It was with Ben on my mind that I drifted off to sleep that night. He haunted me. He was worse than a ghost. He was real. He was real to me in a way that voices are real to crazy people. Was I crazy? No, I couldn't be crazy, because I saw Ben, and I liked seeing Ben. I wish I saw more of him.
Would people understand if I told them about Ben? If I told them how I saw him grow up in my dreams. How he got taller as the years passed. How his speech improved. How he discovered new things and shared them with me. How he reminded me of myself at that age. Would people think I was crazy if I told them how I knew all of his little mannerisms, and how he made me laugh even when I was sad?
Maybe I was crazy.
Would Mike understand?
I decided to keep Ben to myself though. I kept him tucked away in a part of me that was forever closed to the rest of the world. He was mine, and no one else could have him. Sometimes, I'd think I did things for him and because of him. I had to live up to Ben's expectations. What would he say if he saw the recklessness that had become my life? Would he disapprove?
Ben always chose the strangest times to walk into my life. Just when I thought I would see him no longer, he'd be ready with a smile. He'd remind me why I lived and who I am. He'd never let me forget him. When his memory withered, he'd renew it, just like he always did. And, I'd apologize to him. I'd be sorry that I forgot, and I'd promise him that I would never forget again. But, sometimes I did.
He was an ashen reminder of where I had gone wrong, my ultimate failure. Sometimes, he'd whisper in my ear saying "Daddy, don't mess up now." And then, I'd almost cry. I would never really cry, but I'd come as close as I ever did. I wanted to be good for Ben. I wanted to do right by Ben.
I wished I had a picture of him. I wished I could pull out my wallet whenever I was lonely and see his face. To run my finger over the paper and remember him. To have my heart light up because I knew he was at home waiting for me. But, some things just weren't meant for me.
I woke up the next morning with Ben's face before me. He was always there in some form or another. Whether or not I gave him conscious thought depended. Much of the time he hovered in the shadows, but I felt him there. I didn't admit that to myself much though, and did my best not to think about him at the start of the day. But, at night, he laid down with me. I could almost hear his breathing.
"Erik?"
"Yeah?" I became aware that Mike was staring at me.
"What is it?" he asked, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
"What's what?" It was early. My thoughts were muddled.
"You seemed so far away just now. Like you weren't even in the room with me." He squeezed me gently.
"It was nothing. Still tired I guess. My sleeping pattern is all screwed up now." I kissed the palm of his hand, and snuggled up next to him in bed. I didn't feel like getting up.
"I heard voices in the middle of the night. Who were you talking to?" He started playing with all the parts of my hair that had stuck to the pillow in the middle of the night and were now standing out in the morning shuffle.
I yawned. "Your mom. We had an interesting little chat. Nothing serious."
"Was she in mom mode?"
I laughed softly. "Aren't mothers always in mom mode?" With a great yawn, I rose, ignoring the roaring protests of my body. I started shuffling through the bags of clothes.
"What do you need?" Mike asked, pulling himself from the bed. I could tell he'd rather sleep, but I guess he didn't want to seem lazy.
"A pair of shorts and a t shirt. Something to run in."
"You're going running?" Admittedly, with sleep still on my face and in my voice, it seemed improbable I'd even make it down the stairs. But, I felt I needed to clear my head a bit of the clinging cobwebs and random thoughts that liked to play pinball with my brain.
"Yeah, I usually do in the morning. It's just lately I've been a little behind with things." We rummaged through all the clothes in silence and finally uncovered a pair of blue shorts and plain white shirt. I put them on and headed out the door, promising to be back before long, ignoring his sudden quiet.
I looked each way down the street. New trees, new houses. Not like the old, familiar lanes around my house that were comfortable to me the same way an old pair of sneakers were. The sun was already strong, running its fingers through my hair, determined to change the brown to light auburn before it was finished with me at the end of the summer. I breathed in, thankful the humidity had yet to seep from the grass and strangle the air from my throat.
