The Houseguest

The Houseguest

He made himself as comfortable as he could. I wouldn't have minded so much but I didn't even invite him. Stretched out on our sofa, pillows bunched around him,he sat there waiting for me to bring him his beer. Uncle Fred was definitely the black sheep of the family, out for what he could get and giving very little. His forehead had expanded over the years and his stomach had started protruding over the top of his waistband. He was partial to his plaid shirts and double knit polyester pants which were running threadbare on the seat. He wreaked with a mixture of Old Spice, tobacco, beer, coffee and sweat. His stale old man smell permeated every area of the house. He would often remove his coffee and tobacco stained teeth leaving them lying around the living room. Once our dog Heidi, ran around the house with his top plate in her mouth, grinning as she would playingly flee when we got close enough to retrieve them. Uncle Fred would be screaming in the background about putting that "darn varmint" down yet, he would keep leaving them around as if it had become an amusement for him.

Uncle Fred had been a bachelor all of his life, I think at times he could be very lonely but I would of been in awe of any woman who had the patience to deal with him. I remember asking him once why he had never settled down, I found that this was definitely taboo. When asked he would always make some comment about how he had escaped the torture of listening to one woman for the rest of his life and would offer my husband his condolences. I had spent years trying to understand him yet couldn't. I was always wondering what miserable event had shaped his life or if he was born like that. I had never been to his home, nor had I been invited. I always questioned what kind of pigsty he would occupy, if it would be a barrage of pizza boxes, beer cans and empty TV dinner trays. His library would probably consist of Playboys and TV guides dating back to the 1970's mixed with the occasional Field and Stream.

Apparently there had been a flood at his home and according to the insurance company it would take a few weeks which inevitably stretched into a few months. This had been by far his longest visit; this time was different however, for all his complaining he seemed genuinely comfortable. My husband was a saint and temporarily gave up his post as “man of the house”, not that in this day and age it still applied. Uncle Fred would stand over his shoulder and ramble on about how my husband “ain’t no plumber”, “he ought to have hired someone” all the time my husband smiled his tight little smile and nodded to placate him.

Uncle Fred rarely smiled or showed any expression for that matter, he didn’t seem to care for my husband or I. To him we were inn-keepers. I don’t think he ever addressed me by name; I would be surprised if he had even known it. One day however I almost thought I saw a smile. We had been sitting around watching television one night and when I looked over he smiled, not with the mouth but he smiled with his eyes. The little lines around his eyes became more exaggerated and his stare would soften. Later that same night I noticed him patting Heidi, another total shocker, his distaste of Dogs was right up there with his distaste for marriage. Heidi who normally would avoid him sat still and let him pat her. To me this behavior seemed so odd for him. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the tyrant I had thought he was. Just when my heart warmed up to him, he would open his mouth and those warm and fuzzy feelings dissipated. That night he said goodnight and puttered down the hall to his room.
That was the last time I would see Uncle Fred alive. The coroner had said that his heart had stopped as he lay his head down for the night and that he went peacefully. For the next few days the house seemed empty. I guess I had grown accustom to Uncle Fred being around, even Heidi seemed quiet and subdued as if she missed him.

I was the only person that really kept in contact with Uncle Fred. I gathered some boxes together and headed over to his house to pack up his belongings. When I had opened the front door I had expected the musty smell of the flood water which was to have ravaged his house a few months back. Instead of chaos his house was immaculate other than mail piled under the mailbox and the light layer of dust which had settled in his absence. I looked around and noticed bookcases lining the wall of the living room full of Hemingway, Twain and Bronte oddly enough not a TV guide in sight. In the corner, a grand piano, sheet music still adorned the music stand. On the piano pictures of me from when I was five up to present day. Birthday and Christmas cards we had sent him took center stage. Tears filled my eyes as I thought of how much I did not know about him yet I was in his thoughts. I would of loved to have known this person, who was he? Going room to room I had learned more about Uncle Fred than I had through our many visits over the years. On the kitchen table was a note with my name handwritten on the front and a bottle of prescription medication unopened. The medication he had relied on to keep his heart going, he had not taken, then I realized he did not want to be alone when he died. Uncle Fred had known my name all along and he loved me enough to want to share his last days surrounded by the family he so obviously cared for.