The Hallucination

The visit progressed well. My old Dad’s anxiety was barely contained under the surface, but I was polite and restrained. Dad regaled me with the day’s version of his dad, “Pop”, and the survival techniques he employed to feed his family during the depression. Pop had a mill and ground farmer’s crops, keeping a percentage to sell or to feed to his own animals. The story meandered on to the drought year farmers ground soap weed roots and burned thorns off cactus to feed the cattle. That was the worst of the dust bowl years when Oklahoma blew into Northeastern New Mexico in billowing clouds of dust. Dad implied that if I’d sat on a tractor for sixteen hours as he did, perhaps I would have stuck with something. Success, in his mind, was duplicating his life.

He then talked about the sess pool they dug when Fred Carter stopped by and helped, the way they did back then, and Ott Kenan brought over a heavy bar to break up a stubborn rock. I’d heard this story so my mind wandered and glimpses movement in the back yard out of the corner of my eye.

Odd. This was a townhouse and the only access to the narrow back yard with two fruit trees and a pine tree was through the house, unless someone stood on a bucket or ladder and climbed over the fence. A man in a red plaid shirt and a Wilder Well Service cap nodded at me through the window as his companion in Levis carried a tool box past the window. The Wilder Well Service cap nodded and I nodded back.

“Dad,” I asked, “You got somebody doing something out back?”

“Huh?”

“Who are those guys in the back yard?”

My father was extremely fit for an eighty-seven year old man, having farmed and worked physically for most of his life. He hopped up and went outside to check.

“There’s nobody out here, Dale,” he said.

I checked and saw the two men moving through the neighbor’s identical yard. I said, “Must be a utility crew moving on down the street.”

Dad said, “Dale, there isn’t anybody back here.”

“Right Dad”, I said in the patronizing tone I’d used earlier when he couldn’t remember if it was 1932 or 1933 that Pop had ground feed for the Mock brothers. I said then, “Dad, yesterday you were sure it was 1934.”

He looked sharply at me. “Dale, you been drinking that mouthwash again?”

I snorted, “You know I don’t do that anymore, Dad.”

“You’ve got to get a handle on that. We can’t have you around here like this. It’s killing your mother.”

“Dad, yesterday she told me it was killing you.”

“Naw, I’m okay, but you aren’t gonna stay around here and drink anymore.”

I said, “I agree, Dad. And it isn’t a problem. I understand.” I caught another movement in the back yard and said, “Dad, is that realtor out here again?” A trim brunette in a sharp, tan business suit was notating something on a clipboard. She waved and I waved back.

“Dale, you just go back and lay down before your mother gets home. You’re seeing things.”

I said, “Sure, whatever.”

I started to get out of the chair when Mom walked in from shopping. She looked at me and immediately said, “Dale, you’ve been drinking that mouthwash, I can tell. It’s killing your Dad and I’m not having you stay here anymore. I don’t know how many times we’ve told you that.”

I said, “I know, Mom. I wish it were different and I hadn’t put you guys through so much. I am moving into the Vet Center tomorrow morning, though, if you didn’t mind me staying in that back bedroom just tonight. I’ll be out first thing in the morning.”

“Well, what do you think Aubrey,” Mom said. She suddenly looked old, old.

Dad said, “Dale, you got any stuff hidden around here?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well get something to eat and get back in that bedroom. Be in the center first thing in the morning.”

I said, “Thanks Dad. I really appreciate this. You really shouldn’t put up with this and just kick me out on the street. You don’t deserve this and I could survive out there. I have before.”

Mom said, “We are just too tired and old for it anymore, Dale. We both have had small strokes and we aren’t able for it.”

“Yeah, I am so sorry. I, for the life of me don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ll be out first thing.”

I looked out the window to check out the real estate lady’s legs again. In the bedroom, loud music came through the wall’s from the adjoining townhouse. Willy and Waylon’s song, “….let’ get to Luchenbach, Texas, Willy and Waylon and the boys,…this successful life we’re livin’s got us feudin like the Hatfields and McCoys…” I sang along for awhile, but the two middle aged women kept playing it. I banged on the wall several times until they turned it down to an acceptable level.”

Stretched out on the bed, I watched a Texas A&M versus Texas game on the wall television. It cut away to a car commercial about Dodge trucks and the Houston Rocket’s center drove away in a double cab Ram. Closing my eyes, I rolled onto my side and tried to sleep. I then sat on the side of the bed and watched the ballgame on the television on the carpet. It was the same play I’d just watched. I guessed that it was on two different channels – unusual for a Texas college game being watched in Albququerque. The same commercial played.