I set to work, starting slowly at first, trying to build a good rhythm. I let my lungs expand and contract on their own, customizing themselves to the air. I could already feel the sweat forming on my brow, creeping toward my eyes. My legs began their familiar pattern of medium strokes, trying to keep up with my brain, wondering if I was crazy to try and run as fast as I wanted.
I wasn't built for running. Everyone had told me so. No, it was an uncle I think that told me I was much more suited for football or baseball. But not running. I was a paradox when I was a kid. I appeared to be well formed. Yet, just beneath the surface you could see my ribs sticking out, the skin stretched thinly over them.
When I started maturing, the muscles came on their own. I never helped them along or goaded them into shape. My best friend at the time spent hours in his basement, pleading with his body to produce what I was attaining naturally. My body became encased with muscle, much to my own and everyone else's surprise. My chest and arms formed then hardened. My legs grew strong. I couldn't have cared less.
I still wanted to run regardless. During my sophomore year in high school, I took a break from baseball in the spring and decided to try for the track team. The coach took one look at me and shrugged. He was thinking the same thing everyone else was thinking; this kid was built for football.
I exceeded his expectations though. I could run. I was good at running. It was in my nature to run, even if the deck was stacked against me. I knew there was something inside me that made me run. It was a restlessness, a desire to get as far away from where I was as humanly possible. It quieted the nagging anxiety that always resided in my chest, the feeling that some cataclysm was just around the corner. If I sat still too long, the unknown disaster would come. So, I never sat still. I was always on the move. Running was merely the best way to keep from being idle.
When my lungs had had enough, I stopped and looked around. I was in a wooded grove. I had left the country club and crossed over onto a nearby forest road. My chest was on fire. I was sobbing for breath. The humidity I had so dreaded finally arrived and showed no mercy.
I dragged myself to the shade of the trees, each step leaden torture. I was literally gulping in the air as if it were water. I felt like I was drowning. A red haze tugged at the corners of my vision. My ears hummed with throbbing cadence.
"You're trying to kill me," I said to no one in particular, perceiving a set of eyes upon me. I focused on a gap between two oak trees, taking notice of a brief flickering of light. I rubbed my eyes and opened them to find the apparition had vanished. "Not funny," I scolded.
I thought I heard distant laughter.
I had run too hard and breathed too little. Slowly, I let my body relax, let the blood course through my veins. I looked at my hands and clenched them into fists. My hands. I could do things with them. I could affect things. I could create happiness or end a life with just a flick of the wrist. Too much power for one human being. Yet, even with that omnipotent ability, I was nearly crippled by lack of air.
Shaking my head, I began to walk towards Mike's house once again. I allowed the endorphins calm my nerves and put my mind at ease. I didn't want to think too much and ruin the serenity I had worked so hard to achieve.
Of course, my mind was never asleep. Not for a single minute. I could feel depression clutching me irrationally. I didn't want to go back to Mike's house. I liked being off on my own, away from everyone else. Like an embryo in the amniotic sac, I felt warm and shielded when I managed the little solitude afforded me.
"You should tell him," a small, recessed voice pleaded with me in my mind.
"I have no intention," I answered unconsciously.
"How come?"
"Because. Some things are just mine. No one tells anyone everything about themselves. You get to keep things for yourself. If you know everything about someone, there's nothing left to learn. What would be the point in that?"
I reached out and touched the air, half expecting it to ripple at my will, to tear some fabric in reality because it was my reality. I had my boundaries set, and no mercy was shown on those that dared to cross them. It was my world, and I had no intention of letting anyone invade.
"You were gone longer than I thought you'd be." Mike greeted me at the door with a faint expression of knowing; knowing I had been alone and thinking. Probably too much thinking if our recent history was any indicator of my moods.
