Tail of the Pen

This morning, I went to visit my dad. For those of you who don’t know, he’s in an Alzheimer’s Facility. Just that fact in and of itself presents many challenges, many of which are comical when recounted.Today’s was one of those especially complex visits, full of many stories worthy of the tell. However, one in particular falls in the exceptional category.

I was in the process of leaving. Even though his legs, which he kept referring to as eyes, had been experiencing muscular cramping, my dad insisted on walking me out. As we exited the building, my cell phone rang. I stopped to retrieve it from my purse. My father continued having a non-conversation with me. The call was from a possible employer. My father continues to speak rather loudly, but that is okay as I live with a man and am quite used to negotiating a telephone call while he suddenly wants to have a detailed, heart-to-heart conversation of the utmost importance. Notepad and pen fished from my purse, I am scribbling down highlights of what this prospective employer is saying to me, and am trying to answer the questions with soundness of mind. Suddenly, one of the other residents, a woman approaches. She gives me the steely eye. Although I’m not sure of why she’s looking at me in such a way, I know exactly what that means. It’s like seeing a kitty approaching, who suddenly stops in its tracks. The ears flattened and sometimes even the back arches. If it is eyeing you, you definitely need to get out of the way very quickly. At the time, removing myself from the vicinity was not quite possible. My father was still yapping. The person on the telephone with me was continuing to explain about the job requirements, asking pertinent questions. So when I perceived that I was getting the look from this lady, I turned my back to her to hopefully achieve better concentration. Yes, I realize now that act wasn’t exactly what was called for in that situation. She became very loud, which caused me to turn back to face it. It was then that the cat pounced. As I’m still writing, well scribbling would be more truthful, the lady tries to snatch my pen. She is screaming it is her pen, that I have stolen it and continues her best attempts to remove it from my grasp.

As a side note, I have to interject here that certain pens, specifically Pilot G2 pens in either black or blue ink, are highly prized possessions of mine. While I may briefly loan a pen to someone in need, I expect it to be treated with gentleness and returned immediately. There is no way I would ever have allowed this woman, this stranger to have my pen. For years, my father expressed desire for my pen, which I didn’t allow. Anyway, my hang up, I know. But the applicable word is MINE.

At that point, while my father is loudly explaining that I will return the pen when I finish using it, I feel the need to explain to the person on the phone where I am, why I am there, what is occurring, and to ask for a telephone number and appropriate time to return the call. All is well and the call ends. And just as suddenly, almost miraculously, as soon as the call is ended, the phone closed, placed back in my purse, my pen is suddenly forgotten by all. The attacking woman is in retreat crying over the loss of her pen and my dad has fallen silent. All is quiet and the birds begin to sing once again.