The hospital hallway seemed to go on forever as I trudged, the bouquet I’m holding crumpled from my grip. My eyes drifted from side to side, trying to find the door with the name “Maura Reid” on it.
Being agitated is not one of my favorite things.
“So nice to see you dear,” she says weakly as I came in, “and you brought flowers. Very sweet of you, as always.”
“My pleasure, grandma,” I lean in and kiss her forehead, “what did the doctors say?”
Her smile quickly faded.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I told her, “it’s not good, isn’t it?”
“Fred, sweetheart,” she says, “you’re a big boy now, look at you. Surely you can let grandma go now, right?”
“Never,” my hand grazed her cheek, “no, don’t tell me…”
“I’m dying, Fred. It’s part of life.”
“But what about me, and Ben, and—”
“You’re a man now, Freddie. You’re not the ten-year-old we took in fourteen years ago. Go out, meet women, start a family…”
“But—”
“No buts, Benjamin Frederick Bayer. You can’t stop me from dying, you know.”
I bury my face in my hands.
“Sweetheart,” she cups my chin, “take care of Ben for me, will you?”
BINABASA MO ANG
A Day in 1953
Short StoryEveryday with Ben is different yet very familiar at the same time. On some days, I'd remind Ben that we're related. On some days, we play cards. On some days, we talk about dogs. Everyday, he tells me I look like Maura Fischer--his first and last tr...
