The Escape
One of 3
“Do we really have to watch Grampa Wentz the entire time your mom and dad move all his war crap into the nursing home?” Patrick questioned, the tinge of a whine evident in his voice.
Pete shot him a look, “You promised you would help me.” He looked over at his grampa, who was reading one of his WWII books. “Look at him, he’s harmless.”
“The doctors said that if his dementia acts up, we need to have his medication close at hand. I don’t want that kind of responsibility…” Patrick’s voice trailed off and he looked down at his shoes.
“Baby.”
Patrick looked up from the ground, then to Pete, then to Grampa Wentz. He looked up from his book back at Patrick and looked like he was going to kill him. Patrick started to lightly shake and pulled on Pete’s sleeve.
“Why does your grampa look like he wants to severely hurt me?” asked frightened eyes.
Pete scoffed, “I think I forgot to tell you something” He put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and pulled him a little closer and whispered, “He thinks you’re Jewish,” he paused.
“You’re fucking me.” Patrick said aloud. Pete thought to himself, if only.
Pete bit his lip and made puppy eyes at Patrick. “No.” He put his arms out to give an apology hug but Patrick just continued talking. His voice was hushed and angry.
“I don’t get it. We’re both catholic. How does he think I’m Jewish when he shouldn’t even have anything against Jews?” Pete could see his emotions reflect in his heterochromatic eyes. It’s not that Patrick was angry at the Grampa Wentz situation; it’s just that he wasn’t a happy camper about taking care of an 80 year old man who is medically classified as insane.
“The dementia mixed with the deep knowledge of war, and all of a sudden… He thinks he’s a Nazi.” Pete said chuckling. He looked over at his Grampa, who had fallen asleep with his book collapsed in his lap. “Shit, tonight’s going to be fun.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
“Shut up Pete.”
Pete shot him a look, “You promised you would help me.” He looked over at his grampa, who was reading one of his WWII books. “Look at him, he’s harmless.”
“The doctors said that if his dementia acts up, we need to have his medication close at hand. I don’t want that kind of responsibility…” Patrick’s voice trailed off and he looked down at his shoes.
“Baby.”
Patrick looked up from the ground, then to Pete, then to Grampa Wentz. He looked up from his book back at Patrick and looked like he was going to kill him. Patrick started to lightly shake and pulled on Pete’s sleeve.
“Why does your grampa look like he wants to severely hurt me?” asked frightened eyes.
Pete scoffed, “I think I forgot to tell you something” He put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and pulled him a little closer and whispered, “He thinks you’re Jewish,” he paused.
“You’re fucking me.” Patrick said aloud. Pete thought to himself, if only.
Pete bit his lip and made puppy eyes at Patrick. “No.” He put his arms out to give an apology hug but Patrick just continued talking. His voice was hushed and angry.
“I don’t get it. We’re both catholic. How does he think I’m Jewish when he shouldn’t even have anything against Jews?” Pete could see his emotions reflect in his heterochromatic eyes. It’s not that Patrick was angry at the Grampa Wentz situation; it’s just that he wasn’t a happy camper about taking care of an 80 year old man who is medically classified as insane.
“The dementia mixed with the deep knowledge of war, and all of a sudden… He thinks he’s a Nazi.” Pete said chuckling. He looked over at his Grampa, who had fallen asleep with his book collapsed in his lap. “Shit, tonight’s going to be fun.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
“Shut up Pete.”