"I decided to walk a little bit instead. It's too hot for this shit," I replied, wiping the sweat from my brow with the collar of my shirt. I walked past him, pretending I didn't notice his somber face, the way he stood with dejection. He knew something was boiling inside of me.
And that's how it was for the rest the day. We walked past one another, saying plenty, but really saying nothing at all. I'd walk to his room and read, while he stayed downstairs and watched television. I don't think he forgave me for leaving in the morning. When I left, everything seemed ok between us. But, when I returned, I could feel a shadowed chasm opening at my feet, dividing us in our own respective worlds. We were both thinking about whatever we thought about in private.
It was odd though. I wasn't used to his melancholy. Probably because I was taken with my own. Probably because I was trapped beneath my own blanket, sewn with past despair and frayed with present detachment. Throughout the day, I'd watch him carefully, studying his stony expression, wondering what serpent twisted within him. Whenever he folded his legs beneath him, his blonde hair laying shiftlessly over his eyes, I'd catch him staring at the floor.
I almost made several attempts to draw near him, once in awhile walking out of my way to reach the kitchen, just so I'd pass in front of him. If he took note of my passing, he never gave any sign. He continued to stare at the TV, the floor, the window, the wall. At anything but me.
It was then when the gnawing feeling came back, that I was a burden. Whatever pain resided inside of me was not meant to be projected onto others. At least that's how I felt about it. In practice, I never quite achieved that goal. Wherever I walked, misery followed, darkening the skies around me.
"I really don't think I should be here," I said finally, standing in front of Mike as twilight stole into the house.
If he was hurt, I couldn't see it within the steel blue orbs that gazed into my dark eyes unflinchingly. "I thought we went over this. You're not a burden."
"I'm always a burden," I answered, taking a seat on the crushed velvet couch next to him, yet far enough away to keep us from touching. "You just don't always know it."
The quiet remained. For ten, twenty, thirty minutes, I didn't know. It was there, as if a wall of iron rose from the couch, planting itself solidly in the air that separated us.
"You're keeping a secret," he said mournfully, letting his hands drop into his lap. "I know you are. I can tell."
"Everyone has secrets." I looked away from him, concentrating on the bricked pattern of the fireplace. "No one tells anyone everything about themselves. You get to keep things for yourself. If you know everything about someone...."
"Then there's nothing left to learn," he finished.
I looked up at him. "Yes."
"I don't know anything about you."
I waved him away. "Yes, you do. You just don't know it yet."
He shook his head. "I only know what you let me piece together. I know about you and your dad. I know that's why you practically become a statue whenever you're hurting. But, there's something else. I know there is. Your dad gave you anger and armor. Something else gave you sadness and pain. I want to know what that is."
I arched my eyebrow light-heartedly, belying any sort of feelings I had on the subject. "You're studying the wrong kind of medicine, my friend."
"Stop fucking around," he said with irritation, drawing his forehead down in a scowl. "I don't care much if you don't trust anyone, but I do give a damn when you don't trust me."
"It's not a matter of trust," I stated grimly. "It's not a matter of not trusting you. It's not about you at all."
"I forgot. The world revolves around you," he said spitefully, taking a pillow in his lap and squeezing it.
My head snapped back, the blood draining from my face. So that's what it felt like to be on the receiving end when someone lashed out in pain. I felt the muscles twitch in my face involuntarily. A lump formed in my throat. "We'll talk about this later," I said, standing up and marching towards the kitchen.
"Sure, just walk away. How typical of you," he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
I halted in my tracks, half tempted to turn and face him, half wanting to head right out the front door. "If you knew," I said quietly, "you wouldn't feel this way."
"It's not like you killed someone."
I bit my lip hard, the salty iron taste of blood filling my mouth. "Yes. Yes, I did."
I spent the rest of the night sitting on the edge of his pool. I watched the moon rise over the houses in the distance, the blue light neither warming me nor chilling me. My legs floated in the warm water, sending ripples out in all directions. I watched the water without feeling, only aware of a great emptiness, a lack of response spreading throughout my insides.
