Calling Home
“Hey pops. I’m just calling in to check up on you. How’s your week going?”
Labored breathing came in through the line. David waited patiently. It had been a long time since the conversation had been lively. “Oh…David…thank you for calling me…It’s been a while since you called.”
It hadn’t. David called every day. “Well, you know, work is busy. I can’t always get the time off that I should. How’s your caretaker, pops?”
The line was quiet again. “David…you’ll have to speak up. I can’t hear as well as I used to.”
Yeah, that part was new, and it wasn’t going to go away. New routines were never pleasant. At least this one was not accompanied by shouting.
“Alright, give me a minute, pops.” David got up and walked out of his office and up the hall. His dad was waiting patiently on the line, humming a little ditty. David remembered it well. It was the one he sang when they were on the boat.
Suddenly it became very difficult to breathe, David leaned against the wall. He could see the waves, feel the swell moving under his feet, smell the salt of the sea. It was always fishing trips they went out on. They had never caught anything of note, though they had once hooked something so strong that it had to be a shark. Pops had kept the boat right up until recently, the boat hadn’t gone out for ten years.
It took a minute to collect himself. Once he had, he turned the corner and opened the door to the guest room. There, in a wheelchair facing the window, the withered form of his father watched the yard, the phone pressed hard into his ear. Mom couldn’t handle him anymore, but the thought of putting him into a home was enough to break him.
“David…are you still there?” The question took something out of the old man. David sat down in the chair by the door.
“I’m here pops. I asked if your caretaker was treating you well.”
“I can hear you now David…” The old man was so pleased. “Yes, my caretaker is good for me. He knows just what I like.”
Tears were running free over David’s cheeks. “That’s good pops. That’s good.”
They sat there in silence for a while. David trying to get control over his tears and pops watching the garden. He had evidently forgotten the conversation. He liked watching the garden more than anything these days.
“Alright, pops. I guess I’d better get back to work. Can I call you tomorrow?”
The old whitened head nodded softly in the chair. “Okay, David. Call me tomorrow.”
David got up and went out to the hall to cry.
Michael Frutig 