Taps on The Ceiling
written by: James Nelli
Tap, tap-tap.
The tapping was gentle but persistent, a soft rhythm that drifted from the upstairs corner bedroom down the second-floor hallway and invaded Robert Volpe’s overworked senses. He recognized the sound immediately. It was a simple familiar code. His father’s brass-tipped wooden cane tapped against the hardwood floor in his bedroom. Each tap a quiet insistence, a reminder that he was still there, even if his mind often wasn’t, waiting for attention. Robert sighed, set aside the half-read newspaper that he hadn’t really been reading, and braced himself before heading to his father’s room.
His father’s house, a two-story red brick building in a rural area outside of Omaha, was once filled with voices and laughter, but now it seemed to hold its breath. The house served as a silent witness to the loving but strained connection that remained between Robert and his father. The relationship between a 67-year-old son and his 92-year-old father, who drifted in and out of reality without warning almost every day, was wearing thin. The father’s dementia had been evident for years, but over the last four months, it had become increasingly more frequent, pronounced, and difficult to deal with.
Robert climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked slowly down the narrow hallway, its floors creaked underfoot, worn thin by years of footsteps. At the bedroom doorway, he paused and watched his father carefully. His father was propped up in bed, clutching the cane that rested beside him. His father’s knuckles were knobby and thin, trembling slightly as he held onto the cane. His cloudy eyes searched the room and looked lost until they landed on Robert.
“Bobby,” the old man murmured, his voice labored and fragile. “You…you heard me?”
“I heard you, Dad,” Robert replied, his voice was gentle and reassuring. He took a few steps into the room and sat beside his father on the bed. “What do you need, Dad?”
The old man’s gaze drifted for a moment, flickering somewhere between memory and confusion, and his brow furrowed as he struggled to remember why he’d called. “Are we…?” His voice wavered. “We’re in the Omaha house, aren’t we?”
Robert nodded. “Yes, Dad. We’re home.”
A small smile spread across his father’s mouth, and he nodded slowly, as if settling into the comfort of what he found familiar. “Good. That’s good.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Robert felt the familiar ache in his chest that came each time he realized his father had drifted further into himself. He remembered the man his father used to be – – sharp, self-assured, and always moving with purpose. Now, his father looked like a small, fragile figure, barely there.
“Did you need something?” Robert asked again as he placed a hand on his father’s shoulder.
The old man’s eyes brightened, just for a moment. “I…there was something I wanted to say.” His gaze drifted to the window, as if he were looking out at something far away, something only he could see. “But it’s gone now.”
“That’s okay,” Robert whispered, as he gave his father’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here.”
His father nodded, and his grip on the cane relaxed. Robert watched him, wondering if he would ever truly get used to watching his father leave reality and disappear into distant, unknown places. Every time Robert heard the tapping, it was like a tether, tying him to the man who was fading away before his eyes. And every time he answered, he found himself grieving the father he had known, even though his father was sitting right there in front of him.
“Bobby!” his father said with an unusual sudden sharpness in his voice. “Did you finish repairing the lock on the front door? Your mother is going to complain if it’s still broken.”
The familiar pang of sorrow hit Robert, and he forced a smile. “The front door is fine, Dad. I took care of it months ago.”
His father’s face softened. “Good. She always liked that lock to work well.”
There was a heavy silence. Robert knew better than to remind him that his mother had been gone for nearly eight years. It was a kindness to let him believe, if only for a few moments, that she was just in another room or out tending the garden.
The old man’s eyes turned cloudy again, his forehead wrinkled in confusion as he looked at Robert. “You’ve grown up a lot. But I still remember you, you know, as a little boy. Always running around playing baseball.” He chuckled, but the sound was thin and brittle.
Robert nodded, smiling at the memory. “You taught me how to play. I remember that. You spent hours playing catch and throwing me batting practice.”
A faint smile washed over his father’s weathered face, and his gaze grew distant as he drifted into some memory from a time long past. Then, with a sudden shake, he looked back at Robert. “But where’s your mother? Is she coming soon?”
The question tightened the muscles in Robert’s chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Maybe, Dad. You know she’s always here, in a way.”
The old man nodded, seemingly content, and turned to look at the wall across from his bed, his hand still holding onto his cane. The uncomfortable silence between them lingered, thick and full of unspoken words.
