After a long day at work I call my father.

"Hey Dad, I am coming over soon…I'll be a half hour. Love you! Bye."

The drive was one I was accustomed to many times over. The hills and windy short cuts welcomed me like an old friend. I haven't seen my father in a couple of months so I am eager to check up on him. He is beginning the last half of his life alone in an overwhelmingly silent house. I have always loved him so much, but always became increasingly impatient with our conversations that looped within his past failing female relationships. Being a female myself I tended to be more inclined to understand the women's point of view rather than that of my own father.

The driveway was littered with the pods of many green walnuts. I picked my bag up and emerged out of my car. The somber breeze enveloped the blue, cold house. The red curtains drawn over the large front windows so only a sliver of light escaped the scarlet fabric. I stepped up to the tall wooden door, knocked twice, and turned the knob.

The living room is more expansive from weeks of rigorous cleaning. I shouted upstairs.

"Hey Dad! I'm Home!"

This is my home. It will never be anything less than that. I sat on the burgundy leather couch riddled with claw markings. A cat slinked passed me, ignoring my existence poshly. He trounced down the old wooden stairs and opened his arms wide.

"Give me a hug! I have missed you so much!"

I entered his embrace and kissed his stubbly check.

"How have you been, Dad?"

"I have been surviving I guess."

We sat down in our respective places after all these years. I laughed sweetly.

"I see you have removed much of the clutter from this place. It looks really nice!"

"Yeah, I have been busy lately. I bet you are hungry! There is some homemade chicken soup in the fridge, help yourself."

I nodded; a bit skeptic. I peered into the refrigerator and there were five containers of dark stew. I picked one up and tossed it in the microwave. The kitchen was also uncharacteristically neat.

"Wow! It's really tidy in here as well!"

"I felt like I had to be more responsible, to take more care of this house."

I raised an eyebrow and the Tupperware to the living room. I plunged a spoon into the stew and shoveled it in my mouth. The chicken was a bit chewy, and that is to be expected of a first time cook so I shrugged it off.

"I haven't been completely honest with you."

I looked up from the plastic ware to his face.

"I have actually been cleaning because I have started dating again!"

I leapt from my chair danced over to him.

"How wonderful! I am so happy you are seeing people again."

We hugged tightly and I retreated over to my recliner again.

"So, tell me how it's been? It is a Love Connection?"

He laughed awkwardly.

"No, no it has been a bit rough. I am still hurting from Josephine."

"I know Dad, but she left you with nothing. It is so much easier to just let go of someone who used you like that."

"She did use me, didn't she? She used me like a tissue, and threw me out. That's how I feel; just a piece of trash."

I sat there, nodded when appropriate, and finished off my soup. He made sure I understood what he went through for the fourth time. I tried to give him some words of encouragement.

"But now you are dating again! That is a good start to a new life."

"You know how hard it is for me to date. To throw myself out there for a stranger to see; I am so weak in those moments. Yes, I know that I can be a bit stubborn and continue to bring up things that no one wants to talk about, like the shows I am interested in or books that I have been reading…"

"I haven't asked about the boo-"

"That's not the point! The point is that I never know what is appropriate to bring up in conversation. Do I talk about her past? Do I talk about where she got her clothes? Do I…"

"I really don't think that matters at al-"

"It does matter! It is the only thing that I know how to talk about! Can't you see? No you can't that's right, you are blind in one eye."

"Dad, I don't even wear glas-"

"Oh come on! That's not true! You have them in your bag; I saw them the other day."

I slowly picked the Tupperware off the table, staring him straight in the eyes.

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Honey, I guess I have been so stressed over everything I messed everything up!"

My eyes widened and I stood up.

"That's okay. You look tired, maybe I should be going."

"No! NO! Stay, please! I insist!"

"Okay…I'll just put this in the kitchen sink."

"There is cake there too, on the toaster oven, if you want a slice."

I stepped into the kitchen.

"Do you want any?"

"No thanks, I am okay."

I placed the plastic container in the sink and noticed a new leash in the corner next to the trashcan. I smiled to myself.

"You want me to take the trash out? It looks full!"

"That would be nice, thanks!"

I opened the pantry: food, toiletries, bags, mop, broom, cat food, and trash bags. I opened the can and the rank of spoiled food penetrated my nostrils. I lifted the heavy bag and set it on the ground with a soft crack. Curiosity set through me like a fiery sting and I brought the bag outside. I lifted it upwards to set it into the can outside. A small stick was protruding out of the bag. I inspected it closer and it was a chicken bone.

"He really went all out; he even bought a rotisserie chicken for the soup!"

I entered the house again and sat in my seat. He quickly started the conversation where it left off.

"The worst part is my fashion sense. I really need to get with the times! I have no idea what is in fashion these days."

"Must be hard to start dating again at fifty?"

I laughed goofily but he stared blankly at me.

"You think this is a joke? I am serious. I cannot seem to hold onto any one of the women I am dating."

"Woah, Dad, lighten up. It was a joke, okay? You always poke fun at me."

"That's different! I am in a crisis. This is really important to me and just because you like to read all those fancy textbooks don't mean you get to make fun of me!"

"Dad, seriously, what are you talking about?"

"Where do you get off? I know you have such a high education, but that doesn't mean you can throw it in my face!"

"I don't know what you mean! I'm still in college!"

The more he spoke the fuller of rage his voice became. Like a beast he screamed at me over nonsense. A small scuttle in the background caught my attention. It was a low chiming noise that came at random long intervals.

"Dad? What's that noise?"

He stopped yelling and regained his composure instantly.

"What noise, honey?"

"That ticking noise?"

"I don't hear anything."

The tapping noise became louder until it was like a soft banging. It was dull in some instances and became sharp in others.

"It's louder now. You don't hear that?"

He smiled, a bit confused.

"What in the world are you talking about, my little girl?"

The more prominent it became the more anxious I grew. It developed into a scratching noise, like metal scraping against rock.

"You really can't hear that? It's so loud now!"

"C'mon girlie, you are hearing things, maybe it's the wind. There is a storm a brewing outside, you know."

His voice was calmer than ever and movements smoother. A slight whimper was noticeable between the stagnant scrapes; but my father never acknowledged the obvious sound. He sat there, hands folded on top of the table tray in front of him, never blinking. The smile cautiously placed between his lips. I grew tenser by the minute. Our silence was interrupted by the incessant panging. He patiently waited for me to speak; waited eyes glued on me.

"Oh yeah, it's probably your new dog! I saw the leash in the kitchen and I forgot to ask you about it. What breed is it?"

He chuckled light heartedly.

"Oh yes! That makes sense…"

I sighed with relief and he smiled politely.

"…if I owned a dog."

I froze and the sound resonated in my ears like a horrible symphony. The whimper augmented into a low moan. The scraping came more frequent, every forty seconds or so. Panic spread through me and I checked my phone for an escape. No such luck. I wildly searched the room to the sound's origin but my father furrowed his brow at me.

"What are you doing, sweetie? I don't hear anything."

His gracious smile developed into a broad toothy grin. I became more nauseous by the second and stood up.

"I'm sorry Dad, I guess I am just not feeling well. I think I am going to head home. You want me to come over next weeken-"

Without a hitch my father nodded, picked up my bag, handed it to me, and followed me to the door. The noise became too deafening to bear. He gave me a small hug and whispered in my ear,

"I love you so much sweetie."