Warm Sweater Day (for Writer's Cramp)

I kept the engine running as I checked my reflection critically in the rear view mirror. It was hot, and the car's air conditioning provided welcome relief from the sweltering afternoon sun. I sighed. I looked fine, and it was pointless delaying any longer. I rarely wore make-up, but today, I'd opted to. Not out of vanity, but for the express purpose of wasting time.



Steeling myself, I got out and headed for the visitor's entrance, locking the car behind me. I loved my grandmother dearly, but in recent years my visits had grown ever more challenging as the dementia took an increasingly firm hold. Once a warm, loving and intelligent woman, now she seemed to diminish with each visit. It was rare for her to recognise me, and when she did I was often the subject of cruel taunts and angry outbursts.



I reached the foyer, which was pleasantly cool. I'd worn a thin sundress, and was shivering by the time I signed in. Within the main building, though, it was uncomfortably hot, as I had known it would be. Even in winter, the place was an oven, and summer was considerably worse. Why were old people always so cold?



I'd reached Gran's room, so I knocked.



"Enter!" answered an imperious voice. I entered.



"Hey Gran," I spoke quietly, watching her warily and trying to gauge her mood. She sat in her chair, near the window which overlooked the meadow. She'd been reading, which was a pleasant surprise - she rarely did that anymore. She was wearing a thick, woollen jumper which was mustard yellow and looked as if it had been made before I was. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Surely even she couldn't be that cold, not in this heat.



"Hello dear." she answered mildly. I sighed with relief, aware for the first time that I'd been holding my breath. She was in a good mood. "I'm so happy you've come to see me Abigail. Come and sit with me." I was surprised. Recognition and pleasantness. I rarely received the luxury of both.



I sat on the bed, holding her hand, and we chatted for a few minutes. She was her old self, funny and caring and kind, and I was actually enjoying myself. I was in the process of making an excuse for not having found a boyfriend - I hadn't dared tell her I was gay - when she suddenly sat bolt upright and interrupted me mid sentence.



"Abigail, why aren't you wearing a jumper?!" she exclaimed, scowling at me.



"I - what?" I was baffled.



"Don't tell me you've forgotten, girl. Today is Warm Sweater Day."



"But Gran, it's a million degrees!" I protested on a laugh.



"This is no laughing matter young woman! In the Netherlands, it's Warm Sweater Day. To reduce the amount of heating people use by one degree, you know."



"The Nether- But- I- Oh, never mind!" If it were anyone else, I would have burst out laughing, explained the futility of wearing a sweater when the rest of the building's occupants were not, and that even if the staff could be convinced to adjust the thermostat - something I knew, from personal experience, to be impossible - one degree was not going to make make a blind bit of difference in this place. But I'd seen the angry flash of her eyes, and knew I was close to losing her again.



I was desperate to hold on to the happiness I'd felt in the past half hour, so I chose my next words carefully. "Of course I haven't forgotten, Gran. I just left my jumper at home by accident. In fact, I was hoping I could borrow one of yours."



She seemed to accept this, and directed me to the appropriate drawer. I grabbed the uppermost item and pulled it on.



Appeased, Gran continued to quiz me about my relationship status, and I let her. I was grateful to have my grandmother back, even if it was just for one day, but I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. The cardigan I had selected was a vile shade of maroon, and in minutes my arms were on fire. The itchy fabric seemed to exponentially increase the heat of the room until I felt I was sitting inside a furnace. I ignored my growing discomfort as best as I could and tried to focus on Gran.



All too soon, a nurse arrived with dinner. "Time for me to go!" I said, standing up.



"Of course. Now, what was your name, again, dear?"



"Abigail." I responded, my throat suddenly tight.



"Abigail? I have a granddaughter with that name, you know. Absolutely rotten girl, never visits. Bye bye then!" She waved cheerily.



As I walked out, I fought hard to stop the tears. I knew she couldn't help it, but that didn't make it any easier.



It wasn't until I reached my car that I realised I was still wearing the sweater. It truly was ugly, and as I caught sight of myself in the car window I just had to laugh. I pulled the disgusting thing off, but kept it beside me on the passenger seat. I smiled as I drove out of the car park. I might be losing Gran, but today, just for a few hours, I had found her. And that was worth everything to me, even if it meant wearing a hideous, itchy jumper on a hot summer's day.