Visiting hours

Rocking back and forth made him so sleepy, so his son rested his foot on his dad's chair and jammed it to a standstill. Dad came round and almost lifted his face. He hadn't come all this way to watch him dozing off, he'd seen that all before. And besides, when his dad was gone there would be plenty of time for that. 

The room was stifling; it was mid-July and all the windows were shut. The dad got agitated by any breeze so anyone that went to visit suffered the tropical heat whatever the season. Although his dad didn't feel it, sitting there in his shirt, tie, woollen pullover and suit jacket, as if ready for a walk along a seaside promenade or a few smooth moves at the local dance hall. He was always ready to go out, even including the shoes. Strange seeing that he never wanted to.

Joanne, his daughter, had stayed behind, just couldn't face him anymore. Must have been a year since her last visit; but she had her reasons. Therefore Tony was the last one standing, and here he was, pacing about the small and musty room like he was ready to make a break for it. For he had already been there three hours: spoke to the nurses; tidied his room and gazed into his father's eyes for what seemed like an eternity, trying desperately to find something; and turned the photo tree this way and that, pushing his father closer and closer to his lost memories.

Occasionally he reached out and touched him, checking that he was still there, because talking to yourself for so long made you question it. Holding his cold hands warmed his dad's and cooled his, and this felt like the most meaningful thing he had done since arriving: sharing temperatures, helping each other through it. He repeated this more than anything, and on one occasion he was convinced he witnessed an altering of expression, of recognition, a flicker, like he was no longer alone anymore. 

In the son's mind were questions he wished he had asked when he had the chance, ones when an answer was possible, ones that got away. He'd put them off for the future, thinking there was still time. Now he had the courage but maybe only because he knew his father could never respond. Perhaps it still eluded him, preferring to believe he could still understand. Tongue-tied, the questions chased each other's tails out of sight yet not out of his mind.

The nurse opening the door brought a wonderful waft of air, which briefly twisted the memory tree photos and reflected sunlight from behind the fruit trees on to dad's downturned head. It was the first time in ages he had seen his face change and tricked him into believing it was one of his emotions breaking out.

                                                                       ***

It was time for his tea and he was to be wheeled into the dining area with the other residents. 

Locking his wheels in front of the table, Tony kissed his father on the head and exchanged temperatures through their hands one final time. It was as good as a goodbye. No, better.

Outside, his watering eyes soon dried in the sultry air, allowing him to almost feel normal again. A quick text response from his wife swept up some of the loneliness under the carpet. But he was sure he would trip over it again when he returned next month whilst sitting next to the dad's tree - all hopeful, waiting expectantly, yet disbelieving.