Robert felt his throat tighten, an ache that he had grown so accustomed to, it felt like part of him. “I wish…” Robert started, then stopped, unsure if his father would understand.
But his father’s gaze softened, and he murmured, “What is it, Bobby?”
Robert searched for words. “I just wish…I wish you could remember things more often. I wish you didn’t have to struggle to find yourself like this.”
The old man’s face tightened slightly, and for a brief moment, his eyes were clear, filled with a sorrow that mirrored Robert’s own concerns. “I wish I could remember, too. I don’t mean to…to forget.”
Robert nodded, turning away slightly and fighting back the tears that had welled up in his eyes. “I know, Dad. It’s okay.”
They sat in silence, and Robert thought back to when their roles were reversed, when his father had been the one taking care of him, guiding him, making him feel safe. Now, he was the one trying to offer that same security, that same reassurance, even though it felt painfully inadequate. His father’s grip on the cane tightened again, and Robert could feel the tension in the old man’s knuckles.
“Bobby,” his father said quietly. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”
Robert’s hand tightened around his father’s hand. “Of course, Dad. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The old man’s shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back against the pillow, his breathing growing soft and steady. Robert stayed beside him and watched the gentle rise and fall of his father’s chest, feeling a mix of love, sorrow, and helplessness. After a while, Robert left the room, his footsteps echoing softly down the hall. But just as he reached the kitchen, he heard it again—a single, hollow tap on the ceiling. He paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. It was as if each tap had become more than just a sound. It was a message, a lifeline, a way for his father to say, I’m still here. I still need you. And each time Robert answered, he gave a little more of himself with every return trip down the hallway.
For days, the taps continued, each one a quiet summons, calling Robert back to his father’s side. He knew, somehow, that it wouldn’t last much longer. These sounds were the final echoes of his father’s presence. And then, one night, the tapping changed. Instead of the usual rhythm, there was a single, gentle tap, then silence. Robert’s heart was pounding, and he hurried down the hall to his father’s room, his mind racing with a mix of hope and dread.
He found his father lying still, his eyes closed, his face serene. The ever-present cane lay at his side, its handle resting gently against his thigh. Robert knelt beside him, reaching out to take his father’s hand. It was warm but motionless, his breathing soft and shallow.
“Dad?” Robert whispered.
The old man’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Robert with a clarity that took Robert by surprise. For a moment, he was his father again, the man Robert had known all his life, strong and steady. “Bobby,” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. “You’ve been…good to me. So patient. Thank you.”
Robert’s throat tightened, and he fought to keep his voice steady. “You don’t have to thank me, Dad. I’m just…doing what you always did for me.”
The old man’s gaze softened, and a faint smile crossed his lips. “I always knew you’d be…the one I could depend on.”
A tear slipped down Robert’s cheek, and he squeezed his father’s hand. “I learned from the best.”
The old man’s eyes closed again, and his breathing grew slower, each breath shallower than the last. Robert sat there, his hand still wrapped around his father’s hand, letting the silence settle over them. He didn’t know how long he sat there, waiting, but he knew when the end had come. There was a stillness in the room, a silence so deep it felt like the house and his father had drawn their final breath together. Robert looked down at the cane resting on the bed and realized it signified every tap that had led him here. It was over now. The tapping had stopped, and so had his father’s struggle. He leaned down, pressed a gentle kiss to his father’s forehead, and whispered, “Rest now, Dad. You’re home.”
***
The house was silent now. Robert sat alone in his father’s room after the funeral, the cane lying on the bed where his father had left it. He could still hear the faint rhythm of the taps echoing in his mind, as if the sound had seeped into the walls, lingering like the ghost of a memory. For months, each knock had tethered his father to him, a steady pulse of need and life. Now, only silence filled the air. Robert reached down and lovingly rubbed his fingers across the cool, worn wood of the cane. He instantly felt an unexpected calm settle over him. As he rose to leave the room, he imagined his father at ease, no longer lost or restless. The tapping, once a haunting reminder of his father’s fading presence, had become something else entirely. It had become a memory, a legacy, a way to carry his father with him long after the last echoes of taps had faded into silence. For the first time in a long time, Robert felt a quiet peace envelop him, and in that moment, he knew he was finally ready to let go.
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