Mike didn't say a word to me once I left the house. I think he was too shocked. I knew my response was the last thing he was expecting. I wondered what he thought I meant by it. By his motionless reaction, he didn't seem close to guessing the truth.
He never came out to the pool. For all I knew, he went up to his room and fell asleep. Though, a part of me hoped he was lying awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what I had said. If he were doing that, at least I'd know he cared.
But, I knew deep down that he cared. I was merely unwilling to accept such a thing. It was unheard of. I sat there, dipping my hands into the water throughout the night, pondering what possible goal motivated Mike to continue pounding away at me, desperately clawing to get to the center of me.
Would his hands be stained by the blackness he would find there? Would it poison him as it did me? Somehow, I thought that my own storm would eclipse the inner light in him that attracted me to him in the first place. I was seeking the warmth that he could provide. But, I was beginning to think that the chill of my soul would suck all the heat from him, leaving him as empty and lifeless as I was.
"You've been out here for quite some time," I heard a voice behind me state. It was Mike's voice only deeper. Wiser, if such a thing was possible.
"It's quiet out here," was the only answer I gave.
"Perhaps you'd like to explain to me why my son is upstairs crying into his pillow?"
"Is he?" I asked with surprisingly little feeling.
"He is. And, I haven't heard him do that since he was a small, small boy. He's a strong young man. But, when he hurts, he feels it more than anyone I know."
"All the better for me to leave." I grew annoyed that my space was being invaded. I sensed Paul sit behind me on the concrete.
"That would make it easier for you, wouldn't it? I know you're dying for an excuse. I don't understand why you have to hurt my son in order to have your excuse. It doesn't seem fair." He breathed heavily, and I caught the scent of a cigarette.
"I didn't know you smoked." My own lungs responded to the familiar smell, longing for its own choked air.
"I don't, really. Only..."
"Only when something's bothering you." I could sympathize.
"Yes." He put his hand on my shoulder, generating instant rigidity from me. "So, when did it happen?"
"When did what happen?" I asked, feigning the ignorance I was accustomed to.
"The child."
I recoiled, feeling bile rise from my stomach. "Not sure what you mean." My skin grew cold, my lips pale.
"I had my friend's nephew, a private investigator, look into your background. It was the only thing that would make my wife comfortable with your being here. He spoke with a couple of your friends, including your ex girlfriend. She wasn't too open with details, but she told part of the story after a couple drinks. I was hoping you'd tell me the rest." His breath made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
"Supplying alcohol to a minor? That's a great way to go about things. Did he bang her too? She's pretty friendly after a few shots." I shivered in the night air, though it wasn't for lack of warmth. I pulled my legs from the pool and looked around, searching for a corner of the yard that was far away from this man.
"I haven't said anything to Mike, if that's what you're wondering." He gripped my shoulder more tightly. "And stop looking around for an escape. You're not leaving this place until you go upstairs and explain to my son that none of this is his fault."
"He knows it's not his fault," I barked, shrugging my shoulder away from him.
"No, he doesn't," Paul said firmly. "Right now, he's upstairs wondering where he went wrong with you. He's wondering what he said to make you close off to him. He thinks he did something to you to make you act like this. If you don't go up there and tell him, you can leave my house and never come back."
"Mike would be better off," I said coldly.
"He sure would be. But, would you?"
An unintentional sob escaped from my mouth before I could catch it.
There it was again; the thunder of my own footsteps. It boomed steadily, inching its way around me. First it was behind me, underneath me, as walked up the stairs towards Mike's room. Slowly, slowly it made its way around, curling to my right and rising higher into the air. Drumbeats. A death march. My death march.
My heart beat swiftly like a frightened rabbit's. My mouth was dry, and my tongue stuck. My eyes were clenched shut, hoping that if I couldn't see the door in front of me, I would never reach it. I wrapped my hands around my arms, pulling the thin t-shirt around my eighteen-year-old frame.
