A Day in 1953

XIII

I stood there, watching Ben from afar. Today, he’s not busy doing his daily crossword puzzle — he’s got something else in his hands.

It was as if he knew how long I’ve been standing there, he turns towards my direction and stares at me. I see a hint of realization in his eyes.

He’s crying.

He’s reading my book and he’s crying.

“Come home to me grandpa,” my feet treaded lightly, closing the distance between us, “come home to me, Ben.”

“Freddie,” he says, hugging me tightly, “I’m so sorry I can’t say I miss you. I can’t even remember any of this, and I’m so sorry for that.”

“I just want you back, grandpa. I just want you back in front of that piano with me.”

“I — I can’t.”

Tears flowed down my cheeks, warm and incessant.

“I know why I left,” Ben says, hugging me tighter, “and I’m sorry to say that I’m holding on to it.”

“What do I do now?” my voice shaking, the taste of my own tears filling my mouth.

“Leave,” Ben’s watery eyes fixed on mine, “forget me, like how I’ve been forgetting you every single day.”

“That’s different, grandpa,” I argue, shaking my head, “please. You’re the only one I have left. Come home with me, Ben.”

“You have a lot of time to put more people in your life, Freddie. Mine’s long gone. I’m nothing but a burden to you now. You’re young, go

out, meet women, start a family of your own. There’s so much you can do besides taking care of me, Fred.”

“You’re not a burden, grandpa,” I argue.

“I’m only standing in the way of you living your life. Every day is a gift, Fred. It’s time you spend yours for yourself, not for me. Go. Leave. Forget.”

I stood up as I wiped my tears with the back of my hand.

“Take it,” Ben gives me back his copy, “it won’t do me good to remember.”

My hands wrapped themselves around the book, clutching the edges firmly, “I’ll still come by, Ben. Same time, every day.”