Vince turned to Ben and the smile disappeared. “That’s not your jersey.” Vince said.
Ben blushed, his shoulders sagged, and he sank into himself.
“Hey, everyone, look!” Vince roared. “Baby Bean is all dressed up.”
“Shut up, Vince.” Lori’s chin thrust up. “Stop being such a douche.”
Partygoers all turned toward Ben and gawked. A crowd formed as they squeezed closer.
Vince laughed. “Looks like Lori has more sack than you, Bean.”
Ben flinched as if struck by a whip. His head came up and felt everyone’s eyes on him. “My name is Ben,” he said through his teeth. He handed his beer to Trudy. Clenching his fists, he moved into a wrestling stance and faced Vince. “Yea, it’s my brother’s jersey. So what. You going to try to take from me?”
“Maybe I will.” Vince bent his knees and lowered his shoulders as if ready to hit a practice dummy.
“Touch me and I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass.” Ben’s face grew hot with anger as adrenaline hijacked his caution. It wasn’t about him anymore, it was about Jack.
Sounds of surprise, laughter, and groans reached Ben’s ears, but he suppressed them like crowd noise during a wrestling match. Time stretched . . . just him and his opponent. He focused on Vince’s hands.
Vince grinned. “Kick my ass? I’d like to see that!”
“Best come get to it then, Vincent.” Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
The big back flipped his cup of beer at Ben and lunged.
Ben sidestepped the beer, and jabbed Vince’s right jawbone with an overhand left as the defensive back bulled past. His hand ached from the bare knuckled impact.
Vince collided with the crowd as they helped turn him back toward Ben. Vince, his arms at his side, walked slowly, quietly, up to Ben. “You little bitch.”
Ben put up his fists, but Vince’s long right arm flew fast over Ben’s defense. The open handed slap cracked across Ben’s left cheek. Knocked back a step, he felt both dizzy and embarrassed. His face stung and he tasted blood in the corner of his mouth.
“What the fuck?” Brandon shouted as he pushed himself between Vince and Ben. He stretched both hands out to his sides to make space between them. “What’s this about?” Brandon glanced back and forth between Ben and Vince until his eyes settled on the defensive back.
Vince rubbed his swollen cheek. “That little shit’s bragging about himself, and wearing Jack’s jersey. It ain’t right.”
Brandon saw the blood on Ben’s face and glared at Vince. “So you hit him?”
Ben’s hands dropped to his side and found his voice. “My fault. I hit him first.”
Lori frowned at Ben. Was that disagreement or pity? He could usually read her, but not tonight.
“Alright. Let’s stop being stupid for a minute,” Brandon said. “He’s wearing his brother’s shirt. So what? You knew Jack. He would have given Ben his jersey if he could. If he were here today, he’d be ashamed of you both.”
Ben lowered his head and nodded. Glancing at Vince, the defensive back’s eyes filled more with disdain than hatred.
Brandon let his arms drop. “Look. I miss Jack. We were like brothers.” He searched the faces around him until his eyes fell on Vince. “And that makes Ben my brother too.” Brandon raised his open hands in the air. “We’re all brothers here. Aren’t we?”
“And sisters,” Lori said, her chin held high.
“Brothers and sisters,” Brandon smirked. “Am I right?”
Ben heard people shout “yes,” “yea,” and even an “amen” followed by laughter.
Vince grimaced.
“Good. Time to make up.” Brandon motioned the boys toward each other. “Shake on it.”
Ben frowned. Vince had started the argument and would have hit him first if Ben hadn’t moved. Why did he let Vince twist him up so bad? Jack would have disarmed Vince with a joke, but Jack wasn’t here.
Ben wanted to make it all go away. “Sorry, I hit you.” Ben offered his hand.
“I was just messing with you, Bean.” Vince said, as he crushed Ben’s fingers in a vice grip and let go. “I’m sorry too. Sorry we couldn’t finish.”
Ben’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh it off or not. His eyes sought Lori’s for help, but she shook her head.
Vince put his arm around Ben. “You got stones, boy. I hope you make varsity offense, or at least the practice squad. We’ll see if you can take a real hit.” He pulled on his topknot and walked away.
