Much Ado About Something

by Michelle Ray

  Sula Blom Joyeux Noël mes amis.

  Peter Donato Thanx to the big J for being born so we could have vacay time.

  Kai Maiorano A merry and a happy to all. In case you were wondering, my gifts were all big and rockin’.

  Antonio Garcia Rojas The funeral was great. Thanks for asking.

  Ben

  The next day was even more fun in the car as we crossed into goofiness. I played a lot of Dylan until B said, “I can’t stand his gravely voice another second!” Then we ran through the Beatles’ playlist, enthusiastically strumming our air guitars and drumming the wheel and dashboard, shaking our imaginary shaggy hairdos and peacing-out during the psychedelic era songs.

  Eventually we got into show tunes, and B couldn’t believe that her straight boyfriend knew so darn many of them.

  Only mildly embarrassed, I explained, “My mom made us go to absolutely every show whose touring production came to town, and she would play them when she drove carpool. They sink in.”

  B teased me anyway, and it was so good to see her laughing and enjoying herself that I didn’t protest.

  The only bummer in the day was when I suggested she call her family. She sank down in her seat and didn’t talk for more than an hour. I got it, her not wanting to be reminded of home. But still, it was Christmas. I didn’t push, though.

  Christmas dinner was at a sad diner off the highway. Tinny carols played over the transistor radio next to the pie plates, and one strand of balding tinsel was strung around the door. A kid — probably the waitress’ — sat by herself coloring in a booth. An elderly woman in a wool hat and a truck driver with a farmer’s tan sat separately at the counter drinking their respective tea and coffee in lonely silence. I considered asking them to join us, but I didn’t want to share B. Not that night. Not any night.

  I ordered grilled cheese, and she got pancakes and bacon, which were both pretty un-Christmas-y, but seemed like safe bets. The waitress shuffled off, sticking her pencil in her stringy bun.

  We ate and listened to “Silent Night” on the radio sung by someone from the 40s, someone who knew how to make each note matter. B began to sing under her breath as she looked out at the sun tiptoeing toward the horizon, turning the desert sand a deep yellow before painting it orange and then purple. It was the most perfect moment I could remember.

  Beatriz

  I sang until “Sleep in heavenly peace,” and thought of Hope lying in her coffin and froze, a lump exploding in my throat.

  “I like when you sing,” Ben said, reaching for my hand.

  I nodded and sipped at my water, too upset to really deal with the compliment.

  “You know,” he said, “this is nicer than any Christmas I’ve ever spent in Hawaii with my family.”

  It was hard to imagine that this tacky diner with windows that needed cleaning could be nicer than the resort where he spent his holidays, but he seemed so sincere that I asked how.

  “Every year, there’s a question of gifts, about who gave or got the best one. Then it’s what reservations we scored at the hottest new restaurant and who can drink the most without passing out or getting security involved. And then there’s my brother, Alex.”

  The waitress brought our meals and I reached for the syrup. But Ben, for once, didn’t look at his food. I put my hands in my lap and listened.

  “I remember the first time Alex got high was at Christmas. No one said anything about it that night or any night that followed. He was a sophomore at Messina and I kept thinking someone would notice and he’d get kicked out or something. But he never did. He was the star swimmer, got straight A’s, and had the prettiest girlfriend.

  “This went on for years and everyone blew it off because they thought it was just pot and he was doing well and so whatever. But it wasn’t just pot. Everyone under thirty seemed to know, but no one said anything.”

  Ben

  I chewed on my bottom lip and looked out at the sunless horizon, remembering my brother’s hands always shoved into his sweatshirt pockets, the weight loss, the haunted, hunted look he had all the time.

  My eyes slid back to B and she was sitting so still, listening, really listening, which so few people do and it felt good to tell her the truth. To let go of this burden. This secret that was never really a secret.

  “And as soon as he went away to college, things got worse. He never did his work and he never went to class, and then they asked him to leave and he vanished. Didn’t come to my oldest brother’s college graduation, didn’t come home for my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary party.”

  I pictured them at their black tie celebration, both constantly checking the door to see if he might walk in, neither realizing they were doing it. I was pissed. Doing drugs was his choice, but I was there! I was there doing the right thing, but they didn’t seem to notice. His absence was always hanging over us like a fog.

