Dad.

I noted the dust on the handle of the zimmer frame. Clearly, he'd rather fall over and piss himself in style rather than use the zimmer. In denial over his capacities, he insisted on the walking stick. While he was in the kitchen, I had an impulse to try out the zimmer. So, imagining myself my dad, I took a few steps. I was as smooth and intent as a crab, yet had to focus hard on my feet to ensure I was enacting this for his benefit, not some perverse role play of my own agenda. I put the frame away and on cue, my father entered with two cups of tea. Later he made a third cup, leaving me alone in the lounge with the District Nurse. I was pleased to note that she was a robustly attractive woman. Her job had clearly depressed her needs in relation to men and I sensed, contrary to her desire, every voice she used was, finally, a professional one. My father was spending too long in the kitchen and, unable to fathom what he hoped I'd say to the nurse, I returned to the safe, yet animating topic of her teenage sons. In speaking of the ambiguity of their behaviour, I sensed the return of her hidden libido and, finally, as father returned, I knew I'd nurture this further, in my evening's fantasy. However, splayed out on the sofa, the scenario took a long while to elaborate and I must concede, I had not anticipated how central my father's role was to my final, belated satisfaction. I awoke in the same subterranean mood as the fantasy, noting the handle of the zimmer and the claw hands that, finally, had used it in the night.