A Day in 1953

II

“And so my dad told him, ‘Ben, you don’t live here anymore. Your family moved out a year ago.’ We had to drive him there every single time.”

* Deanna Harris, 365 Days of Ben

Ben’s family had moved in to a new house a few months before his surgery. He had trouble learning their new address, although he recalls the old one perfectly.

Bits and pieces of his remote past seemed intact, like his childhood and his birthday, the rest appeared to be muddled up or gone. One can only wonder how much of a storm his mind is in.

“Are you Fred?” Ben looked up at me through his glasses as I walked towards him, meeting him again for the God-knows-how-many number of times now, “I got your letter this morning.”

“I see Mrs. Whitman finally got it right.”

“You look like somebody I know,” he waves a picture of me that came with the letter, “ever heard of a Maura Fischer?”

“She’s my grandma,” I took a seat next to him, “she used to live in the same street as you.”

“Ah yes. She remembers me?”

“Of course she does. She said you had a dog named Porkchop.”

“Oh, right. Wow. She really does remember me.”

This time it’s me laughing a quiet laugh.

“So you’ve written a book,” says Ben, “and it’s about me?”

“You’re a very interesting man,” I told him, “who wouldn’t wanna write a book about you?”

“I see where you’re getting at, young feller. Don’t try to suck up to me now,” he laughs, “just make sure it’s a good one.”

He pulls out the deck of cards I gave him yesterday.

“Where’d you get that?” I pointed to it.

“Oh, this? I’m not really sure,” he scratches his head, “but on the box it says, ‘from your grandson’.”

“So it’s from your grandson?”

“I think so, yes. Although I don’t recall having a child or even marrying anyone.”

“Must be after your surgery,” I told him, trying to sound like I don’t know anything.

“I guess so,” he starts shuffling the cards with his usual way and not the trick I taught him, “That’s what the nurses have been telling me all morning. They said, ‘if you don’t remember it, then it must’ve been after your surgery’. Snappy old bats, they need to go out more and start meeting men before they turn sour like spoiled milk.”