Dead? Dad?

Uh huh, yes, I understand, he said before the line went silent. Dead? He thought. He hadn’t looked so good the last couple of times he had visited, sat across the kitchen table, drinking cheap whisky from barely clean glasses. Perhaps he looked tired?He thought. No – not tired exactly. Haggard? Perhaps. Weary? Yes, weary! That’s precisely what he was. From what he had no idea. Evertime he asked his father he would say it’s nothing, I’m fine, forget it. And he would drop it…again and again…till it sat in every conversation like an elephant, its giant hoof crushing both their skulls, He placed his phone on the kitchen counter and retrieved a beer from the fridge. The only other inhabitants: a jar of expired mayonnaise and a half eaten Italian salami that was also starting to turn. What is it that you actually eat? His sister in law asks half dressed, head under his bead, searching for her car keys and panties, confident she will beat his brother home.