and then there was this other time

I was looking after an old guy who was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's. It manifested itself in arguments with plants or plaintive discussions with empty chairs. I had to stay there for a couple of days and nights, because his wife (a lovely and well-preserved 50-yr-old) needed a little break. After she belted back a scotch and peeled out of the driveway, Gordon and I set about getting to know each other. He would frequently mistake me for his wife at varying stages in their history together - once chasing me around the house in boxers and a tie, calling out 'Sweetheart!' I made frequent trips out the squeaky patio door to smoke and shake my head. Hourly squeaking and smoking.

Needless to say, my expectations of coherence on his part were pretty low. I began to go with the nonsensical flow (stopping short of entering his ardent embrace). I figured, why jar him out of whatever reality he's visiting at this moment? It will only cause him distress. That's why I didn't say anything when he joined me out on the patio with a can of furniture polish and got down on his knees.

"I'm gonna fix it," he said.

"Sure, that's fine," I said.

He started spraying furniture polish on the patio door track. It seemed harmless enough. I finished my smoke. We were both content for the moment.

Then I went back into the house and closed the door squeaklessly behind me.