Trudy returned Ben’s beer.
Ben took sip of warm beer and almost gagged.
Trudy moved to Ben’s side and Rouge stood facing him. Her nose ring rested on her ruby red upper lip. Trudy held onto Ben’s arm and asked him about school and what other sports he played. He answered the questions, but his eyes followed Lori as she took Brandon’s hand and walked away from the fire. He’d wanted to spend time talking to Lori and forget about his problems, instead Ben felt like he’d done everything wrong and disappointed her. If only he could be more like Jack. Simply wearing his jersey wasn’t enough.
Over Rouge’s shoulder, he watched Lori and Brandon walk hand-in-hand as Brandon guided her toward the water. The reflected moonlight silhouetted their bodies when they stopped to kiss. Ben drained his cup in three long swallows. Rouge looked over her shoulder at the two lovers, turned back to Ben, and handed him her beer.
Chapter 5
Daylight leaked past Ben’s bedroom window shades and prickled his eyes. His brain throbbed and his tongue felt dry and pasty. Was it . . . Sunday morning? He glanced around his room. How did I get home from the party?
His stomach rolled and his bladder ached as if it might explode. Shifting his legs over the side, he lurched out of bed and through the hall to the bathroom. He closed the door, dropped to his knees, and spewed into the white porcelain throne. His eyes watered and his nose and throat burned. The smell gagged him.
A second eruption emptied his stomach. Ben grabbed a handful of tissues and blew his nose clear, but something odd tugged his nostrils.
He gripped the sink, pulled himself up to the mirror, and gaped at his reflection. Black makeup swirled around his eyes and lips, glitter sparkled on his cheeks, and a grotesque ring hung from his nose. What the fuck!
A knock banged the bathroom door. “You all right in there?”
Shit and double shit! “All good, Mom, just cleaning up.”
“Sounds like you’re sick.”
“Something I ate. I’ll be ok.”
“Wasn’t my cooking. Where’d you and Lori go last night?”
“Ran up to the picnic grounds. Hung out with friends.”
“A little late for a picnic, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I think the potato salad went bad. Must have sat in the sun too long.”
“Hmm. Warm mayonnaise will get you every time. Okay, hurry up. We’re leaving for church in twenty minutes.”
“I just have to clean up a little bit, and I’ll be down.”
“Good.”
Sonofabitch. Ben worked at the nose ring in a panic, until the clip released. After removing the ring, his eyes opened wide. Someone had scrawled dark red lipstick across his chest. Reading backwards in the mirror, he whispered, “Thx 4 a good time-Rouge” and “C-ya later – love Trudy.” Aw, fuck me.
Ben stood in the hot shower and scrubbed with soap and a washcloth. How much had he drunk and why? Because Lori had a boyfriend? Had he tried to be more like Brandon and Vince . . . or just less like himself? I’m such an idiot.
Ben rode with his parents to St. George Church in downtown Carlston. During the service, his temples pounded, his stomach ached, and his mind remained dull. The pastor, Monsignor Clearwater, spoke to the congregation, but Ben only heard pieces.
“God has a purpose for you . . .”
Ben looked around the church, and recognized many of the people in his section. His parents always sat in the same area, if not the same pew. Al
ways on the right side of the church, right side of the pew near the colorful stained glass windows, and seven rows back.
The sun shone through the stained glass mural high above the altar. Columns of purple, red, and blue light blazed down upon the altar like laser beams.
“Each choice we make, good or bad, however insignificant it may seem, can make a difference.” Monsignor Clearwater’s hand extended outward from his white robe. “Use your free will, wisely . . .”
Ben’s head swam. Was that Lori sitting to the far left across the aisle? No, she’s Presbyterian. He stretched his neck and squinted. This cute blonde girl did have the same strong jawline and looked about his age, but it was hard to tell.
A soft jab dug against his ribs and he turned to his right. Mom handed him an open songbook. He pressed his lips together, but accepted the book. Jack had been the singer, not him. Jack had played guitar during the folk masses.
