Chapter Eight: Reminders
Ben was asleep and Sandra was sitting beside the bed quietly reading when I returned to his room. “There you are,” She smiled. “I was beginning to wonder.” I explained where I had been and filled her in on the conversation I had just had with Ben's case manager. “That makes so much sense,” she responded. “Let me think about it too, maybe there's something I can do.”
I didn't think there was, but I certainly would not deny her the chance to feel useful. I knew how frustrated she must be watching her son in this situation and being powerless to do anything to help him. I felt the same. I desperately wished I could do something, anything, but I could think of nothing.
“Don't you have something you have to do this afternoon?” Sandra's question broke the downward spiral of my thinking and brought me back to reality.
“Umm... yes, I'm seeing a counselor at two.”
“Why don't you run along and treat yourself to a nice lunch before that. I'll be here until you get back and I'm sure you could use a break.” She rose and ushered me to the door, kissing me lightly on the cheek. Ben will be just fine. Now go enjoy yourself.”
As I walked to the car I thought about all our favorite restaurants, but I couldn't face eating alone in any of them. All I would do was wish he were with me. In the end I decided to stop at Mike's and have some pub grub. It wasn't exactly healthy, but I felt safe there, and it held no memories with Ben.
“Well, well, well, if it isn't the Bater Meister! Mike greeted me with enthusiasm. “Helmut told me all about it. I'm just sorry I missed it.”
I didn't quite know how to respond and I was pretty sure I did not want the moniker he had just given me, but he smiled broadly, obviously happy to see me again, so I forced a weak smile and managed a nondescript “Hi Mike.”
“So, what can I get for you? One of my world famous burgers?”
I looked over the menu quickly and realized that almost everything on it was deep fried. “How about some pasta? All that sitting at the hospital, I don't want to get fat.”
“Fat!” he scoffed, “I could break you with one finger. You need to embrace your inner daddy bear and work on adding some bulk. Besides, pasta is pure carbs. That won't help keep that slim figure of yours.” As he turned to leave he asked over his shoulder, “You want meatballs with that? At least that'll give you some protein.”
“I guess.” I answered without much conviction and he went to the back to boil some water. I allowed my mind to wander. There was so much to think about and I couldn't face all the decisions that lay ahead. The bar wasn't busy, but the television was playing in the background and a number of customers were sitting in small groups at a few of the tables chatting. Somehow I was able to tune all that out and find an inner quiet that was both comforting and expansive.
I don't know how much time passed before the sound of the plate hitting the bar in front of me startled me back to the present moment. “Here ya go. Sorry to disturb you. You seemed miles away.”
“I guess I was,” I smiled and picked up my fork. “I was...” I couldn't quite place where I had drifted off to, but then it came to me. It was the little seaside cottage I had stopped at last night. I had been lost in the sea and stars again and somehow their eternal peace had once again washed over me. “Mike, do you know who owns the rental cottages just down the road? Specifically the one that is right on the ocean.”
“They're all right on the ocean,” he chuckled, “But I think I know the one you mean. The green one with the back porch right on the sand.”
“That's it, are they seasonal rentals?”
“Yeah, but that one doesn't usually go. People say it's haunted or cursed or something. It has a reputation for making people uncomfortable. How about the red one just across the street? My cousin rented it one summer and it was...”
“I've lived in haunted houses before,” I informed him, “Twice. In fact, our current home is haunted, and not just with gay teenagers. No, the one on the beach, it seems just right for what we need. There are no steps at the front door, and there is something calm about the place. I think it might help Ben in the healing process.”
“Well, that's up to you, but you've been warned.” He chuckled again, and headed back to his office to find me the phone number of the owner. He returned, and handing me a slip of paper asked, “Hot or cold?”
“What?” I asked.
“Pie, hot or cold? You're not leaving until you've had a slice, on the house.”
The intake session went well. Nothing got discussed in depth since I had not chosen a counselor yet, but the person doing the intake made a couple of suggestions and we settled on a social worker who specialized in LGBTQ clients and had a background working with the disabled. We set a time for an initial, get acquainted, session for the next day, and I began to feel some hope.
Before returning to the hospital, I decided to stop at the Hathaway and pick up a couple of little things that might help Ben feel more at home in his room. A picture of us together, an award he won while in school, a couple of old crochet projects he had never finished. Chad stopped me before I could make my getaway and asked what I was doing. When I told him he asked me to wait while he ran to his room to get something to contribute. He returned and handed me a beat up old baseball cap with a forestry logo on it. “I don't know if he'll remember this, but he gave it to me the first time he took me to the woods to help him plant some trees. I think it was 'bring your kid to work day' or something like that.” I gave him a big hug and promised I would give it to Ben.
When I entered Ben's room, he and his mother were sitting in silence and there was a palpable tension between them. He looked at me in a way that made it clear that he was upset, and when Sandra rose to approach me he erupted, “I don't want this! There's no need...”
“You're our son,” she interrupted quietly but firmly. “We won't make the choice for you, but we can help make the choice possible.” As she walked past me to leave, she handed me a piece of paper and whispered, “Come and find me, I'll be in the cafeteria.”
“What was all that about?” I asked in surprise, pocketing the paper. Ben clearly didn't want to talk.
“She can be so pushy sometimes,” was all he could manage before beginning to turn inward, and I thought it would be good to distract him with the things I had brought from home.
“I brought you these,” I said as I began to unpack the bag on his bed. He glanced at the objects that surrounded him and seemed to go deeper into the depths.
“What do I want with these?” he sneered. “These are all the person I was. I'm not that person anymore, and I never will be again. I went through the items one by one, hoping that something would spark some joy, but self pity was all he could manage. In a last ditch effort to cheer him up, I pulled out the picture of us together at the first Halloween party we hosted at the Hathaway. He was dressed as Paul Bunyan, and I was wearing a blue jumpsuit with horns, doing my best to be Babe the blue ox.
He smiled for a moment at the memory, then a tear found it's way down his cheek. “That was a great night,” he sighed. “But will I ever be able to dance with you again?” He looked up pleading. “I'm so scared,” he finally admitted, starting to sob. It was the first time I had heard him face the fear that fueled his depression.
“I am too,” I confessed, wrapping him in my arms and holding him tightly. “But whatever difficulties lie ahead, we'll face them together. Deal?” He nodded and I handed him some tissues. As he blew his nose, I remembered Chad's hat. I had stuffed it in my pocket when he handed it to me. “I almost forgot. Chad sent this.” I handed it to him, adding, “He told me about the day you got that for him. It clearly means a lot to him.”
Ben considered this in silence, then looking up he stuttered, “I don't know what...Why would he...?”
He knew I was bringing you things to remind you of home. I think it was his way of letting you know how much you mean to him and to remind you of how much you are loved.”
Ben remained silent for another minute before beginning to tear up again. In that moment I could feel the real healing begin. “I can't...I don't know how to...” He leaned back and looked me in the eye. “Tell my mom I'm sorry.”
“I will.” Then I remembered that she was waiting for me in the cafeteria. “Are you alright?” I asked, “Only, I need to ask you something, but first I need to get myself a cup of coffee.”
“I'm fine,” he muttered, clutching the hat, clearly lost in his own thoughts.
Do you want anything from the cafeteria? Some chips? Chocolate? Something deep fried?”
“No.”
I kissed him on the forehead and headed out the door.
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