There was silence all around me. Quiet, except for the throbbing rhythm of the steps, those steps that threatened to smother me with their sound alone. The tears were already falling down my cheeks, though I knew they would do me no good. Tears were something I had tried to shut out. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could staunch the flow of those tears forever. Maybe I could bury everything deeper this time, and I would be free of the despair.
With that small hope, I swallowed, wincing with the pain. My throat hurt me, wrenching in anticipation of what would come. Hurt would follow. Terrible hurt. My hurt.
I made my way to his door. The light from the crack under it was feeble and distant. I closed my eyes tighter, rocking back and forth, burying my face in my hands. I reached out to turn the doorknob. It was such a small sound, barely a squeak. But that tiny mechanical noise was a banshee to me.
A flash of red was in front of me. The light from Mike's lamp was on my face, making my eyelids glow. It was gone as quickly as it had come, blotted out by hair falling over my face. I heard my name spoken softly. Maybe if I didn't say anything, I could escape. Maybe I could make myself so quiet that I would blend into the walls. I squeezed my arms tighter about me.
"Erik," a voice said soothingly. "Erik, what's wrong?"
I wiped the tears from my cheek with the palm of my hand. "I made a mistake."
Mike rose form his bed. His eyes were red and swollen. Guilt immediately washed over me, threatened to submerge me forever with its weight. What had I done to this person, this person I supposedly loved? At that moment, I wondered how I could live with myself, knowing I had made another to feel the horrible abyss that resided inside of me.
"I made a really bad mistake," I repeated, my voice harsh and whispering.
"What did you do?" he asked fearfully, his lips quivering, uncertain of speech.
"Something bad happened a while ago, and I lived through it. But, I'll always be paying for it.
"Erik, just tell me," he pleaded, refreshed tears coursing from his eyes.
The reality of what Katie had done didn't settle in the next day. I went home, hunger gnawing at my stomach, frost crowning my hair, sleep tugging at my muscles insistently. It was already light out when I finally collapsed on my bed, still fully clothed. I can still hear the birds chirping outside my window and smell the stale, morning air that precedes the sunrise.
I laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My mind was completely devoid of any kind of thought or feeling. I looked down at my hands and saw the traces of dirt on them. I brought them to my nose and smelled the earth, but it held no meaning for me. Nothing had memory anymore. I looked at the books upon my desk and couldn't remember reading them. I didn't recognize the walking stick I had spent an entire Sunday carving. Everything was foreign and out of place, like I wasn't even in my own room.
I immediately named the child Ben. I don't know why. The name just popped into my head and stayed there. Even as the noise of my family waking started to filter through my bedroom door, I didn't hear it. I kept thinking of Ben. I gave him shape. I gave him form.
I started assigning him features. I thought that if I could make him real in my mind, I could fill the hole that Katie had just blown through my heart as easily as if she would have used a shotgun. I gave him dark hair and eyes. I remembered my own voice from childhood and let that fill my ears. I remembered how I used to look at things with wide-eyed innocence; how everything was new and filled with a sense of wonder.
I lost that sort of fascination with the world, as I grew older, as my family descended into hell. But I was determined to pass that attribute on to my son. But, I didn't even have a son. It was all in my head. I laid there on my bed, staring at my ceiling fan, tracing the blades as they whirled around at an impossible speed. I followed them with my eyes until I grew dizzy, until the hunger in my stomach turned to nausea.
I started thinking about Ben in school, about his first day in kindergarten. I imagined his crayon drawings on the refrigerator door, and the lunches he took in the red plastic lunch box. I imagined homework, and staying up late with him when he had bad dreams.
And, I knew then that I was the only one that was going to have bad dreams. In that first dawn post Ben, I saw an eternity of sleepless nights filled with nightmares stretch out before me. I would never forgive myself. I could never forgive myself.
