A Day in 1953

XII

“Mr. Bayer, right?” Therese Jones opened the door, “Richie’s in his room.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Jones. I know it’s not a very good time,” I say, stepping inside with Ben behind me.

“It’s nothing,” Therese says, “Richie’s been wanting to see him too. He tried looking for him many years ago.”

Ben feasted his eyes on the pictures hanging on the walls, “nice house. How many children do you have?”

“Just three,” Therese answers politely, “I’ll leave you boys here,” she ushers us into Richmond’s room, “just call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Jones,” I nodded to her.

Richmond lay still on his bed, his chest moving very slightly as he breathed. A plastic tube snaked from his left nostril, connecting him to a life-support machine of some sort. He had long lost his ability to walk and talk.

“Hi Richie, so nice to see you,” Ben starts, Richmond’s eyes drifted towards him, “guess what, I did marry Maura Fischer.”

Ben laughed a quiet laugh and sat down on a stool by the bed, “remember that day when we wrote a list of things to do before we die? Your page is missing. I could only guess where you put it.”

Ben pats Richmond’s free hand, “you know what, Richmond, I remember so many things about you. Funny, right? I remember everything we did but I can’t remember marrying Maura Fischer. I can’t remember us moving houses. I can’t remember my parents dying. I can’t remember having a daughter. I can’t remember my daughter dying. I can’t remember Maura dying,” his voice starting to crack, “I

can’t remember the past fifty years of my life, but I remember you, Richie. I remember everything about you.”

“I remember how you were always there,” he continues, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry that I was far away, living a day that I should’ve lived fifty years ago.”

I bowed down my head, listening to Ben. It was as if I too, had known Richmond that long. I felt Ben’s pain.

“Funny, right? How yesterday we were just talking about having a hiking trip when I get better, and then the next morning I wake up to find out that yesterday was fifty years ago,” he patted Richmond’s hand, “Life’s funny, Richie. Yesterday I was the one who’s miserable lying in bed, and today it’s you. And you know what’s funnier? Life does not apologize for anything. Tomorrow I won’t remember meeting you again, Richie, but I’ll still remember who you are and who you used to be. Maybe that’s how life wanted me to remember you — happy, young and strong. That’s how you’ll always be to me. You’re my hero, Richie.”

I could hear Therese sobbing outside. We left the house with many thanks and apologies.