Finally, after weeks upon weeks of piling paperwork on top of paperwork, training person after person, staying till late to fill out the reports and numbers even the managers didn’t want to touch, I was able to get one day off.
I haven’t had a day off in so long… My weekdays were swamped with presentations, cleaning up client relations, making sure my higher-ups aren’t getting into trouble, along with a mess of nervous new-starters who couldn’t draft an email for the life of them. Then, when I thought I could have the weekends to rest, some nimwit always forgot some far-out, yet rapidly approaching deadline, and I had to deal with it, because screw me that’s why.
Only thing now is… I don’t know what to do. When I get home I usually meal prep for the next day, take a shower, eat dinner, then go to sleep. But it’s 7:00 am, and I’m not preparing for anything. Nor do I have to. It feels weird. I don’t like it.
I’m too used to the constant shuffling, hurried conversations, the loud clacking of the keyboards, but sitting now on my couch, there’s only the low whir coming from the fridge. Now what? I can stand up and pace around my small apartment like an unfed hamster, but I’m not sure how much good that would do.
I look at my phone, scroll for a bit, then shut it off, before opening it up again. Now I’m just wasting time. I should be doing something else. I scroll again. Hopefully I find something to take my mind off things.
A text pops up. It’s from dad. He’s asking when I plan to stop by again. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him in a while, I think the last time I saw him was… Thanksgiving? Right? I vaguely remember making plans to be there. We took a picture wearing turkey hats. It was with My dad, my uncle… and Mom. Other than that, I don’t remember much of last year, that is of course other than having our CEO, Mark, having his nudes leaked to the rest of the office, or when he got caught with the secretary in the bathroom. Weirdly enough, he keeps on bringing it up, despite saying how much he dislikes people talking about it.
Still, I should text my dad back. It’s been a while. Should be good to see ol’ Pops after such a long time. I miss him. I miss his hearty laugh, his spicy beef stew, his timeless jokes. Why haven’t I reached out sooner?
I send the text, saying that I miss him and that I’ll drop by the house in half an hour. I see the text bubbles pop up, hovering for minutes that feel like hours. Reminds me why I prefer calling people over texting them. He finally responds, saying that he’s not at the house, sending the location. I don’t recognize it. Doesn’t seem like a restaurant or anywhere he would usually be at. I wonder why he wouldn’t be at the house right now? Whatever, it’s closer than the house, so I’ll still go.
Driving up close, I look at the large building, looking less like a hotel, and more like an out-of-touch hospital, just with fewer ambulances around. Where the hell did he end up staying? Has something happened to him? It’s only been a year, hasn’t it? So strange.
I head inside. The walls are white with gray, the only other colors being the flowers on the wall, and the line of blue wheelchairs lined up by the entrance. I walk up to the reception, which looks equally as boring as the walls. At least the receptionist lady wears something colorful. I walk up, complimenting her buttoned blouse with floral prints. She shifts her glasses and gives me a weak smile. Out of all the front desk clerks I’ve talked to, she seems like the nicest one so far.
“Y’know, this hotel has an interesting color scheme,” I say. “Whomever was in charge of the paint job must’ve never known love, huh?”
She forces out an awkward chuckle, then pulls out a clipboard. “Who are you here to see?”
“Thomas. Thomas Buckle.”
“Great, and you are?”
“His son, James. Buckle is also my last name.” I say, chuckling nervously.
“Hmm. I don’t have any appointments for Mr. Buckle here.”
“Appointments? Why would I need an appoint-”
A voice echoes through the halls. “James!”
I turn around. It’s my dad! I jog towards him. Weirdly enough, each step I take makes me seem like I’m growing, or is he getting shorter? No, that can’t be. I stop in front of him, having to look down into his eyes, rather than meeting him at face level.
“What? I lost a couple of pounds and now you can’t recognize me anymore?” He chuckles, his signature laugh is still there. I smile again. Maybe it’s my new shoes, maybe they’ve added a couple of inches to my height. Hell, I won’t complain about that.
“Maybe old man, maybe.” I chuckle. “By the way, you mind telling me what kind of hotel this is? Doesn’t seem like it’s your style.”
“Oh, it’s definitely one of the top 10 hotels I’ve been to, five star exclusive service. Shit food, stiff beds. You know, all the good stuff you would expect.” We laugh together, though his head hangs a bit low. He reaches out and taps my shoulder. I brace myself, expecting his killer grip, but it never comes, barely feeling like a pinch.
“Come on,” he lets out a small sigh. “I gotta tell you a couple of things.” He lets go of my shoulder, and walks forward. I follow him, making sure to slow down, so as to not step on his shoes. It’s been his biggest pet peeve, especially back then, when I was little.
