Thursday, December 11, 2008
i'm in ikea today walking around slightly dazed, looking at things and listening to my ipod. My phone rings and I look down to see that it's my mother. "Hello? Hello?" I say, but no answer, though I hear her talking to someone in the background and I realize her phone has accidently called mine. I listen. My father is being placed into the passenger seat beside her. She's picking him up from radiation and I hear him groan, "Ohhhh.....ohhhh." I listen. She thanks someone who has helped dad, and then the sound of traffic as they pull onto Wilshire blvd. in Beverly Hills and their drive home. They're talking to one another; maybe dad will get a haircut; when will they be able to fit him into the triage for the removal of the gallblatter; she thinks she'll get the nurse tomorrow so she can do some holiday shopping. "I hate to leave you again," she says. I listen, evesdropping on my parents. Every now and then I whisper, "hi mom, hi dad," but they can't hear me. They keep talking, saying little things, and then there are spaces where they say nothing. It's just like I'm sitting in the back of the car with them. My parents are real, they're alive; this isn't just a memory or a fantasy. And my father is alive. I'm with them and I'm content to just sit in the back and listen to them drive; street sounds in the background, my father saying little things now and then, my mother responding. "Hi mom, hi dad," I whisper again.