Ben sang softly. He couldn’t read music, but his eyes followed the shapes of notes, arcs, and squiggles in the book, as his ears measured the changes in the melody. Every once in a while the notes made sense.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cute girl and her family walking toward the altar with the offertory gifts. Sister Mary Jean had told his Sunday school class impure thoughts were a sin, and he assumed if it happened in church it was even worse. He tried to clear his thoughts, but the blonde girl in the white dress with the purple flowers and the large breasts was HOT.
She was flanked by her sister, mother, and father. Ben couldn’t help but stare at her when she turned to walk back to her seat. She glanced at him, smiled, and winked. He inhaled sharply and was surprised by her forwardness. When the girl’s sister smiled at him too, his jaw dropped. Trudy?
Oh my God. If that’s Trudy, then the hot girl is– Rouge, sans Goth makeup and red wig. Confused and angry at the same time, Ben wished he could remember what happened last night. Hell. If Mom finds out I was drinking, I’m in deep shit.
He glanced over his shoulder at the exit. Maybe he could just excuse himself and slip out the back. No. Mom would ask even more questions. As soon as the service finished, he would make a quick exit.
The congregation began to file out after the closing hymn, “To Be Alive,” one Jack had sung during the folk mass - To be alive, and feeling free, and to have everyone in your family. Mom had once sung this song with gusto, but not anymore. Today she only mouthed the words, closed the songbook early, and followed Dad toward the exit with her head down.
Ben craned his neck to search for Rouge, but didn’t see her in the press of bodies heading toward the exit. Once out the door, he saw his parents’ car and sighed.
“Patty?” a woman in a yellow dress called.
Mom turned around and squinted in the sunlight. “Dora?” She brushed past Ben with her face aglow. Dad grabbed his arm, and redirected him back toward his mother.
“You look great,” Mom said. “John, you remember Dora Grimes from high school.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “It’s been awhile. Good to see you again.”
“It’s been about twenty years, John,” Dora said. “I’m Dora Cavendish now. This is my husband, Brett.”
“Nice to meet you.” Brett was a tall lanky man with brown hair. He wore a charcoal suit and a bright blue tie. Dora seemed a little chunky, but had a nice smile.
Dad looked at him. “This is our son, Ben.”
“Oh, so you’re Ben. My girls said such nice things about you this morning.” Dora looked over her shoulder. “Ruth, meet our friends, John and Patty Fuller.”
Rouge smiled with perfect white teeth. “Nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Fuller. Hi, Ben.”
“Hi, Rrruth,” Ben said. She was gorgeous. Who knew? She came over and gave him a quick hug and stepped away. Her hair smelled like strawberries.
“Hi, BBBean,” Trudy said, appearing from behind Ruth. Her eyes sparkled even without the glitter makeup.
“Hi, Trudy.” Ben’s eyes narrowed.
“Sounds like you kids know each other,” Mom said.
“Yes. We met last night,” Ruth said. “Lori, introduced us. We gave him a ride home.”
“Well, I hope you didn’t eat the potato salad,” Mom warned. “Ben was sick this morning.”
“Oh, yes,” Ruth grinned. “He had entirely too much potato salad last night. Could not get enough.”
Ben grimaced. These sisters had played him.
Mom stared at him and her smile withered. “Thanks for bringing him home.”
“Our pleasure,” Trudy said.
Mom forced a smile for Dora. “We would like you all over sometime for a cookout.”
“We’d love that, Mrs. Fuller,” Ruth cooed. “Wouldn’t we, Trudy?”
When Trudy smiled, her lips pulled back and her teeth reminded Ben of the raccoon he’d caught raiding the garbage cans. “Sounds cool,” Trudy said. “We could have beans and potato salad.”
“Besides,” Dora said, “That would give Trudy some time to talk with Ben. You know he asked her to homecoming.”
Shit and triple shit.
“Did he now?” Mom’s eyebrow rose.
“He was very persuasive,” Ruth said. “He even gave her his football jersey.”
Dad narrowed his eyes.
