Starting With You

40. I only need you, me, and this door, Teddy.

Jensen

I SIT IN MY TRUCK MOMENTS AFTER I kill the engine, staring ahead at the building through my windshield. Whenever I visit my grandpa, I always need to take a minute to prepare myself. I never know what I'll find, what type of mood or level of understanding I'll find him.

Dementia is a continuous sucker punch to the gut. I feel that way as a loved one of someone suffering from the disease; I can't even begin to comprehend what it feels like to live inside my grandpa's head. How confusing and disorienting and frustrating that must be.

Scout bounces around the seat next to me, eager to get the adventure started. I left work early this afternoon, feeling restless, needing to change up my scenery. Residual feelings from my fight with Teddy linger in my mind, and I'm sick of going over it again and again.

I hated the way she ignored me, the unresolved issue nagging me the whole time. I just wanted to fix it. I broke down and asked my sisters and cousin for advice, both to my benefit and detriment. They laid into me pretty good, but at least they helped me see it from Teddy's point of view, a perspective I'm embarrassed to admit I hadn't given much consideration.

I want to do better for her. She deserves better from me.

Scout headbutts my arm, wagging his tail with the uncontained energy. I pet his head. "Yeah, ok, buddy. Let's do this."

I open the door and Scout quickly scampers out after me. The last time I brought Scout to visit my grandpa, the dog seemed to have a calming effect. I'm hoping for a similar experience today.

I find my grandpa sitting in the courtyard on a wooden bench. One of his legs is propped over the other, his ankle resting on his knee, highlighting the bright white tube sock covering his leg from ankle to knee. Scout trots over to him, sniffing his socks.

"Hey, buddy," my grandpa says, scratching the dog behind his ears. "I haven't seen you in a while. Did you run off chasing the coons again?"

I sink in the seat next to him. "Hi, grandpa. You remember Scout?"

He glances at me briefly and returns his attention back to the dog. "Who's Scout?"

"My dog." I point at Scout; he is eating up the attention from my grandpa's petting hands.

"This here is Leroy. Best hunting dog you ever did meet."

I nod, letting the words go without a correction. Instead, I insinuate the difference between a dog he once had to the one that's in front of him. "Leroy was an old hunting dog of yours, yeah?"

"Sure was," he says in a tone that's almost wistful. "Sure was."

He stares at Scout as if stuck in a memory. "Remember that time we got all them birds, son? Good old Leroy was busy that morning."

I puff out a deep breath, hesitating before responding. He's obviously confusing me with my dad. "That must have been a good hunting day," I finally say. "I bet my dad remembers it fondly."

Scout disappears and comes back with a stick he scavenged, dropping it at my grandpa's feet. He picks it up with a deep chuckle. "Always the retriever." He chucks the stick and Scout takes off after it, returning with it moments later. They play this game of fetch together for a while, and we sit in relative calm. The day is warm but not overbearingly so; the sun hiding behind clouds.

"How's the family, son?" my grandpa asks, breaking the quiet.

"Good." I smile over at him. "We're all good. Loud and nosey and annoying as usual. But good."

"Good," he says. He throws the stick again, and then he turns his attention to me. "And you sorted out all the other business with the girl like we talked? Eve doesn't deserve that. Just like your mother didn't deserve it when I strayed on her. Tell me, Ike. Is it done and dealt with?"