I thought about Katie. I thought about how I tried to hide who I was with her. I thought about how I made myself fall for her because it was the only way I could rationalize being normal. Oh, I knew I was gay back then. I was well aware. But, that didn't stop me from lying. Lying to her. Lying to my friends. Lying to myself.
I figured Ben was my punishment for the great lie of it all. It was my punishment, but Ben paid the price for it. He paid because I didn't have the courage to face reality. He paid because I was too stupid to see the disaster that had to befall me eventually. A person can't run forever. But, I tried. God, how I tried.
Look where it got me. Because I was too much of a coward to deal with who I was, I conceived a child only to watch him die. He died, because I got in a fight with Katie. Our fight was meaningless. I picked a fight with her because I was depressed. I was depressed because of the secret I kept.
That fight changed it all. I couldn't handle being gay, so I drove Katie to the abortion. I had a hand in my own child's death.
I thought of all of those things that first morning after. The image of Ben fixed itself into my mind.
And then, he started talking to me. At first, he was angry with me. Not angry, really. Children don't know anger at such a young age. All they know is sadness. I knew what sadness as a kid was like, and I could hear it in Ben's voice. He didn't understand why I did what I did. He didn't understand what Katie did what she did.
So, I tried to explain it to him, right then and there. I had a conversation with my son that was all in my head. I was crying though. Just laying on my bed and crying. I tried to explain. I tried to rationalize everything. And even as I tried to convince him, I was trying to convince myself.
But, I never succeeded. I couldn't fix it. I couldn't make him understand anymore than I could make myself understand. I left it at that. I was too exhausted to try and straighten everything out in my mind. It was too hard. It was too unfathomable. Nothing would ever be the same.
I had learn to exist with Ben. He wasn't going away. I had to deal with what I had done. I had to find a way to make everything right in my life. I had to find a way to make peace with Ben. I knew he would never be a flesh and blood child. He would never exist in reality. But, somehow, having him exist in my mind lessened the guilt. It was the only way I could have survived then. It was the only way I could get through it all without going completely crazy.
After I recovered from the initial shock, I learned that Ben stayed with me. He'll always stay with me. I have to come to terms with that. I haven't yet, but I know I will have to someday. I will have to make my peace with him. He will always be in my mind.
Sometimes, he's happy. Sometimes, he's sad. But, he's always there, a reminder of the great fuck up I performed by trying to deny to myself who I was.
How can I forgive myself of that? I knew I was wrong, back then, yet I still pressed on, thinking I'd get away with it all.
Well, I didn't. And, now, here I am. Probably completely insane. In a few years, I bet they'll lock me away in some asylum. But, it'll be ok, I guess, because I'll have Ben to talk to. I'll always have Ben. It might have all been a terrible mistake, but he's a part of me now, and I have to live with it.
Mike sat quietly, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with disbelief.
I sat numbly, barely aware of the words that had just left my mouth. I felt nothing. I thought I would feel pain at the retelling, maybe even a sense of relief. But, I felt nothing. It was as if someone else had possessed my body and made my mouth move for me.
"I had no idea," was all he could say. He was processing what I had just told him even as I was processing the fact that I had actually told someone. My secret was gone. Ben was out in the open. I felt like I didn't have a single thing left to me.
"No one has any idea," I whispered. "How could they?"
He stood and kneeled down next to me, looked up in my eyes. "You should have told me. You shouldn't have tried to walk around with this inside you. How did you keep this bottled up for so long?"
I stared off into space. "I tried to forget. It's easier when you forget. Then, you don't have to remember anything."
Mike swallowed, barely fending off a sob. "Promise me something?"
I cocked my head, listening.
"Promise me you'll never keep anything like this from me again."
I nodded slowly. "Ok. I promise."
Tbc
Author's Note:
Look for Part 16 very soon.
www.confusedyouth.org