Grazing


Along the way

Today was my swing shift Friday with the pops. I’ve learned some shortcuts from my sister’s house to the treatment center; some non-descript single level building with few windows tucked behind a strip mall. They have lots of fake plants and electric table fountains that are devoid of water.

We’re in and out in 30 minutes.

My dad and I talk about varied topics: politics, cars, jobs, Walmart, the legal system, the weather and Cancer.

“I feel tired.” he says.

“You mean, not well rested?” I ask.

“No. Something else.”

“Like you’re a puppet on strings, but instead of being suspended by them, they’re actually pulling you down — and not just at your joints but like it’s your whole lymphatic system being tugged on, slowly?”

He pauses, “Yeah.”

“I know what you mean.”

We drive along for a while in silence.

The weather is great. We crack the windows and I show him how the sunroof works. He always remarks on the giddy-up of the VW, pleased with how smooth and quiet the ride is.

“McDonalds?”

“Sure” he says, with that slight raise in octave that means, hell yeah.