Alone With Ben
by Joanne Thieme Huffman, Community

            “Damn!” I screamed inside my head.

            “It’s O.K.,” I said calmly into the phone. “It’s not like you can help it. I know it’s not your fault.”

            “Damn! Damn! Damn!” I shouted to myself as Drew repeated his apologies over the phone. He would have to stay in Hartford for another three days or more. It couldn’t be helped. There had been all sorts of problems that no one had anticipated. He was really sorry.

            “I don’t care. You get back here and help me with your father NOW!” I wanted to tell him.

            “I understand. I’m not happy with it; but you can’t help it,” I told him.

            We spoke our farewells and I hung up the phone.

            “That was Andrew,” I said to his father as he hovered even closer to me. “He won’t be able to come home tomorrow. He has to stay in Hartford a few more days.”

            “Oh.” His face fell. He looked as disappointed as I felt. My heart went out to him.

            “It’s O.K.” I said as soothingly as I could. It seemed to be the phrase of the evening. I kept telling them it was O.K. when that wasn’t how I felt at all.

            ”It’s almost time for supper. Would you like to read the paper or watch TV while I get things ready?” I wanted him to get away from me. He followed me around like a puppy; and I felt like I needed a break. I got him settled into a chair in front of the TV and I went into the kitchen.

            Ben had been with us for a week. For almost a month we had been supervising his hospitalization, tests and assessments from long distance. Now he was here in our home - forever. I had met the man at our wedding four years ago; we had visited him once for a week, and he had visited us twice for Christmases. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him; but I certainly didn’t know him. And now that he had been diagnosed as having Alzheimer’s, I wasn’t very sure that I wanted to get to know him or what was going to happen as I got to know him.

            I was especially unhappy that this had all fallen into our laps at a time when “our” laps meant “my” lap because Drew had to leave on a business trip two days after his father moved in. And now it seemed that Ben was all mine for at least three more days. I was not adjusting to all this any better than Ben was.

            Ben sat at the table when I set his place. I had to admit that he was trying to please me. He did, or tried to do, anything I asked him to. He waited patiently until I sat down. Partly this was out of courtesy, partly it was a way of making sure he didn’t do anything terribly wrong. During this week that he had been with us, I had seen him waiting for cues before taking action. He would watch me to see when to pick up a fork or spoon and to get an idea of which to use. After a few disastrous meals, I learned to serve one-dish, one-utensil casseroles, stews or hash. No wonder this stuff was called “comfort food” - not only did it go down easily for him, it was comfortable to eat.

            “Where’s Andrew?” he asked me.

            I tried to remember to be patient, “He had to go to Hartford for a business trip. He won’t be home for a few days. We’ll just have to get by without him for a while.”

            “Will he be home for my birthday?”

            Oh God! I had forgotten about his birthday. How did he remember? What were we supposed to do?

            “I forgot, how old will I be?”

            “You’ll be 82.”

            “That’s old, isn’t it?”

            “It sure is, you have a lot of years.”

            “Can you write it down for me?”

            “Sure. Give me the card in your pocket.”

            I added “You are 82 years old” to the list I had printed for him on an index card. He reread the notes. Then he carefully put the card back in his pocket.

            “Will we go out to eat for my birthday? When I was a boy, we always went out for our birthdays.”

            “Do you want to go out for your birthday?” Of course he did; I was just hoping he’d say no.

            “Yes.”

             “Your birthday is the day after tomorrow. Drew won’t be back until after that. Do you want to wait for him?”

            “It should be on my birthday. That’s the special day.”

            “O.K. You and I will go out for your birthday. We’ll go out to dinner.”

            Ben looked at me for a second and then quietly asked, “Will I get presents?”

            “Of course you’ll get presents. What do you want?”

            “I want checkers and marbles.”

            Boy! Talk about reverting to childhood! But the doctors and social workers had told us that the childhood memories were the strongest. I should indulge him.

            “Why don’t we go to the Mall before we go to dinner. Then you pick out your own present.”

            “Do you have time?”

            “Yes. I don’t have to go back to work until next week.” I had taken two weeks off to get Ben settled into our house and life. After that we had him enrolled in the adult daycare at the senior center. I’d drop him off on my way to work and Drew would pick him up on his way home from work. I knew we were lucky to be able to get him into the program. I tried not to resent the disruption to my life.

       The next day was filled with a doctor’s appointment for Ben (he was enrolled in a study of Alzheimer’s patients), a dentist appointment for me, and our daily walk around the block. I tried to walk with him every day to try to get him used to the neighborhood. My theory was that he would get used to where he now lived and be less likely to get lost.

