Freddy
by Matthew Dexter
My grandfather
always slept naked. He made it a family affair,
walking from his bedroom to the kitchen to cook
eggs and bacon every morning.
“There’s
a sausage dangling from my legs,” he would
say.
I never knew
he had dementia. Until he decided to swallow my
dead goldfish because he thought it was a piece
of chicken. Mom was preparing the goldfish for a
funeral in the backyard. She left Freddy on a
plate in the kitchen and Grandpa woke up hungry
from one of his naps and the Kentucky Fried
Chicken container was still on the table.
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