Dmintia

Dmitris’ residence was always known to be creepy. Isolated, socially and geographically from the main neighborhood, not many knew of its residents. Every new neighbor that moved in would try their hand at getting to know the Dmitris but to no avail. Whatever we knew of them, seemed like it was straight out of a folk tale, a family lived at the place with a headstrong matriarch, an old lady racing towards her century.

She always tried to get the door when approached but was more often then not, intercepted by her family. Whenever she did manage to get the door, she’d always complain how cautious her family had become, they were worried the old age had gotten to her. Apparently, she’d had episodes of dementia wherein she spoke to imaginary guests and that they were scared her situation would get worse. The only person she’d ever talk to, outside her home was her older son who lived far away. She’d write letters to him, complaining about how her younger son wouldn’t let her do anything. The older son was a piece of work himself, so much so that no one could bring themselves to ask her about the family, he always looked like he had a lot going on on his mind.

“Dementia is such an unbelievable illness” the older son told me when I tried to strike a conversation with him on one of his visits. He seemed like a decent bloke, not much of a talker though. “No one believes the implications of the disorder until they witness it themselves.” he continued. He was on point though, one could look at old Mrs Dmitri and they’d bet their bucks that she looked perfectly fine and in best of mental health. Such a jovial woman for her age, never cranky like her contemporaries.

And then, I asked him of his brother, the overcautious younger son of the old lady. “Brother?” he raised an eyebrow in suspicion, he almost looked offended. “Yeah, what’s he like? We never see him out here” I tried to ignore his reaction. “Did my mother tell you anything about him?” he looked at me, I was now feeling like I was being interrogated. “Yeah, that he cared too much, to a point, she felt really restricted” I said, my mind wandering off as to why he reacted the way he did. Was the younger son a criminal in hiding? Was he somehow also special?

“Anything else? What about his family?” he asked, genuinely interested. That was peculiar, were they estranged siblings? “Not much, actually. She did tell me about him having a loving wife and a son but not much beyond that. “Only one son?” he asked me, “What about the one that ran away?” he added to his question. “She did mention something along those lines, I completely forgot about it” I said, trying to recollect, I rarely got to speak to the old lady and my own memory was on par with Mrs Dmitri or worse.

“I have no brother” he said in finality, almost like an announcement. “What?” I don’t know if I even said it out loud, my brain was busy piecing it all together and it all made sense but I wanted this guy to conclude the conversation with a monologue, he’d earned it after all.

“I am an only child” he started, looking around. “When I got my first job, I was torn between my career and my family. I couldn’t take her with me because the place didn’t seem like a fit for her likeness” he paused again, his tone was emotionally exhausted, guilty even. “I couldn’t actually look after her, so I aided her financially” he paused again, the pauses were getting annoying but whatever, I ought to have some patience when a grown man is pouring his heart out to me. “Got her a cook and caretaker but then when she quit, I couldn’t really get any other caretaker at that time so…” his voice trailed. “So what?” I spoke, realizing my tone was way too aggressive and out of line. “I did what most working parents do to their kids when they don’t get babysitters, I got her to watch TV and she probably made up my brother and his family from there.” I just nodded this time when he looked at me. “I went along with the story because there was really no point in bursting her bubble, plus he did look after her when I wasn’t around so he is very much real to me.” he said, a melancholic smile on his lips. He turned to face me, “You know these TV soaps, they have random family members introduced and retconned haphazardly into the plot, right?” I nodded, that made sense too, I was kind of overwhelmed by the amount of answers I got. “Yeah, so the runaway grandson returned home one episode” he left out a chuckle. We ended our conversation there and never met again as I moved to another city, the following year. The Dmitris weren’t a mystery anymore but I’ll always remember Mrs Dmitri’s case of Dementia.