            That night when Drew called I told him I was taking his dad out to a restaurant for his birthday.

            “He’ll love it. We always went out for birthdays when I was growing up. We had a lot of fun.”

            “Good,” I said, trying to sound as if I anticipated a lot of fun.

            “Let me talk to him to wish him a Happy Birthday.”

            “He’s right here,” I said as I handed Ben the phone.

            They talked for a few minutes and then Ben gave the phone back to me.

            “Do you know when you can fly back?”

            “I should have things finished up and be home the day after tomorrow. I’ll let you know for sure tomorrow night. Call me when you get back from the birthday dinner.”

            We said our good-byes and I hung up.

            “Hey, Ben. I have an early birthday present for you.”

            He looked at me with surprise. A smile started at the corner of his mouth. His eyes twinkled. I couldn’t help myself, I smiled back. We stood there smiling at each other with genuine pleasure.

            “What is it?” he asked, almost shyly.

            “I found a checkers game in the game closet. Would you like to teach me how to play?”

            “I’d like that.”

            We set up the game on the dining room table. I hadn’t played checkers for at least 20 years and had only vague recollections of the rules. I thought that we’d play a few games before dinner. I’d let him win at least once, and then I’d warm up the leftover casserole for dinner. I was rather proud of myself for thinking up this plan.

            It did not go exactly as I had thought it would. As we set up the board, Ben explained the rules to me. He spoke from solid knowledge and he was very sure of himself. I was slightly surprised at his assertiveness. I was very surprised that he beat me the first game. And he beat me with greater speed the second game. I found myself really concentrating during the third game.

            “You really play cut-throat checkers,” I told him.

            He smiled. “I learned from the experts. When I was a boy, I used to go to the park and play with the veterans. They used to play all day. They let only the smartest boys play with them. They taught me about the Civil War, too,” he added, proudly.

            I hadn’t really given much thought to Ben’s life before I met him. I knew he had grown up in rural Ohio and had gone to college on scholarship. I knew that he had been a successful lawyer and had retired only three years ago. Drew had told me that his father was a Civil War buff, but it had never occurred to me that he had ever talked to Civil War veterans, much less played checkers with them.

            “They used to go to the hotel cafe for breakfast and then sit in the park and play checkers on good days. In bad weather, they stayed in the hotel lobby. Some of them were on crutches or in wheelchairs. They didn’t move much. They pretty much stayed put all day.”

            This was the longest conversation I had ever had with him. And I was interested in what he had to say. I asked him more questions and he gave me long answers, some of which turned into interesting stories. I learned about family members I had never heard of. I saw flashes of charm, intelligence and wit that I had ignored before. We had fun together.

            We continued our conversation during dinner. Ben told me about growing up on a farm and going to work for relatives in the summers. Until he was old enough to do field work, his job had been to take care of the babies and toddlers. When he was old enough to plow the fields, he set up the horse and plow himself.

            “Being poor is why I have good hearing,” he told me.

            “What?” Just as I was getting interested in his stories, his mind seemed to be failing again. “It’s true,” he laughed. “We couldn’t afford a tractor, we were using horses in the field long after everyone else had tractors. All the boys my age became deaf old men because those tractors were so loud. The horses were quiet; full of shit but quiet.” He looked at me to see how I would react to his joke. I laughed out loud and he laughed with me.

            Later that night, after I got Ben settled in his bedroom, I thought about the evening. I had been beaten at checkers by a man who had Alzheimer’s. “Well.” I told myself, “it was one of those early acquired skills. I bet I’d beat the pants off him at Jeopardy.” I laughed to myself because I was as proud of Ben as I was embarrassed by my defeat. It was the first time we had a real conversation. Maybe having him with us would not be pure hell.

            The next day I was not totally dreading taking Ben out to dinner. I would talk to him about his boyhood and get some more interesting stories. That was my plan.

            The celebration started at the Mail. I took Ben into the bookstore and bought him a coffee-table picture book of the Civil War. There was very little text to worry about and lots of contemporary paintings to look at. Ben was pleased with his gift. As we started to walk towards the restaurants Ben made me stop at a toy store.

            “I want some marbles,” he reminded me.

            “Look, Ben. I can play checkers with you; but I won’t play marbles with you..

            Tears welled up in his eyes, “It’s my birthday and I want marbles.”

