Micro-story # 1
Moving Dad
The last box of her dad’s things came out the front
door, carried in the arms of the tenant who lived on the first floor of the
duplex. Claire could have carried it herself—it wasn’t heavy, just the odds and
ends: a few paperback books with the spines completely intact, the roll of
packing tape used to seal the other boxes, some dishtowels, packages of loose
batteries, a pair of scissors, a fork discovered in the back of a drawer—but
the man insisted on helping when she first started carting boxes out the front
door, said with a smile that he had nothing better to do.
“Thank you so much.” Claire accepted the last bit of her father’s things and slid it atop the other boxes stacked in the back of her van. She wore a weary smile while sweeping the strings of her blond bangs away from her forehead.
The man waved this off and shrugged, letting her know it was no big deal. “Your dad gonna be OK?” With his bearded chin he made a passive gesture at the front passenger seat where the elderly man named Lou sat, staring blankly out the front glass.
Claire sighed. “Yeah. This will be better for him, anyway. And me. Just got to be too much to keep coming here and taking care of things every day. I have a husband who’s needy enough and doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.”
The man shared in her laugh. It felt good to laugh, even if it came more out of exhaustion and relief than it did pure joy.
“Well,” said the man, “I’ll sure miss seeing him up on his porch and waving to him every day. Seemed whenever I came out to go for walks your dad was looking out, just keeping watch over the street I guess.”
“Did he ever wave back or say anything to you?”
The man didn’t need more than a moment to think. “Umm…no. I can’t say for sure he ever did.”
Claire accepted this truth with a heavy heart, but flashed another tired smile to reciprocate. This wasn’t surprising news but it was still difficult to hear. Many months after the diagnosis had time to sink in, she accepted her father was no longer the outgoing, independent, and aware person he once was. Right before her eyes, like some evil magic trick, he had withered away, his liveliness receding into an invisible shell. It was rare anymore to catch little bursts of his character come out of dwelling so deep within a blank slate. For Claire the struggle now was imagining her father spending the days she couldn’t be at the apartment every waking hour as a complete vegetable. Or doing something dangerous.
That’s why he was coming to live with her and Eric. Besides it being easier to tend to her father’s needs in her own home instead of driving to the apartment every day, he just couldn’t be left alone anymore. No telling what would happen. In a best case situation he would just sit all day, but that left messes of its own kind for her to later clean up. Her worst fear was what if he got a bit of inspiration and tried to use the stove? Or worse yet, what if he went for a walk and forgot where he was? This was all dependent on him climbing out of his chair, of course, but these weren’t impossible scenarios. At least Eric worked from home and could manage the small things during the day in between Skype sessions with the home office in Fort Worth.
She closed the rear door, resigned to her fate. “Thank you again for helping, Mr. Greene. And for trying to give my father some attention. Hopefully it won’t be long before someone comes and takes the second floor.”
I'm not worried about it. I'm sure someone will come along." He then extended his hand. "And please," he said, "call me Miles."
“Thank you so much.” Claire accepted the last bit of her father’s things and slid it atop the other boxes stacked in the back of her van. She wore a weary smile while sweeping the strings of her blond bangs away from her forehead.
The man waved this off and shrugged, letting her know it was no big deal. “Your dad gonna be OK?” With his bearded chin he made a passive gesture at the front passenger seat where the elderly man named Lou sat, staring blankly out the front glass.
Claire sighed. “Yeah. This will be better for him, anyway. And me. Just got to be too much to keep coming here and taking care of things every day. I have a husband who’s needy enough and doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.”
The man shared in her laugh. It felt good to laugh, even if it came more out of exhaustion and relief than it did pure joy.
“Well,” said the man, “I’ll sure miss seeing him up on his porch and waving to him every day. Seemed whenever I came out to go for walks your dad was looking out, just keeping watch over the street I guess.”
“Did he ever wave back or say anything to you?”
The man didn’t need more than a moment to think. “Umm…no. I can’t say for sure he ever did.”
Claire accepted this truth with a heavy heart, but flashed another tired smile to reciprocate. This wasn’t surprising news but it was still difficult to hear. Many months after the diagnosis had time to sink in, she accepted her father was no longer the outgoing, independent, and aware person he once was. Right before her eyes, like some evil magic trick, he had withered away, his liveliness receding into an invisible shell. It was rare anymore to catch little bursts of his character come out of dwelling so deep within a blank slate. For Claire the struggle now was imagining her father spending the days she couldn’t be at the apartment every waking hour as a complete vegetable. Or doing something dangerous.
That’s why he was coming to live with her and Eric. Besides it being easier to tend to her father’s needs in her own home instead of driving to the apartment every day, he just couldn’t be left alone anymore. No telling what would happen. In a best case situation he would just sit all day, but that left messes of its own kind for her to later clean up. Her worst fear was what if he got a bit of inspiration and tried to use the stove? Or worse yet, what if he went for a walk and forgot where he was? This was all dependent on him climbing out of his chair, of course, but these weren’t impossible scenarios. At least Eric worked from home and could manage the small things during the day in between Skype sessions with the home office in Fort Worth.
She closed the rear door, resigned to her fate. “Thank you again for helping, Mr. Greene. And for trying to give my father some attention. Hopefully it won’t be long before someone comes and takes the second floor.”
I'm not worried about it. I'm sure someone will come along." He then extended his hand. "And please," he said, "call me Miles."
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