I remember this specific time in the fall. I must’ve been 8 or 10, we just came back from the pumpkin patch, getting ready to set up for Halloween, and dad being the comedian he is, gave me the largest pumpkin that we bought. That pumpkin was huge, it was about 3 times the size of my head, and was almost big enough for me to wear for Halloween, which unfortunately didn’t happen, since mom told me that no matter how well we clean it, I’ll be smelling like pumpkins all the way until Thanksgiving.
I carried it on the steps up to our house, leaning backwards just so I wouldn’t fall over forwards. My dad was walking in front of me, carrying the rest of the haul. The first time I stepped on his shoe, he let out a loud “Hey!”, which made me stop, but he kept going. The second time I stepped on his heel, he turned around, looked me straight in the eye, telling me that if I stepped on him one more time, he was going to call Jason so he could carve me like a pumpkin. Then he laughed, going to the front yard by the steps, dropping the pumpkins into a pile. I stop right next to him, and he picks the monster pumpkin up, with me hanging from the stem. Him and I both laughed as he bobbed the pumpkin up and down, just like a roller coaster. I let go, with a rough landing on the grass. He chuckled, while I rubbed my bottom. I remember looking at his ankle, thinking about how I was going to get him, while avoiding Jason carving my head in my sleep.
I smile, looking at my Dad’s ankles now. I can see his bones protruding from his saggy skin. The large block of muscle that hid his bones was no longer there. I look up, staring at the back of my dad’s head. It still had its flair, bobbing up and down with a light brown luster. At least he still has that going for him.
Suddenly, Dad stops and I almost step on his slipper. He turns, smiling. “Old habits die hard, right?” He opens the door next to him and signals me in.
We go in. The room smells of stale bread and a hint of lavender, the walls being the same white and gray colors of the hallways. In the room, there is a recliner, a bed, and a folded chair leaning against the wall. Dad sets up the folding chair in front of the recliner. I sit down, facing him. He wears a warm smile, one that slowly fades when I don’t give one back.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“What are you doing here? You’re not that old y’know. Not old enough to be living with these old farts.”
He drops his shoulders. “James,” he says, taking a breath. “You can’t expect me to live in that giant house all alone.”
“Then I can hire a nanny for you. That’s basically what they’re going to do here.”
“James.”
“If you want company, I’ll try to take off more time during work. We can still keep the house.”
“James, you’re not listening.”
“Then tell me why you want to abandon the house we all grew up in? Was that Mom’s dream house? The one we all pitched in for her?!”
“Look me in the eye.” I tried to follow his command. Even now, his gaze is as fierce as ever. “I spent 45 years married to your mom. 45 years of laughter, dreams, and tears. We got to raise a family, buy a large house, and live a fulfilling life. But now, the laughter and dreams are all gone, and all I’m left with are tears. Tears that I’ve carried alone for the past 3 years, ever since she left us.”
I lean back. “Has it already been 3 years?”
“That’s the last time you visited us. Don’t you remember? I called you when she passed, calling you so you can come back home. You never returned the calls. But I never stopped, hoping you’ll answer back soon.”
Fuck. “What about last year for Thanksgiving? Didn’t I visit you then?” I pull out my phone, scrolling through the photos. “Look it has to be here somewhere-” I find it, and show it to Dad. “See? It’s…” Shit. He’s right. The photo was from 3 years ago. We were all smiling then. And Dad looks… younger. Much younger.
I look back at my Dad. I start to notice the gray hairs, the lack of muscle, the discoloration in his skin. He didn’t look like this in the photo. How did he age this much? It’s only been three years. Only three. I start tearing up.
“I’m so sorry Dad. I-” I stand up, I feel so heavy. My knees feel weak. “I just need a moment.”
“Are you leaving?”
I try to respond, but the words fall into the lump in my throat, getting heavier and heavier by the moment.
He sighs. “I’m planning to move the stuff from the house next week. You should be there. I could use your help. You can also stop by tomorrow, if you want.”
“Yep.” I start walking away from the room. “Bye Dad.” I close the door. I’m not sure if he even said anything afterwards. But I need air. I just need air.
I get to my car, tears flowing down my eyes. Fuck. Shit. I did it again. I hope he doesn’t hate me. I hope he understands. I think about the house. I think about the small pond we made by digging a hole and putting rocks around the edges, I think about the garden of herbs we grew, I think about all the times we decorated the house, for Christmas, Halloween, and for Easter. Then I think about her, how she sat on her rocking chair, watching us build the pond, helping maintain the garden, being worried about how high the decorations were. I think about how her silent love spoke more than anything I could say. More than Dad and I combined.
I long to go to the house. I can’t do it now, it’s getting late. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow. Maybe next week. I don’t know anymore. Guess I’ll go to my place then. Either way, I have to get ready for work tomorrow. Dad will understand.
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