            “O.K.; but I’m not going to play marbles with you.”

            “I don’t care. I want some marbles.”

            “O.K. Let’s go”

            I bought him the marbles and he was content to follow me to the restaurant. I had decided to take him to the “Family Fare.” It was usually uncrowded; it seemed to cater to older people and it was in the Mail.

            “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.” He looked a little worried.

            “It’s a nice restaurant. I think you’ll like it. They’re very nice here.”

            “What’ll I eat?”

            “Oh God!” I thought “This is going to be awful. He asked for this and now he doesn’t want it. Damn it!”

            “Let’s see what they have and then I’ll help you decide,” I said as soothingly as I could. “It’s your birthday dinner. What do you usually have for your birthday dinner?”

            “I don’t know what I want.”

            When we were seated at a table, the waitress brought us a menu full of handwritten notes about daily specials, lunch specials, and “specialties of the house.”

            Ben looked at all the choices, and furrowed his brow. He had remembered he liked to eat out, but he had forgotten that he got confused with choices.

            “Look, Ben; this is my treat for your birthday. May I order for you?”

            He relaxed a little. “Yes, you choose.”

            The waitress stood by patiently during all this and smiled encouragingly at him. He smiled back and told her, “It’s my birthday.”

            “Happy birthday, sir.”

            “Thank you. Here,” he said as he handed her a marble.

            She and I looked at the marble and then at Ben.

            “It’s a marble,” he announced. “I’m losing my marbles, so I had my daughter-in-law buy me some for my birthday. Now that I have extra, I can give them to people who are nice to me ... and to pretty waitresses,” he added flirtatiously.

            “Thank you, sir,” she flirted back to him.

            We ordered our dinners, a chef’s salad for me and the meat loaf special for Ben (he could eat the entire meal with his fork, so there were no placesetting decisions to be made).

            As we were finishing up, Ben leaned forward and confided, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

            “Damn it,” I thought. “I can’t take you to the men’s room.”

            “The restrooms are right over there,” I said, pointing. “The men’s room is the one with the picture of the man on it. Do you need any help?” I prayed, “Please God, don’t let him want any help.”

            “No,” he said with deliberate dignity. “I don’t need any help.” He stood up and walked into the men’s room.

            I finished my meal. I drank from my refilled water glass. I looked at my watch. I drank some more water. I looked at my watch again. I suppressed a loud sigh and got up and walked towards the restrooms.

            I knocked on the door, “Ben, do you need some help?”

            “Yes!” he sobbed from the other side of the door. “It doesn’t work!”

            “What doesn’t work?” I asked, not wanting any answer I could imagine he would come up with. “Open the door.”

            “No. You can’t come in here. It’s the men’s room.”

            “O.K., Ben. You come out here.”

            “No. I can’t. It doesn’t work.” I could hear the tears in his voice.

            “What doesn’t work?” I asked again.

            “The thing that sticks out. The thing that you pull. It doesn’t work. I can’t pee because it doesn’t work.”

            I didn’t want to hear this. What was I supposed to do?

            “It’s stuck,” he cried.

            “Help!” I shouted to myself “Wait here,” I told Ben as calmly as I could.

            I walked over to the cash register and spoke to the manager. “Excuse me. My father-in-law is in the men’s room and seems to be having some trouble. Could you please go in and help him?”

            “Sure.” he said; but he didn’t look too happy.

            I walked behind him back to the restrooms and waited outside the men’s room door. I heard muted conversation and then they both emerged.

            “It’s O.K., ma’am. His zipper was stuck.”

            “His zipper! It was his zipper!” I laughed. The manager smiled politely at me and returned to the cash register.

            Ben looked at me and said, “It was my zipper. I forgot the word.”

            It’s O.K., Ben. I was just worried it was something else.”

            “What did you think it was?”

            “Never mind. Let’s go back and finish dinner.”

            Ben finished his dinner. The waitress brought us a small birthday cake, compliments of the manager. Ben was smiling as we sang “Happy Birthday” to him.

            It was a pleasant evening and we both told Drew our versions of the birthday party when we talked to him on the phone.

            “I’m passing out marbles for people who may lose theirs,” he told his son. Drew saw the joke and laughed with his father.

            “It was a nice meal,” I said. “It’s a place we can take him back to.”

            “You sound like you may want to go out with him again sometime,” Drew said.

            “I may,” I said, surprising myself. “He’s a nice man. He liked flirting with the waitress. And he makes jokes. He also tells good stories about when you were a little boy,” I added.