HAPPY/UNHAPPY FIND

PAPA'S HIDEAWAY

 

'Marc, have you seen your father? He's disappeared.' 'Sure Ma, he's in the living room, snoozing on the sofa.' I can hear her stacking the dinner dishes on the kitchen cabinet, the every night ones. Her small footsteps on the tile warn me she is coming. 'Marc, your father was not on the sofa.' 'I'll look upstairs, Ma.' From the hall, I call her, 'Ma, I don't see him here either.' A sound I have heard a million times sounds like her dentures are slipping, 'Tsk-tsk,' she goes.

 

'Look outside, in the garden, Marc. He's supposed to put the garbage near the fence on Wednesday.' 'Ma, this is Tuesday. He'll do it Wednesday like always.' I'm called again only this time Pop has materialized from no place and asks me where his bamboo rake is. 'Leaves are starting to fall, Marc. I don't want to let them ruin what's left of summer's greenery.' I get the rake for him from the basement where he left it after I mowed the front lawn last week. Ordinarily, I clean up when I'm finished, but with no explanation Pop asked me for the rake and told me he would take care of it. I watched him carry it into the basement.

 

'Sam, Marc, dinner is almost ready. Wash your hands before the salad gets soggy.' My hands are clean but when I sit down at the table, Ma  examines them like my kindergarten teacher used to do. To avoid further discussion on the subject, I rinse them in the kitchen sink and get walloped with a damp tea towel.'

 

'Sam, I called you once. Twice is once too much. Come downstairs now or you will have dinner by yourself.' This scenario is not new. I grin and bear it. Ma is distraught, calls again, 'Sam, Marc and I are starting to eat. When you're ready, come down. You can warm your own meal and eat in the rec room.'

 

Pop does not come down. Ma doesn't have to tell me to go get him. My salad will wait. Purposely I stomp up the stairs calling, 'Come on, Pop. Let's eat.' No answer comes. Ma calls again,' Sam, what the heck is keeping you? You could at least answer.' He doesn't. She tells me to go look for him. 'Your salad can wait, young Man.'

 

I start in the closets. Everything is neatly hung. I look behind the shower curtain. Nothing, noone is there. The tiles are dry. A tough job lies ahead for me as I have to tell Mom Pop has evaporated. She gives me a list of neighbors to call. I walk around the block see no sign of him. When I come back Ma is sitting at the kitchen table. Her color is ashen gray. Tears have dropped on her blouse. "Pop's gone, isn't he? You found him dead, right?' Words of sympathy, consolation are meaningless. I don't say them.

 

In spite of Pop's disappearance, her fear, Ma's mind turns to me. 'Sit down, Marc. We'll have dinner together now, just the two of us.' 'Ma, I'll find Pop, warm our dinner myself and we'll have dessert together. Stop worrying.'

 

It's not quite dark yet, so I walk almost aimlessly, having no idea where Pop might be. I don't bother looking in the super market, barber shop, pool hall, just keep my eyes open, see no ambulances, no police cars. What draws me into Dreyfus Funeral home, I don't know but quickly realize I am not dressed for this 'occasion.' Mourners are standing around an open casket in a private room. There is a familiar cap on the back of one head that looks like my Pop's. Hugging the wall, I try to be invisible as I look for the face on the man with the cap just like Pop's lawn mowing cap. Yes, it is my Pop. Backing out to the hall, I just stand there waiting for family and friends of deceased to leave. That takes fifteen more minutes while I worry about Ma.

 

With his arm around the shoulder of grieving stranger, out comes Pop. He sees me but does not speak. I walk slowly behind him to the exit where he hugs his companion, shakes hands with a dozen or so other people I am sure he doesn't know. At last he gives me his attention, scolds me for being at the wake. We say barely a word until we are in sight of our home.

 

'Pop, Ma and I have been frantic, couldn't find you. I've been looking for an hour. How, why, did you disappear when Ma called us for dinner, just like she always does?' 'Marc, that was exactly why I left. Ma always calls us the same way, threatens me, annoys me. I come to sit with Mr. Dreyfus some afternoons. There is a peace about him, a warmth that comforts me as I wait for my time to happen.

 

Let's go home. But please, Marc, let's first think of a little white lie to tell Ma.'