Dad

     "I want to buy a car," Dad says. He is sprawled out on his easy chair at the assisted living house, barely able to keep his eyes open. He is tired. His color is ghastly-- like the color of rotting leaves after a heavy rain. I don't even know how he is still alive.

     "It's hard to get anywhere without a car," Dad says.

     I think to myself I don't blame him. If I could, I would have driven both of us out of his current life years ago.

     Dammit.