Honey, I'm home!

The elderly man frantically zipped down and pants, and attempted to carefully guide his erratic stream of urine into the toilet bowl. He was unsuccessful, with drops of yellow splattering onto the seat. Old age had been tough on him — his bladder had a mind of its own, his physician describing it as “overactive”. And this is a penis that only a wife of a 32-year-long marriage could love he thought, glancing dejectedly at the mess of grey pubic hair, the flaccid thing he held in his hands, and the shriveled balls that sat below. 

Shaking his tired and floppy manhood to hide away back in his boxers and brown corduroy pants, he accidentally dripped upon the fluffy grey rug that lay over the white linoleum. A new rug…oops. He would throw it in the washing machine later.

He sighed loudly, but felt relieved that he was able to make it back home this time. This time…he wouldn’t let his mind go back to the memories of the times when he hadn’t been so lucky. An obtrusive flashback to when he had not only had to pee — but worse — forced his way to the front of his mind. He had made it inside the house at least, but not upstairs to the bathroom. That afternoon had been spent with his wife Helena gently wiping him clean, washing his soiled drawers and the stained carpet.

Helena, where was she now? The reason he nearly didn’t make it to the bathroom 5 minutes ago, was because when leaving for a walk earlier, he had left his keys at home. Bladder full and ready to leak, he returned home, pounding on the locked door, only to realize his wife wasn’t home. He couldn’t remember if she mentioned going to the store or meeting friends for coffee. Regardless, in his panic, the old man remembered that they always kept the side gate latch opened, along with the back door that led to the kitchen. 

He hoped Helena would be home soon — the long walk in the bright sun had piqued his appetite. Holding onto the wooden banister, he gingerly made his way down the staircase. They ought to move into a home without a second story…but this was the house they moved into after getting married, the house they redid and furnished with love, the house they raised their children in. It comforted him to know that the wood banister he now gripped on, which he remembered with clarity sanding and restaining it, would outlive him.

The wooden banister, yes, but the other elements of the house, no. The long rug that furled down the stairs was now a red Persian style with a white fringe. Wasn’t it a deep forest green last week? God that woman is always buying new furniture and decor. The old man pondered where Helena went on her latest rug shopping spree. Their daughter had shown them recently the wonders of online shopping, so he decided that was most likely the source.

At the bottom of the stairs, he took the opportunity alone to view the collection of photos displayed on the hallway wall. These too were always changing, but he liked seeing a rotation of photos, reminding him of near-forgotten memories. He hated to admit it, but he was a sentimental man, and old age had softened him q even more.

Squinting and leaning in close, the elder was examining a photo of him and his wife, probably 20 years ago, sitting near a river with a picnic spread. Where was that? Now his memory failed him — he sadly realized he had no recollection of this place or date. 

Where was their wedding photo? That was his favorite to look at, their youth and exuberance perfectly preserved. Squinting and scanning the wall, he did not spot it in the large collection of photos. Where are my damn glasses?

The old man’s stomach let out an audible grumble. The photo and his glasses could wait, he was hungry. Stepping into the kitchen, he was met with more decor changes. I love that woman, but sometimes these changes are too much…but maybe, he thought, his memory was failing him again. The fridge was white, wasn’t it? The new stainless steel seemed to shine brightly in his weak vision. 

A glass of water would help. Cupboard after cupboard he opened, searching for a simple glass to drink out. Bowls, plates, spices, teas, mugs…when did it become so difficult to navigate his own kitchen? Of course, this was Helena’s domain, but he shouldn’t feel so disorientated in his own home. He settled for a mug, filling it up with water from the tap, and drinking it down greedily. I’ll have to piss soon…

To curb his appetite, a cup of coffee would do the trick. Some fancy machine sat on the counter, like what he had seen at those trendy coffee shops where girls with a lot of piercings and colorful hair worked. Probably an online purchase from my daughter…

The trustworthy coffee pot luckily still sat tucked away in the corner. Upon further inspection, it did have leftover coffee – it was cold, but it would do the trick. Black coffee had been making him jittery recently, so he went to the fridge for a splash of cream. Why replace the perfectly good fridge with something so unnecessarily shiny? 

Finding the carton of cream, he indulged in his guilty pleasure when no one else was home – a quick chug straight from the carton. What the hell is this? He looked down at the label – Oat milk. Whatever the hell that is. He would take his coffee black.

With his black coffee in hand, the old man slowly made his way to the front porch. Sitting down in the wooden rocking chair, one of the few items that remained, he settled in comfortably, enjoying the soft spring morning air. 

A car pulled into the driveway – not one he recognized. Probably a friend of Helena or my daughter…

Now, he sees Helena running down the sidewalk, to come greet her friends. Where does this woman get her energy from at her age? Walking down the stairs was hard enough for him. 

“Dad! Dad! Dad!” 

What games was this woman trying to play with him now? 

Helena stopped at the car to greet her friends, whoever they were. After a minute of chatting, she starts rushing towards him, leaving the strangers standing at their car.

He realizes it’s his daughter. Well, she did inherit all her looks from Helena…

“Dad, are you okay?”

Why is she so stressed and frantic?

“Yes honey, of course, I’m just enjoying my morning coffee.”

“DAD! The living home called me and said you left without signing out or saying anything…You came here last time, so that’s how I knew to find you.”

The old man felt bewildered and didn’t have the faintest idea of what his crazed daughter was speaking of. He remains sitting in his rocking chair, quiet, and finishes the rest of his coffee – then remembers Helena should be home any minute. 

His daughter continues with her rant.

“I know you love this house, and all of our memories in it, but remember, we don’t live here anymore? We moved out after…”

The old man interrupts impatiently, “Where is your mother?”

His daughter looks like she’s about to cry.

“Dad…you know mom passed away 5 years ago”.