  My voice was more bitter than I wanted it to be as I continued, “The only reason anyone knew he was alive was because my parents still paid his cell phone bill, and they only did that because at least they knew he was alive. And then he OD’d last fall—”

  I heard my own words as I said them. Caught my own thoughtless reference to death and wanted to die myself. I’m so dumb.

  Beatriz

  “Oh God, B, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this.”

  I thought for a moment. Did I want him to stop? I was getting to know him, and yeah, it sucked to think about near-death experiences, but it seemed important that I hear this. “It’s fine, Ben. Tell me.”

  He looked uncertain and picked at his food for a few seconds, but then he put his fork back down and asked again with his eyes. When I nodded, he continued. “So, um, anyway, my parents rushed off to the hospital and had Alex move in with us to clean up. Then last Christmas, my parents thought two weeks in Hawaii would do the trick to cure him. But he found some dealers there and stole the electronics from the condo, including my laptop, which I’m still pissed about, and vanished again.”

  I remembered Ben showing off his new laptop with such pride and excitement last January once school started back up. I never would have known why he needed one.

  “I had no idea,” I said. “You always seem so — I don’t know — perfect. Unaffected by life.”

  “The thing about a dessert is sometimes it hides a well.”

  “I just read that. It’s from—”

  “The Little Prince.”

  I looked at him with amazement, and fell in love with him a little more in that instant.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, B. Maybe not a lot, but there are things. I’m not — It’s easier to act like everything’s fine. I don’t like to answer questions, and I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said, glancing out the window, thinking of everyone’s faces at school and at the funeral home.

  Ben said quietly, “Well anyway, I just don’t get my parents. They keep giving Alex money and chances and he keeps breaking their hearts.” He paused and added, “And he took my Xbox, too. I loved that thing.” He tried to smile, but it was too weak to be convincing. “I hope he gets clean or dies soon, because the suspense is killing me.”

  “You don’t mean that,” I said softly, thinking of Hope.

  “I do, B. I really do. I can see that bothers you but I’m tired of how Alex keeps messing with our lives, and I’m tired of being scared every time the house phone rings.” He picked up the ketchup and joylessly poured it in the corner of his plate.

  I was empty and I wanted something to fill the void. “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” played from the countertop radio.

  I had an idea. “Ben, will you come to church with me?”

  His eyes flicked up at me, but he didn’t say no, so I continued. “I think it would be nice. I mean, we’re out here in the middle of nowhere and I know it’s not like you go to church, but I do and I’ll miss not being there on Christmas. It doesn’t have to be Catholic or anything
. I just wanna go somewhere.”

  His brow furrowed, but he said okay and called the waitress over to ask about it. She said there was only one church around, but she called a friend to see what the schedule might be. “Services start in a half hour so you’ll have to hurry if you want to make it because it’s kind of a hike.”

  We wolfed down our food so fast that my stomach hurt a little as we waved goodbye to the tiny girl who brought over a picture she had drawn of us, and we ran for the car.

  I looked out the window once we were buckled and said, “‘You see, one loves the sunset when one is so sad,’” I said, quoting The Little Prince again. “It’s really true. The sunset is happy and sad all at once. It’s stupid, but . . .”

  “No it’s not.” He rested a hand on mine.

  • • •

  The raw wood church was glowing in the deep red flame of day’s end. Only one wreath hung, even though there were double doors, making it look like the church had a black eye. The dirt lot had a dozen cars in it, and inside, the rows of the small chapel were nearly full. We scooted in next to a sweet looking older couple who wished us a Merry Christmas. Candlelight warmed the space and the minister held up his hands to settle and greet everyone. It was perfect.

  Ben

  The first hymn was “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” B seemed to disappear into the song. I sang along, but my voice petered out as the verses continued and I wondered how the hell B knew all of the words. The song made me think of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and I nearly lost it imagining everyone breaking into that floppy dance those cartoon kids do. B turned just then to see my smile and reached for my hand, and I vowed to never tell her why I looked so damn happy at that moment.

  But then something remarkable happened. I won’t call it a Christmas miracle or anything, but it was pretty cool. Holding B, looking at the simplicity of the building, seeing the cracks in the stucco as a thing of beauty rather than a flaw, listening to the minister speak of renewal and peace on Earth and love, I was overwhelmed with a kind of joy I had never experience. I felt connected to total strangers and to life, and it was so peculiar that if it weren’t so pleasant, it would have made me run.