Trudy had Jack’s jersey. Ben felt like running, or fighting, or anything other than trying to explain what he couldn’t remember. He wished he could disappear. Anywhere else would be better. Instead, he swallowed, took a deep breath, and forced his own smile.
“Really?” Mom said, sounding surprised. “Well, Dora, looks like we have a lot to talk about.” Her eyes, more stick than carrot, drilled into his.
Ben looked back into the empty church as if he had a prayer left unsaid and needed a moment longer within. He kept as quiet as a corpse during the ride home.
Ben changed out of his Sunday clothes and into a purple tee shirt and blue jeans. He sat on his bed and still felt like crap after last night’s binge.
“Ben!” Mom called from downstairs.
“Up here, Mom.” Her footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs. Dad had run out for engine parts and would be back by noon for lunch.
Mom took a step inside the door. “You look a little pale.” She crossed the room and felt his forehead. “No fever.” After searching his eyes, she frowned. “Were you drinking last night?”
Here it comes. “Yes.” His shoulders sagged. He knew better than to lie.
“How much?” Her hands rested on her hips.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He dropped his head and stared at his bare feet.
“You don’t remember?” The silence stretched. “Were you drunk!”
His head jerked up and he sensed her anger, fear, and contempt rolled into a great ball of disappointment—the same look she’d used when she found a long black snake in the mud room. She’d dispatched the serpent with a meat cleaver and one swift chop to the head.
“I didn’t really want to drink. Everyone else was. It just happened.”
“Did someone force you to drink?” Her eyebrows knit together.
Ben sighed. “No.” He felt too warm.
She nodded slightly. “So you lied to me about the potato salad?”
“Yeah. Uh, sorry.” His stomach lurched.
Mom’s lips wrinkled. “I am so disappointed in you.”
Ben’s shoulders sagged. She’d just confirmed what he’d always suspected. He didn’t feel well and needed some space.
Standing, he straightened his shoulders and faced her. “C’mon Mom. I made a mistake. I said I was sorry. All of my friends were drinking. Jack’s friends too. If he’d been there, he would have had some too. I—”
She slapped his face. “I’m not talking about Jack, I’m talking about you. You’re only fifteen. Do you want to lose your Learner’s Permit? Waste your chances for any kind of scholarship? Forget about MIT, you’re lucky you weren’t all killed in a car accident.” Her eyes watered. “How can you be so irresp
onsible?”
His face grew hot. “Geez, Mom. It’s not like that.”
“Clean up your room and stay here until I call for you. I don’t want to see you right now.” She turned her back and walked downstairs.
Ben groaned and flopped back down on the bed. His heart ached in his chest. The slap stung deeper than physical pain. He knew she didn’t like him very much, and he just made it worse.
He stared at the ceiling. What happened last night? Ahhh—the drinking game. Rouge had explained the rules, but he’d lost early and often, until he couldn’t remember anything. Had he really asked Trudy to Homecoming, or had they punked him? Could he get the jersey back? Lori might know.
Ben grabbed his cell from the charger on his desk and texted. Lori, are you there?
After two minutes she texted back. Yep. Heard you had a good time last night.
What did you hear?
You’re going to homecoming with Trudy. Congrats.
Did she ask me?
No, Benzo. You asked her.
What else did you hear? I was a little out of it.
Ya think? Let’s talk later. Bye
Mom called him from downstairs at 11:45. He rolled out of bed and walked down the stairs, one foot after the other, trying to focus. The smell of baked bread brought him back, a little.
Mom roved the kitchen in busy-cooking-mode, with hands, arms, and elbows constantly moving, though her apron remained perfectly clean.
She looked more tired than he felt. “I’m grounding you for a month. You won’t be able to use my car or your father’s truck.”
“Okay, but what if there’s an emergency? What then?”
“Enough. You’re grounded.”
“But—”
She pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Stop negotiating and use some common sense.”
“You’re still made at me, aren’t you?” He tried to calm her with a wistful smile.
“Yes.” She banged the wooden spoon down on the counter. “You just don’t understand. You could have been killed last night. I don’t want to lose another—” She threw the spoon onto the floor at his feet and balled her fist. She took a step toward him and stopped.
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