Dad has a Girlfriend

Steaming bowls of oatmeal and cups of apple sauce have been shared with The Girlfriend for a week now. Each morning Dad hangs his cane on the edge of the kitchen table, fluffs his red bandana kerchief onto his lap and begins his morning chat with her while stirring and stirring the “very hot, it’s very hot!” oatmeal and the “cold, it’s very cold!” applesauce. Usually he's surprised that The Girlfriend is “still here, you’re still here!”. He tells The Girlfriend stories about the house he had in Arizona which he sometimes forgets was in Arizona. Sometimes his house was in Germany or Hungary. He tells her it was “empty” and that he was glad he was here now where it is “not empty” but that he missed his house and he thought he should have a house. He asks her, “you have a house?” but she never answers that question. A reticent type. She does smile, however, all the time and with a warmth as if she truly cares about everything Dad says. She always wears the same thing, a white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck. Dad frequently says the word “choice” when speaking with The Girlfriend. He has difficulty with the word and seems unsure of its meaning but he says it often as if he's just learning the word as a foreign student.

This is Saturday morning and Sir Karl is eating his own breakfast while Dad, at the opposite end of the table and realizing Sir Karl can hear him talking to his girlfriend, begins whispering. Dad, concentrating on the most mundane of conversation with The Girlfriend, points at Sir Karl clandestinely to warn her they're not alone. Sir Karl is reading as he eats his own meal and outlasts Dad’s oatmeal and applesauce. Dad finishes his breakfast and says “auf wiedersehen” to The Girlfriend. He brings me his bowl and cup to wash, takes his cane, slips on his shoes and wanders outside for a walk-a-bout.

Sir Karl chuckles as he too brings me his breakfast dishes to wash. “Your Dad was embarrassed to talk to his girlfriend with me here. He just whispered to her and patted her a couple of times.”

I wipe down the kitchen table were The Girlfriend lays smiling up at me from the open AARP magazine. She is a drug ad and over her head hang the words “I am happy I can now give my patients a choice”.