Superficial (DE)

Two.

Brandon rang the door bell, taking a step back with a bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. A few moments later, the silhouette of a short woman could be seen peaking through the mosaic glass piece of the front door before it opened slowly.

"Hi baby!"

"Hey mama," Brandon smiled, revealing the flowers he'd had hidden behind his back— a bouquet of bright, crimson red roses he'd picked up on the way to his parents house.

Buying flowers for his mom every time he came to visit was a tradition of sorts. Even at his grown age of thirty he was still a mamas boy— she's the number one lady in his life and he always made sure to treat her as such, that's how he was raised. Even after all the bouquets of flowers he'd bought her over the years, she still acted surprised every time.

Brandon craned his head down to meet her short stature of five foot one inch, allowing her to kiss his cheek before accepting the flowers.

"I just got done cookin baby— come in," She said, closing and locking the door behind him.

The savory aroma of red beans and rice instantly enticed his sense of smell. Though he was New York born and bred, his parents were both of down south decent, moving to the big Apple just before he was born for a big job opportunity for his father.

Brandon looked at all their family photos as he ambled down the hall, so strategically placed on the wall— their tight little family of three. Brandon was an only child, the apple of his parents eye whom were high school sweethearts and had been together for over fifty years.

"Your daddy is in there in front of that TV," His mother, Lorraine, said as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Brandon slowly walked into the living room finding his father where she'd said he'd be. Brandon paused, watching his father as he stood in the middle of the living room watching television oblivious to his presence. Brandon's father was once his favorite person in the world— a strong, loving and hard working family man.

His father taught Brandon everything he knew, he was the reason Brandon had fallen in love with planes and chose the career path he had. And while the love was still the same, their relationship was not and Alzheimer's was to blame.

Alzheimer's is like a parasitic disease, eating his father from the inside out. It wasn't so bad at first— he would forget little things like what day it was, or what he'd done the day before or special dates. But now, Brandon would be lucky if his father recognized his face at all, let alone his name.

Maybe if Brandon came around more his father would at least recognize him, but it was too painful to watch his father deteriorate in front of his eyes— the strong man he'd admired his whole life.

"Daddy," Brandon called, his deep voice catching his fathers attention prompting him to turn around slowly with a confused expression. "How are you?"

"That's your son Carl— that's Brandon," Lorraine shouted from threshold of the kitchen.

Carl looked at his son wearily, nodding and patting him on the back roughly making Brandon chuckle.

That's one thing that would never change about him— his heavy hand.

"Sit with me— what are you watching?" Brandon asked as he and his father took a seat on the couch.

His father didn't answer, yet kept his withered eyes glued to the football game on TV. Lorraine came with a plate of food for Carl and a TV tray.

"Are you hungry baby?" She asked as she got her husband set up to eat.

"No thank you," Brandon responded, watching as his mother nodded and sat to help feed her husband.