Your house is not really big enough for two adults, especially not when one of them doesn't want to be there.

And there's only one bathroom.

And you're trying to work and finish your master's degree at the same time.

You coordinate for movers to bring your dad's stuff over from Vanguard.

So now the house feels overly packed, kind of like you've been overzealous at the soda fountain

and you're trying to put the top on and spilling soda all over your hands.

Your father and you have always had a strange relationship.

You're the fun one.

The one who used to sneak him cigarettes when he was trying to quit.

The one who stayed up late listening to his records and trash talking to neighbors.

You always had fun together, but you were never close.

You chose antics over deep conversations.

You were always in motion, always getting up to something so that neither of you really had to talk about what was on your mind.

You certainly aren't an expert in caring for someone with dementia, but you're pretty sure that antics are not part of the care plan.

At first, things go okay.

It's kind of fun, even.

You play card games and you can't tell if he's cheating or if he can't actually remember the rules or where the gameplay was.

You pull out his old record collection and dance around to his favorite songs.

You even start recording some of his old stories.

You suspect most of them are, let's say, highly embellished, but it's still fun.

But the honeymoon phase doesn't last long.

It starts at night with a knocking on your door.

...