absolutely totally foreign

Today started out off-kilter – I totally forgot Dad’s neurologist appointment. I got here and found him all dressed (by Marie) and waiting to go, but it was too late. It’s hard to get an appt. with this doctor, so it really sucks that I forgot this particular one. Now who is the one who is losing their mind?

Dad was trying to pay me for something, as usual, and I said to him, “Yo tengo dinero (I have money).” “I have plenty,” he translated, which is pretty close, considering his condition. Later, as we were discussing dinner, he said, in a bass voice, “I will eat anything.” “Omniverous,” I said. “That’s a good word,” said Dad. “Omni means ‘everything’. ‘Eat-all-things.’” Definitely an English teacher moment.

But then after dinner, things got weird. “Where can I stay tonight?” asked Dad. “This is your apartment,” Kate S. told him. “Is there someplace to lie down?” he wanted to know. “Yes, your bed,” she told him. “I’ll need somebody to take me home,” he said. “Have I been in this place before?” “You’ve been here since the 1960s,” I told him. “So, I don’t go anywhere?” he asked. “I’m getting pretty confused,” he continued, “since I’m on the way to 90.”

“Does my room door have a number on it?” Dad asked, apparently thinking he was at a hotel. “Nope, it’s the only bedroom here,” we told him. “It’s the only bedroom here? How many people live here?” he wanted to know. “Just one, Dad, you,” I explained. “Is there running water in the room?” he asked. “There’s running water in the kitchen and bathroom,” I told him. “I don’t know where they are,” he said, totally confused. “Just down the hall,” I said, gesturing. “If the door’s closed, someone’s in there?” he asked. “Yes, if it’s the bathroom,” I replied.
“You sound really familiar,” Dad said to me. “I’m little Kate, your daughter.” “Oh,” said Dad and reached out to shake my hand as though we’d just met.

“Does my room have a toilet?” Dad wanted to know. “You have a whole apartment, Dad.” “Then I have a kitchen, bathroom, a regular room and a living room. What do I have to pay for a night?” “You pay $330 a month,” I told him. “How about for a couple of nights?” he asked, confirming my suspicion that he thought he was in a hotel. “They don’t rent by the night,” I said.

Dad started exploring the hall and the bedroom. “I think I’ve been here before,” he said. “You’ve been here for 40 years,” I reminded him. He wandered into the bathroom. “You mean I’ve been pissing in this john for 20 years?” “40 years,” I corrected. “40 years,” he said in amazement.

I led him to a seat on the couch. “I thought I was being taken into a foreign place but it was all mine, all mine. I can’t believe it,” he said, in astonishment. “Jesusmotherfuckingchrist, this is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.” “That room is my room and it’s been my room for 40 years?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Jesusmotherfuckingchrist. In other words, I just rent this apartment, right?” “You own this apartment,” I tell him. “Do I own these buildings?” “You own this apartment. Each person owns their own apartment.”

“Is it illegal to stay here?” Dad asks. “No, it’s totally legal,” I tell him, wondering where that question came from. “Then you can stay the night,” he concludes.

“How far up am I?” Dad asks. “This is the 4th floor,” I tell him. “I go up and down in an elevator?” “There is no elevator.” “It’s old-fashioned then,” says Dad, “but it looks totally modern.” “It got renovated,” I tell him. “How long ago did it get renovated?” “About 15 years ago,” I tell him though I’m not totally sure myself. “I’ve been right here for 40 years,” he says to himself.

“You know what?” says Dad. “It’s all new to me, all brand new, never saw it before yesterday.” “I had no idea,” he continues, “that you could rent places like this really cheaply, a thing as big as this costs one or two thousand dollars a month.” “Where did I live before this?” he wants to know. “You moved around a lot . . . “ I start the explanation. “And I found this place and liked it,” he finishes for me.

“What is the floor made of?” Dad asks. “Wood.” “This is the strangest thing that ever happened to me. Nothing even came close,” he says, in a contemplative tone. “Did you expect I’d go crazy?” he asks me. “No,” I say. “You thought it was ordinary,” he says.

“Maybe tomorrow, when it’s lighter, I’ll be able to recognize it, but not right now. It’s utterly strange,” he says, looking around. “I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight, it’s so weird. It’s amazing how things can change, suddenly. Everything looks absolutely totally foreign to me. I should stay here all night, appreciating the new apartment.”

“The cat is here?” Dad is looking around for her. “Yes,” I tell him, “in the corner, asleep.”

Slowly, Dad seems to come out of the trance and starts finding familiar objects. He sits next to me at the dining room table, and starts feeling items on the table. “That’s a cookbook, Dad,” I tell him. “Are you using it?” he asks. “I will when I cook tomorrow.” “I don’t think I’ve ever used a cookbook. I’m still alive,” he says. “I think you used to when you had dinner parties,” I remind him. “I think so,” he says, “You know, I’m getting to be an old geezer. I don’t realize it until I start thinking about it and say, ‘my god, I’m over 80 years old,’ and I try to forget it and I do forget it and then whang, something happens and I remember again.”