A Day in 1953

XI

He ran off into the night, without even leaving any reason why. He ran off into the rain, leaving me and Steak, in what I thought was forever. I kept looking for days, giving up was not an option. I’m not going home without him—I’m not going home without Ben. One morning, I thought I’m gonna explode with joy when my friend called and told me he found him in a nursing home, asking everybody why and how he came there every single morning. One of the doctors recognized him as one-day Ben, the man who can only retain new information for a day.

* Fred Bayer, 365 Days of Ben

I’ve been coming to this nursing home for at least a month now, introducing myself to Benjamin Reid every single time. Today was no exception; I came in like how I came in before, with a heavy heart and a longing for my grandfather.

“Hi, I’m Fred,” I told him, extending a hand. He took it graciously.

“The nurse said I’m supposed to meet you today,” Ben smiled.

“Yeah, you were looking for a Richmond Jones. I found him,” I say, handing him a letter as evidence, “it’s from his wife, and she wants you to read it.”

“Richie has a wife? Good for him,” Ben laughs and rips the envelope open.

I sit there with a tear hanging from the side of my eye, now in danger of falling. I turn away so he won’t notice. God, this is torture. It’s killing me inside.

“I want to see him,” Ben says, returning the letter in its envelope, “he’s alive, I want to see him.”