Ward

My name is Ward. Or is it Warren? Sometimes I forget things. I forget that my tongue can make the words in my head real, and that if I use it, sometimes people will understand me. Other times I just use it as fishing pole. Today I forgot that it’s important to push the buttons on the phone. Or maybe I learned that you don’t push the buttons on the phone. I don’t remember now.

I woke up at 6:42. I wake up every day at 6:42. The alarm clock on my table got into my head and now it’s always with me. After I wake up I always remember to brush my teeth. Teeth are like pearls in your mouth-really valuable and they need to stay shiny and clean. That’s what I would tell my son when he was young. My son was a good kid and he always remembered to brush his pearls. His name was Ward. Or Wes. He’s usually here with me. He always wears white. I guess it’s because he likes to match his teeth. After I get dressed I usually have about thirty minutes to have the most important meal of the day. Breakfast gives me fuel, and I need fuel for my hectic schedule. I work at the Ward. I’ve been there for over forty years. It’s a bit strange though, because lately when I go to work I think they are tricking me. I know that the sign on the front of the building used to say ‘Wilsons’s Automotive Repair’, but now it only says ‘Ward’. I don’t mind. As long as I get to get my hands on the cars, I’m okay. They can call it whatever they want.

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Mr. Warren sure gave me a hard time today! He’s such a gentle old man, but boy does he have a temper on him. A short fuse too. I found him in the nurses’ reception station with the phone. He was up in arms over the fact that they wouldn’t let him call his son. Somehow, he had managed to dial to Jakarta and was repetitively asking for Wesley. I had to convince him to come back to the Psych Ward with me by telling him he was late for work. He wasn’t happy, but he’s the sort of fella that takes his work very seriously and reluctantly came along. I can tell he is slipping more and more each day into his own world, and it’s making him restless and agitated. I hope that we can help him sift through what is real and what are deceptive memories.

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The old silver Ward 1978 pickup that I worked on today kept getting full of dishes; plates and cups and spoons and forks. At first I thought it was the transmission, but every time I thought I’d fixed it, it turned into a table. After my shift I spoke to my boss, he likes being called Doc. I asked him why the name of the shop changed and he told me that it’s always been called the same thing. Something tricky is a foot for sure. I think that maybe there are body snatchers that sneak into my house at night and change everything around like chess. They move people into other people and change the name of everything to Ward. I’m playing along. As long as they think I’m in on it, they’ll leave me and my boy alone. I want to raise my son the way my father raised me. He would always say, “Ward, Warren...Warren. You have to have a strong Ward ethic. Ain’t nobody going to give you nothin’ for free.” So that’s what I say to Ward...Wes. But lately he’s been telling me to take it easy. I know I’m old and these slippers aren’t the best for the job, but I still have work left in me. I just hope he’s not lazy at his job. He works for the Ward. Whatever you do, you have to do it 100% and keep doing it! That’s what I think. That’s what I think.

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I found Mr. Warren pacing back and forth outside of the Psych Ward this evening. I don’t know how he keeps getting into places he shouldn’t. I feel like sometimes I’m the only one he responds to, and the only one that looks out for him. We are understaffed and unfortunately, quiet older men like Mr. Warren are the ones that suffer. They aren’t running around yelling and making a fuss, but if you spend any real time with them, they are just as lost and bewildered as the other patients. This evening he was having a bit of a tussle with his slippers, I don’t think he’s used to wearing anything other than work boots. He kept reading the Ward sign over and over again. I feel like he uses it as a reality buoy in the confusing sea of his mind. Maybe I’ll look into getting him a sleeping aid for tonight.

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I did not wake up at 6:42! The body snatchers must have taken the alarm clock from inside my head. It feels heavy and achy today. My son came to see me last night, he seemed worried. I told him I only wear those slippers on certain days. I miss my boots. Maybe he’ll find them for me; but maybe the body snatchers took them too. I was late to work at the Ward and my boss was so annoyed with me that he didn’t even speak to me. And of top of all that, the Ward 1978 pickup is gone! I didn’t even get commission. I piddled around with an old Volkswagen that might as well have been a dishwasher. It kept getting all soapy and beeping at me. I must have brought attention to myself because a body snatcher wearing a head space net told me I needed to leave. I told her I worked here, but she said I didn’t. Maybe I don’t. Maybe they got me too. Today is not a good day for Ward...Warren...Ward.