I said goodnight to my friends and logged out of 7 Days to Die. From my computer room, I could hear the faint noise of a TV drama playing downstairs. The wall of the stairwell flickered light and dim. I got up, picked up my empty 20 ounce beer can, and went downstairs.
“Hello!” I dragged out the vowels, trying to sound goofy.
Dad sat on the couch, watching TV. He angled his head to his left. His neck, now pinned with steel rods, didn’t have much articulation left. “Helloooo!” he said, mimicking my goofy tone.
“You’re back from the bar?”
“Yeah. I said it was me when I came in but you didn’t hear me.”
I patted his shoulder as I walked behind him; the couch was placed so the path behind it led to the back door and the kitchen. “I was online playing games with Max and Luke. Had my headphones on.”
“Oh.”
In the kitchen, I turned on the water to rinse the can out. There were a bunch of bottles by the sink, mostly glass Mexican Coke bottles. I kept the water running and started rinsing them out. Some of the bottles had a greenish tint to the glass; others appeared clear, at least in my yellowish kitchen light.
Behind me, through the open window between the living area and the kitchen, dad said “There were a lot of women at the bar tonight.” He said it deliberately but not slowly.
I chuckled. “Is that good, or bad?” Dad is an incorrigible flirt, even at 86ish years old.
“Well, that’s good!” Now his tone was bright, cheerful. “There were a couple of ladies in there I’d never seen before. One was a stone cold fox.” His use of old slang made me smile. I felt sentimental. Nostalgic.
I made a new… pile? Stack? What’s the word for a bunch of bottles standing up next to each other? Pile or stack implies verticality; these were horizontally arranged. I could hear dad grunt a little as he levered himself forward and up off the couch. He pointed the remote and turned off the TV, cutting his show off in mid-plot.
I poured a little dish soap on a sponge, and turned the faucet water warm but not hot. I started scrubbing the dishes and untensils in the sink.
Dad walked past me, tapping a cigarette out of a pack. He paused in the kitchen entryway, watching me wash. “I should have taken out the recycling.”
I tsked. “You don’t have to do that. You’re a guest.”
“Oh, fuck that. I can pull my own weight.” He opened the back door, and through the kitchen window I saw the flare of orange as he lit up in the dark on my patio.
I carried the bottles, three or four at a time, and dumped them in the recycling bin hung above my washer and dryer, in the closet. I was careful not to open the folding door to that closet too far, or it would prevent the back door from opening up, in case dad finished and wanted to get back in. The clear bottles and the green ones all made the same clinking noise. Yes, the bin was full, but I didn’t want to take it out tonight. That’s a tomorrow job.
That done, I saw dad’s bald head and beard softly glowing in the tobacco ember, outlined by the kitchen light through the window. I leaned against the door frame, watching him.
“What do you think about… cats?”
He again angled his shoulders to point his head at me, cigarette held between two fingers. “I like cats.” His tone of voice was exactly the same as his comment before about women being at the bar. “You, uh.. got a supplier?”
Was that a dirty joke? Or was he just being funny? I smiled. I snorted a short laugh. “I was just thinking, now that I’ve got a stable job, I’d like to have a cat. I think I can take care of it now.” Dammit, a surge of emotion threatened my eyes with tears. This moment. I wanted to remember this moment. I resolved the write it down, soon. “Maybe keep you company during the day, at least while you’re here.”
“Yeah. Cats are cool.” Dad took a drag on his cigarette, then leaned down and rubbed it out against the concrete. Standing back up as straight as his broken back would let him, he burst into a sudden arm-out throw, tossing the butt over the fence into the vacant lot behind the townhouses.
He chuckled, recognizably the same sound I make, the family sarcastic laugh. “Someday someone’s gonna do something with that lot, and they’re going to be pissed at all the butts over there.” As he walked past me back into the house, he didn’t, couldn’t, look up at me. For most of my adult life he’s been taller than me. Not anymore. I don’t think he could see the sad affection in my eyes.
So….cat?!? 😀 Squeeee….!!!!