A Day in 1953

IX

The Harris home was warm and cozy. Deanna served me tea, “a loose brick, you say?”

“Yes,” I nod, “he told me where it is. Ben just wants to get something, if you don’t mind. It’s a very special piece from his childhood. I hope you understand.”

“Oh, anything for Ben, dear. Anything for Ben,” she smiles, “he loves this house so much. Is he doing fine?”

“Very fine, I might say. He’s in a home,” I told her, “ever since grandma died.”

I followed Ben’s instructions and located that loose brick. I left the Harris home with a memento from 1930 in my hand.

* * *

“Ah yes,” Ben smiled a satisfied smile, “I wish Richmond was here to see this.”

“Who’s Richmond?” I ask.

“Richmond’s my greatest buddy. Good fellow, he is. My brother from another mother.”

Ben opened the tarnished tin box, revealing an old, yellowing notebook — the pages still incredibly intact.

“Here it is,” he stops at a page, “my ‘things to do before I die’ list.”

“You can cross out ‘marry Maura Fischer’, you did that fifty years ago,” I point out.

“Really?” his eyes widened, “I did?”

“Yes,” I say with a grin, “it was a good life.”

“Where is she now?” Ben’s tone now with a surge of hope.

“Somewhere good, I’m hoping,” I frowned.

“What do you mean? She dead?”

“She died last year.”

Ben closed the notebook and looked out the window, “who else is dead?”

“I — I don’t know,” my mouth was running dry.

“What about Richmond?” he asks.

“I’m not sure, but we can try to find him if you like.”

“How much information do you need? I can give you his name and the last address I can remember.”

“That’ll do,” I said, and tore a blank piece of paper from his notebook, “here, write it down. I’ll do all that I can.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” I told him before I left, “my book’s coming out really soon. I’ll send you a free copy to remind you that I’ve been writing one.”

“What’s it about?” he asks.

“It’s about you, Ben. It’ll help you remember everything.”