He pulled his phone out and looked at the screen. I could instantly sense a shift in his demeanor. He looked worried, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched tight enough to show a twitching muscle that went down his neck.

“Sorry, guys, I have to take this.”

He stood and excused himself, phone to his ear before the door was even shut. I could have sworn I heard him say, “Hi, Mom,” but I wasn’t entirely sure. All I knew was that whoever called had sent him into a panicked frenzy, and I had no idea why.

The conversation in the room shifted back to the threat, but my mind remained with Jake, wondering if he was okay out there and if there was any way I could help my friend as much as he wanted to help me.

10. Jake Perez

10

JAKE PEREZ

“Jake, please hurry home. No se. I don’t know. I can’t remember how I got here. Ay, Jake.”

My mom’s voice was like taking a shotgun blast to the chest. Hearing how fearful she was and how pained she felt at not being able to remember made me feel like I was dropped into a wood chipper. It hurt. I hated this with every fiber of my being. A disease that took away your loved one little by little but only taking their mind and leaving their body seemingly intact. It was twisted, and the fact that there was no cure, no way to hold on to hope except by hoping for a miracle— that was one of the most fucked-up things about Alzheimer’s.

“It’s okay, Ma. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay, Jake. Okay. Thank you.” She started to cry as she hung up the phone—I could hear the sniffling before the line went dead.

I turned away from the house and leaned on my car, and I started to cry, too. Silent streams of tears went down my cheeks as my chest heaved while I tried my hardest to control the sobs that wrenched themselves free from somewhere inside of me. Like bats falling from the shadows of a dark cave, rising up through my throat, rattling against my lips. I put a fist up to my mouth.