My dad is standing in the doorway with his hands raised incredulously.
“There’s a noise coming from the cupboard in the kitchen.”
He is almost 80 and somehow his hearing seems to be getting better. My mom appears at his side and grasps his pants with a tug.
“It’s probably the wind. Your zipper’s down again.”
“What?”
She shakes her head at me. Together, we have experienced over the years, his propensity to disregard proper zipper protocol.
“He goes and talks with old ladies in the street with his zipper down.”
“What’s that?”
Whether he is trying to be funny or if he actually can’t hear her is unclear to us.
“They might report you.” She says with one final tug.
“For what?”
“Being indecent.”
He holds up his hands again and shrugs. Somehow his shrugging has pulled up his pant legs way past his ankles.
“I’m an old man in the dry season just waiting for rain.”
Neither of us gets what he means.
When I ask him about it later he can’t remember what he said.