visor. Her soul, animated and alive, warped back and forth, shocking her body. Gran-Gran convulsed again for two seconds. Then the movie stopped. The rhythmic soundtrack slowly muted to no sound. Dr. Nilsen removed the movie visor, asking her how she felt.

“I feel like cooking for my family,” Gran-Gran responded. “I think I’ll make some potato salad.”

 

 

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