“And that is this, and this with thee remains” – Shakespeare, Sonnet 74.

“Harold Michaelis.” Dad answers. I can see him standing there. Probably no clothes, gaunt, perfectly groomed.

“Pop, it’s me.” I say.

“Stanley!” He calls to Mom. “Honey, it’s Stanley!”

“I have that financial rundown. We can talk about it.”

“Sure, anytime.” He says. “Are Sandra and the kids coming?”

“Not this time. We would never get around to business. Thought we could come over Sunday after church.”

“Perfect. You are on your way now?”

“Yes, I’m almost there.”

“Perfect.” He says again.

“And Pop,” I add. “Pants for everyone. Tell Freddie and Moonglow.” They being my older brother and his live-in.

“If you insist.” He says.

I hang up. I can see him going to tell Mom. He used to bounce around like a rabbit, now he shuffles, only sixty-two and he shuffles. I don’t want to think about that. I think about the financial arrangements I am bringing. They are fine financially, retired from long term directorships of large non-profits, that, combined with their stringent frugality makes them comfortable. They can afford to support themselves and Freddie and Starburst or whatever her current name is. Not that Freddie doesn’t work, he does, he works hard paying little or nothing for anything he can sell online. Freddie doesn’t contribute to the household, they never require it.

Dad opens the door and throws hands in the air. “He’s done it now!” Of course he has, someone has always done something. “If Congress doesn’t block him then a decade of work goes down the drain! Your mother is beside herself.” Naturally she is, for as long as I can remember.

“The Cubs look good this home stand.” I say.

He stops, it dawns on him and he changes. Pop greets me with a kiss on the cheek, I hold him to me, a warm skeleton. He is wearing shorts so I am glad for that. His Colonel Sanders goatee is perfectly trimmed and waxed. It, like his swept back hair is salt and pepper but the once generous locks are dull, sparse, frayed. He is emaciated, I can hardly look at him.

“What did the Doctor say?” I ask.

“Ahh!” He waves a hand on a broomstick arm.

“Appreciated if you put on a shirt.” I say.

“First pants, now shirt?” He asks.

“Your so…” I look away but not before he sees water.

“Oh.” He looks at himself, pats me on the arm and shuffles away.

I call over my shoulder. “Shirt for Mom too.”

A lumbering behind me, I turn and there is Free-Ride Freddie. He isn’t thin like Mom and Dad who deprive themselves for world hunger. Freddie can spout the views and even be sincere but he isn’t going without for any cause.

“Hey, kiddo.” He kisses me on the cheek like our parents. His damp, unwashed hair brushes my face and turns my stomach a bit, but he’s my brother. Sunchild, or whatever emerges from the back of the house and I say hello, she moves a hand a little and smiles. She’s been smoking the hash, the cloud follows her in. “H…how are Sandy and the kids?” Freddie asks with his endearing stutter.

“Great. We are coming over Sunday. So, you know.” He knows what I mean, hide whatever needs hidden and everyone wears clothes. He will do it, he may be a freeloader but he is a considerate freeloader.

“Dad doesn’t look good.” I say.

Freddie’s eyes moisten and he rests a hand on my cheek. “No, kiddo. Re…remission is over.”

I wipe my eyes. “That’s why he wants the financials.” I say. “When does chemo start?”

“Pop says n…no more chemo.” Freddie says.

I am not surprised. The last round almost did him in and he said he wouldn’t go out that way.

Freddie continues. “L…look” He adds, “I don’t want to alarm you, but it’s a good thing you are bringing the kids over. I don’t know how…how long he is…is going to be like this.”

“How’s Mom?” I ask.

“You know M…Mom. She goes on. She says it is part of life and she accepts it. Doesn’t like it but accepts it.” He says.

“How about you?” I ask.

He looks away and chews on his large lower lip. “I’m like M…Mom” Yes he is, sans the self-sacrifice. “I don’t like it but what can be done? We will take care of him here. I’ll do whatever he needs. I…I…I will c…c…carry him in…in my my ar…arms if…if I have…have to.” He breaks.

I nod. “I know.”

“They have so…so many friends.” He pauses a second. “And you…you…you of course. He will be on maintenance medications, morphine, you…you know. Starfall is an RN, she knows what to do.”

I am first off taken back that Starfall is an RN. She’s been around using various names for years and I have never seen a sign she did anything other than smoke dope, change names, and help my brother sell junk. But the astonishment is belayed by the fact that a grown adult goes by the name Starfall. Then I consider it is a good thing they are here. Freddie will klutz around in his way but he will help Mom.

Freddie continues. “I’m more concerned about you. You…you two are so dependent on one another.”

I find this an odd statement as I don’t live with my parents and rely on them for everything. I give him a look.

Freddie fumbles to explain. “I…I mean, you made him love you. We are easy to love, me and M..Mom, like we’re all over the place. You…you know? You two are there right out front for everyone to see, and like, ‘prove it!’ to the whole world.” He sees my look, glances at Starfall and gives up. “I …I…I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” She rubs his ample back and I shrug.

The folks come into the room, fully dressed thank heavens, Mom is talking. “I can’t believe this country elected that man.”

“Stanley is here, love.” Dad reminds her.  

“Honey, you’re here!” Mom says and kisses me on the cheek. “Father says you are visiting Sunday. How is your lovely wife? ”

I have often wondered if it is hard for my folks. Sandra is as I, dedicated Christian believers who grew up in militant non believing homes, but they love Sandra to pieces as they do me. Long before Sandra we had constant disagreements. I was uninterested in their causes and controversy. They were rankled and dumbfounded by the beliefs I turned to in college. Once during a confrontation about my faith I told them, “You say to accept differences but I am different and you don’t accept me”. Pop fumbled with “You’re our child, of course we always accept you!” He looked at Mom then me, laid a hand on my shoulder and sat down. Mom smiled and we never argued again.

Mom clears off the kitchen table and makes organic espresso, we all sit. Freddie is fully himself as he and Starfall munch on packaged junk food. Mom gives them a look. We talk finances for a while and I watch Pop. The way he talks, his smiles, his looks at Mom.

I drive away and they’re on the porch. The disease is there; frail and bent body, paper skin, stick limbs, and Pop is there, unchanged. I see that Fred is right; we are there, out front for everyone to see, it is the whole of us and whatever comes, this remains.

– William Baker