Leaving

The airline agent asked Dad if he needed assistance.

“Sure,” he replied, more like it was a game, not a true need. I already instructed him not to ask for a wheel chair.

“Why not? You get the royal treatment.” He reminded me that he and Mom had flown to Portland since 911. Mom had a wheel chair.

“All you need is keep your Battle of the Bulge hat on and you’ll get the celebrity treatment.”

I escorted him through security. Dad had prepared to remove his shoes by tying them loosely. They slipped off. “They should provide chairs so you can put your shoes back on,” he complained. There are never any conveniently located. Outside of the shoes, Dad is beginning to be a pro at going through security. Remove the belt, empty pockets, kick off shoes. Take your sweet time.

I watched him tie his laces. He does this like no one else. Two bows, one loop. So unique it is obvious Mom taught us kids how to tie our shoes.

We waited in the courtyard of the Kona Airport. Nearby three bronze hula dancers, froze in a movement that flung their layered skirts out from their bare feet. Bird shit covered their outstretched arms.

For the past three months I had been with my Dad. I was going to miss him. The condo would be a bit emptier, a bit quieter and bit lonelier, if only for the first evening while I adjusted to being solo again.

“What are you going to have for dinner?” he asked.

Yes, my first adjustment. I didn’t have to make dinner. Costco wasn’t carrying batch tamales anymore, my island staple food, besides papaya. I’d have to switch to spaghetti. Not white rice, heaven forbid.

“Maybe I’ll finish off the cabbage salad. I’ll have to see what else is in the frig.” I laughed, as if he knew my answer. I needed to think. Probably ice cream.

It was oddly empty at the condo when I returned. I listened to Joy FM, a Christian radio station out of Tampa. I ate the cabbage salad. I plugged away at the crosswords puzzles. Tuesday’s are not suppose to be this hard. And I watched the clock, envisioning Dad on his trip back to New York, reading The Forgotten Man.

He won’t be.