I left the bedroom and went out the front door. Mom called out, “Dale, what are you doing.”

I picked up my shoes and brought them back inside. “I’m just getting my shoes.” I held them up for her to see.

She said, “Your Dad found that bottle of mouthwash hidden behind the plant.”

I said, “Oh, I wondered where that went. I must have left it there last time week when I was out here and forgot about it. I was pretty crazy then. Sorry. Know you can’t believe me. I’m just getting my shoes.”

“Just get back in your room.”

“Okay, Mom. And thanks again.”

In the room, I took the stolen bottle of mouthwash from the toe of my left shoe. Smith’s Food was about two blocks away and I’d “shopped” there three times that day. I’d pay for some vegetables or something cheap and slip a small bottle of Listerine in my coat pocket. I’d become very skilled at this.

I drank half the bottle and gagged. I hid it under the mattress and waited for the nausea to subside. Throwing up was a waste of that precious liquid. One time, I’d gone so far as to save my urine in some Diet Coke bottles and recycle the unused alcohol. I reasoned that if cops could detect blood alcohol levels from urine and breath, there had to be some value to saving it. I hadn’t figured out how to recycle my breath. Remembering this, I was appalled, but, I must have been crazy then.

I lay curled on the bed. My stomach was just calming when Dad came in. I’d forgotten to lock the door. His unannounced entrance always annoyed me because my boundaries were violated.

“Dale, what are you doing? Are you sick?”

I said, “Gee, Dad. I was just praying.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you sure you are alright?” He asked as he quickly backed out the door.

In our family, a person praying is respected and his privacy is not to be disturbed. Our family doesn’t pray ostentatiously but if observed, the relationship with God is to be honored.

I said, “Dad, please knock first.”

“Sorry, Dale. Just checking on you.”

That scenario would give me the rest of the night undisturbed because I was praying and that was evidence I was concerned about my soul. If I was concerned about my soul, I could be trusted until morning. I retrieved my bottle from under the mattress and downed some more. My body was somewhat more accustomed to the mouthwash so I didn’t gag.

Between the room and a small atrium there is a window. From the atrium, I heard loud talking. Peeking through the shades, I saw a sister of my brother-in-law giving Dad a haircut. How rude of my sister and brother-in-law to bring his out of town relatives to visit the folks at this hour! Mom and Dad were not able to have company that late, what with their strokes and all. But then again, it was their house and if they were happy to be bothered that late, why should I get my underwear knotted.

I saw the visitors looking through at me. I knew the shades were pulled, but just in case, I crawled over and tightened them. They were probably just looking at their reflection.

The nausea returned, so I slipped into the kitchen to get some milk and ease the urge to vomit. Returning, I looked through the crack of their bedroom door. Mom was propped up in her bed reading.

I asked, “When did Jody and Arlo leave?”

She said, “Nobody was here Dale. Just go back to bed.”

I looked past her through the window into the back yard. In the dark, I could make out an old woman kneeling and cutting up apricots.

I went outside and said, “What are you doing?”

The old woman held her finger to her lips for me to be quiet. A couple in long, black trench coats hid behind the pine tree. I yelled at them. “Get out of here, or I’m calling the cops.” I glared at them and got right into the man’s face and found myself looking at a pine cone.

Mom and Dad got me to bed.

Watching the game, I finished my mouthwash. It wouldn’t be enough to avoid a terrible withdrawal before morning so I went to the kitchen for food to help with the detox. I mistook the barroom type swinging doors for the back of a chair and fell across the table and split my head open on the terrazzo floor. Blood spurted everywhere. I refused to go to the hospital. Mom bandaged it up. They discussed what to do. I reassured them that it wasn’t all that bad. Certainly not as bad as the time I drank windshield wiper fluid and Arlo called the ambulance. I could have died that time because I had to have dialysis. This was nothing. I was crazy then, what with the divorce and that stuff.

Mom said, “Dale, the divorce was eight years ago.”

I asked, “Just let me sit up in the recliner. I’ll get out first thing.”

I still don’t understand why, but somehow they agreed. I was the game some more. I saw crawling things. I heard music through the walls. And I slept.

I woke. My old Dad was curled up asleep on the couch. The chimes from the grandfather clock indicated it was about dawn. Music played until the refrigerator shut off. Smith’s wouldn’t be open for two hours. I would have to tough it out until I could shop. Why did Dad have to find that bottle behind the plant? I pulled the blanket up around Dad and slipped out through the garage to start, yet, another day. Would they ever end?