My father’s house has many rooms
In more lucid moments, he would tell you that this was where reality escaped, and another reality began, as if there could be more than one reality. The truth was that there could be many realities, and he knew his experiences led him to wander from one room into the next, as if through revolving doors. His son would call the experiences his father’s excursions into a dream world, failing to understand that they were not dreams.
There were times when his father was aware of other rooms, and rooms where he could only remember the darkness, rooms that were a part of a maze. He never escaped from the maze, partly because the maze existed outside of his mind, outside of the way he experienced time. There had been such an excursion into the rooms of the dark maze that morning.
He had woken up, showered, shaved and found a suit to wear. He had glanced at the clock. There was no time for breakfast, he would pick up a snack at a kiosk when he reached work. Eight o’clock and time to set off for work. He would just make the 8:30 train from the station and be at the office for nine, in time for the morning staff meeting. He had fumbled with the door on his way out; a locking latch had been fitted. At first, he was confused, then a part of his memory stirred. A piece of memory from another room, as he remembered how his granddaughter had shown him how to open the latch.
At the station, he asked for a return ticket. The attendant pointed to a machine where he could type in his destination, swipe a bank card, and the ticket would be printed. He looked at the machine, confused by the keyboard. Bank card? He pulled out his wallet and found some notes. They seemed to be unfamiliar. He was looking for a ten-shilling note. There should be a picture of the Queen. It was red or brown. Ten shillings was enough as long as he could get change. He found a note with a ten on it, but it had a picture of a writer. Where did he pay?
A young lady was waiting behind him, ready to purchase her ticket.
“Can I help you? These machines are still new and we are all trying to get used to them.”
He turned. She was smiling. She was dressed in a blue shirt and skirt. He had seen that shirt before, and the skirt.
“Dad, you need to come home now.”
The voice had changed. He turned and stared.
He was trapped between two rooms, the past and present swirling around in his head like a fog. Which room was he really in? Could he be in both rooms at once? In one room, he was still trying to go to his workplace, but an intruder had arrived, dressed in clothes that he recognised. That voice? Where had he heard that voice before?
“Come on, Dad. The station rang to say you were trying to get on a train. How did you get out? The latch was locked.”
He stared again.
“Who are you?”
Why was she wearing those clothes? They belonged to …….. he struggled to recall the name. He was sure they were not her clothes.
“Come on, Dad. Time you had your breakfast, Mike and Fiona will be waiting. You know they like to talk with you before setting off for school.”
Mike and Fiona. Of course, they were his grandchildren. This part of his memory had made a connection. Yes, he should sit down with them before school. Of course, his mind entered another room, one we might see as being in the present time, but to him it was just another room.
“Of course. I am coming. Let’s go home, and I can chat with them. Are you making a Full English Breakfast this morning?”
“Of course. Now let’s get in the car.”
He still could not find her name, but he was aware this was his daughter-in-law. He was led to the car and did not resist being helped in. The doors shut, a button pressed, and the car moved silently away.
“You haven’t started the engine.”
“Dad, it’s electric. Remember, you helped me to choose it.”
He was once more wandering between two rooms. He was aware that his daughter, actually his daughter-in-law, was driving him home. At the same time, he was becoming confused.
“Shouldn’t we turn here? That’s Northumberland Avenue. My house is just off there, at Berwick Drive.”
“No, Dad. That’s where you used to live. Remember, you moved in with us two years ago.”
Oh yes! Another memory surfaced.
“How is Mary? Does she still live there?”
Mary was the girl he had married; she had passed away a decade ago.
He was trapped in a maze of corridors and mirrors. Along the corridors, he was never aware of which room he might step into. The mirrors were more confusing; the mirrors were as if he was looking back in time.
They arrived home, and he was greeted by his grandchildren. For a while, everything seemed to be in the present, and an onlooker would never have suspected his dementia.
His daughter-in-law looked at him, knowing that when the children left for school, he would soon walk into another room, and then another.
What could she do?
Copyright: David Hopcroft March 2026
Park Bench Tales and other writings 
