Polar Bears
by Vickie Anderson
When my father was dying of cancer, he was placed on pain medication patches; some of that medicine caused him to hallucinate. One day after I came in from work, I walked into the living room where he was napping on the sofa. When he heard me as I walked into the room, he opened his eyes and said, "Girl, while I like polar bears; the house is no place to keep them."
My father had always called me the girl and my brother the boy for as along as I could remember. Finally, I had decided that he couldn't remember our names; somehow, that no longer mattered. I looked around at the empty room and put my arms out as if I were trying to corral these animals. I looked at my father, not knowing how many of them he was seeing, and asked, "I've got two of them; did I miss any?"
My father responded as he pointed toward the TV, "the little one, right there."
While keeping my left arm out as if I were holding in the first two; I reached around with my right arm and paddled at the empty air until I now looked as if I were holding a large barrel between my arms.
"Any more?" I asked.
His reply was a resounding, "No."
At that, I began to herd them out of the living room and out the backdoor into the yard. I moved my arms as if they were trying to slip out of my keeping. I had to make sure they would not escape back into the living room. As my father looked on, I managed to get them into the backyard. Once he was satisfied they were no longer in the house, I made supper and we ate.
The next day the doctor changed my Dad's pain medication. On the way home my father spoke softly to me, "Vickie, thank you for not making me feel foolish about yesterday."
I looked at this brilliant man whom I had loved all my life and said, "Don't you think it's a little too warm to keep Polar bears in the backyard? When we get home, I think I'll make arrangements to send them to a nice zoo — up north. That okay with you?"
He patted my hand, but I saw the tears well up in his eyes. Then his lips formed that crooked little half smile that had always meant he was pleased and proud, as he said, "That's my girl."
Vickie Anderson is an author and poet. She has a novel in the hands of an agent at the present time. Vickie lives in a small community in East Texas and has had several poems published in various anthologies. She says that writing is a solitary endeavor and she loses all track of time when she is working on a story. Ms. Anderson enjoys her cats and credits them with inspiring her and bringing her back into the 'real world'. She says that flash writing is a new venue for her and she enjoys it.