Lisa Genova - Still Alice

"Yes, it is," said John.

They sat and listened and clapped and listened and clapped for longer than Alice cared to. Then, everyone stood and walked slowly in a less orderly parade. Alice and John and some of the others entered a nearby building. The magnificent entryway, with its staggeringly high, dark wooden ceiling and towering wall of sunlit stained glass, awed Alice. Huge, old, and heavy-looking chandeliers loomed over them.

"What is this?" asked Alice.

"This is Memorial Hall, it's part of Harvard."

To her disappointment, they spent no time in the magnificent entryway and moved immediately into a smaller, relatively unimpressive theater room, where they sat down.

"What's happening now?" asked Alice.

"The Graduate School of Arts and Sciences students are getting their Ph.D.s. We're here to see Dan graduate. He's your student."

She looked around the room at the faces of the people in the dark pink costumes. She didn't know which one was Dan. She didn't, in fact, recognize any of the faces, but she did recognize the emotion and the energy in the room. They were happy and hopeful, proud and relieved. They were ready and eager for new challenges, to discover and create and teach, to be the heroes in their own adventures.

What she saw in them, she recognized in herself. This was something she knew, this place, this excitement and readiness, this beginning. This had been the beginning of her adventure, too, and although she couldn't remember the details, she had an implicit knowing that it had been rich and worthwhile.

"There he is, on the stage," said John.

"Who?"

"Dan, your student."

"Which one?"

"The blond."

"Daniel Maloney," someone announced.

Dan stepped forward and shook hands with the man on the stage in exchange for a red folder. Dan then raised the red folder high over his head and smiled in glorious victory. For his joy, for all that he had surely achieved to be here, for the adventure that he would embark upon, Alice applauded him, this student of hers whom she had no memory of.

ALICE AND JOHN STOOD OUTSIDE under a big white tent among the students in dark pink costumes and the people who were happy for them and waited. A young, blond man approached Alice, grinning broadly. Unhesitating, he hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'm Dan Maloney, your student."

"Congratulations, Dan, I'm so happy for you," said Alice.

"Thank you so much. I'm so glad you were able to come and see me graduate. I feel so lucky to have been your student. I want you to know, you were the reason I chose linguistics as my field of study. Your passion for understanding how language works, your rigorous and collaborative approach to research, your love of teaching, you've inspired me in so many ways. Thank you for all your guidance and wisdom, for setting the bar so much higher than I thought I could reach, and for giving me plenty of room to run with my own ideas. You've been the best teacher I've ever had. If I achieve in my life a fraction of what you've accomplished in yours, I'll consider my life a success."

"You're welcome. Thank you for saying that. You know, I don't remember so well these days. I'm glad to know that you'll remember these things about me."

He handed her a white envelope.

"Here, I wrote it all down for you, everything I just said, so you can read it whenever you want and know what you gave to me even if you can't remember."

"Thank you."

They each held their envelopes, hers white and his red, with deep pride and reverence.

An older, heavier version of Dan and two women, one much older than the other, came over to them. The older, heavier version of Dan carried a tray of bubbly white wine in skinny glasses. The young woman handed a glass to each of them.

"To Dan," said the older, heavier version of Dan, holding up his glass.

"To Dan," said everyone, clinking the skinny glasses and taking sips.

"To auspicious beginnings," added Alice, "and finishing big."

THEY BEGAN WALKING AWAY FROM the tents and the old, brick buildings and the people in costumes and hats to where it was less populated and noisy. Someone in a black costume yelled and ran over to John. John stopped and let go of Alice's hand to shake hands with the person who'd yelled. Caught in her own forward momentum, Alice kept walking.

For a stretched-out second, Alice paused and made eye contact with a woman. She was sure she didn't know the woman, but there was meaning in the exchange. The woman had blond hair, a phone by her ear, and glasses over her big, blue, startled eyes. The woman was driving in a car.

Then, Alice's hood pulled suddenly tight around her throat, and she was jerked backward. She landed hard and unsuspecting on her back and banged her head on the ground. Her costume and plush hat offered little protection against the pavement.

"I'm sorry, Ali, are you okay?" asked a man in a dark pink robe, kneeling beside her.

"No," she said, sitting up and rubbing the back of her head. She expected to see blood on her hand but didn't.

"I'm sorry, you walked right into the street. That car almost hit you."

"Is she okay?"

It was the woman from the car, her eyes still big and startled.

"I think so," said the man.

"Oh my god, I could've killed her. If you didn't pull her out of the way, I might've killed her."

"It's okay, you didn't kill her, I think she's okay."

The man helped Alice stand. He felt and looked at her head.

"I think you're all right. You're probably going to be really sore. Can you walk?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Can I give you a ride somewhere?" asked the woman.

"No, no, that's all right, we're fine," said the man.

He put his arm around Alice's waist and his hand under her elbow, and she walked home with the kind stranger who had saved her life.

SUMMER 2005

Alice sat in a big, comfortable, white chair and puzzled over the clock on the wall. It was the kind with hands and numbers, which was much harder to read than the kind with just numbers. Five maybe?

"What time is it?" she asked the man sitting in the other big, white chair.

He looked at his wrist.

"Almost three thirty."

"I think it's time for me to go home."

"You are home. This is your home on the Cape."

She looked around the room--the white furniture, the pictures of lighthouses and beaches on the walls, the giant windows, the spindly little trees outside the windows.

"No, this isn't my house. I don't live here. I want to go home now."

"We're going back to Cambridge in a couple of weeks. We're here on vacation. You like it here."

The man in the chair continued reading his book and drinking his drink. The book was thick and the drink was yellowish brown, like the color of her eyes, with ice in it. He was enjoying and absorbed in both, the book and the drink.

The white furniture, the pictures of lighthouses and beaches on the walls, the giant windows, and the spindly little trees outside the windows didn't look at all familiar to her. The sounds here weren't familiar to her either. She heard birds, the kinds that live at the ocean, the sound of the ice swirling and clinking in the glass when the man in the chair drank his drink, the sound of the man breathing through his nose as he read his book, and the ticking of the clock.

"I think I've been here long enough. I'd like to go home now."

"You are home. This is your vacation home. This is where we come to relax and unwind."

This place didn't look like her home or sound like her home, and she didn't feel relaxed. The man reading and drinking in the big, white chair didn't know what he was talking about. Maybe he was drunk.

The man breathed and read and drank, and the clock ticked. Alice sat in the big, white chair and listened to the time go by, wishing someone would take her home.