  The service concluded with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” which was hardly as nice as the opening hymn, but it made everyone smile and want to hug each other, and the happiness lasted all the way out the door and into our cars.

  I didn’t start the engine right away. I sat and looked at the dimly lit building and the plainly dressed people saying their goodbyes, and tried to make every detail stick in my brain.

  “So you didn’t hate it?” B asked.

  “No, B. Thanks. It was . . .” Someone flicked on fluorescent lights inside and the glow vanished. I wanted to preserve the moment that was, so I peeled out of the parking lot. “Special. Incredible.”

  She leaned back in her seat looking satisfied and hummed “Ave Maria” followed by “O Holy Night.” Only the dashboard lit up her face, which was as beautiful as I could ever remember it being.

  It was all so great, but I had to try and get her to do the right thing. “Wanna call your parents?”

  “No.” She went back to humming, but more quietly. That was it. I knew this wasn’t gonna end well, and that the longer she waited to talk to them and the longer she was dodging them while with me, the more her mom was gonna look for ways of punishing us both.

  Instead of dealing with the issue I asked, “Should we push on or find somewhere to stay?”

  She shrugged and continued singing, so I drove.

  At a certain point late in the night, she ran out of carols and the hum of the engine was the only sound between us.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I said, but had to stop and take a deep breath. No, I needed to just say it. Get it out there and consequences be damned. “I realized when we were sitting in that chapel . . . I don’t love anything in the world as much as you. Isn’t that strange?”

  She giggled and I broke into a sweat thinking she was making fun of me. I’d put my heart out there and she was gonna laugh? Damn. How could I be so clueless? She didn’t like me that much. My dinner felt like it was coming back up.

  Beatriz

  I looked at him, and my heart picked up speed. He loved me. He loved me! But why did he say it was strange? It wasn’t. It was wonderful, and I already knew he loved me because you don’t do all things he did if you don’t love a person.

  I smiled and said, “Strange? I guess. As strange as everything else that’s happened this week. As strange as the fact that I don’t love anything as much as you. You won’t believe me, but it’s true.”

  “I believe you.”

  My heart was full. “You’re the only person I trust anymore, Ben. That’s about the strangest thing yet.”

  “You trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes. God forgive me, but I do.”

  His smile turned to a frown. “God forgive you? For what?”

  I made a decision. “Pull over, Ben.”

  “What?”

  “Pull over. I want—” Could I say it? How could I tell him? I was thrilled and embarrassed and terrified. “I want you. I want to be with you.”

  Ben

  Even though I nearly leapt out of my skin when she said it, I eased to the shoulder of the deserted road and looked at her carefully. I saw a shift in her face, in her certainty, and my heart started to pound. Cuz I wanted her, too. More than anything. I couldn’t believe I’d been able to function for the past few weeks. I’d wanted her that much.

  She said, “I love you with so much of my heart that there’s nothing left to protest. I want . . . to be with you.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, Ben. Yes.”

  I leaned in and we kissed and it was different. Urgent. Trusting. Giving. Unworried.

  Beatriz

  Perfect.

  * * *

  “Colleges will be called and informed of the situation,” Mrs. Rojas says.

  “Please don’t let them do this Mamá,” Beatriz pleads. “His future will be ruined!”

  “You want me to stand up for Ben Richardson after everything—”

  “Yes.”

  Mrs. Rojas pauses. “I’m not doing it for him.”

  13

  Beatriz

  Morning light filtered through the broken blinds in the motel that we’d found nearly an hour after we’d started looking for one. It had gotten so ridiculous that I’d suggested we just pull over to the side of the road, but Ben had insisted that I would regret rushing at this point and trying to maneuver in my tiny car. And he was right.

  Waking up next him was incredible in the truest sense. I couldn’t believe it when I looked at him there so perfect and sweet and mine. He had been so patient and good, waiting for me to be ready, and once I was, he took things slow, making sure I wasn’t scared. And I wasn’t. Well not too scared anyway. And it was cute because he had looked a little anxious himself and kept checking in with me all along, and promised we’d get better at this.

  After, I hadn’t slept much because I hadn’t been able to believe it was true, and stupidly thought that if I let myself drift off, it would all vanish. But more than anything, I had been kept awake by the sensations within: an unfamiliar connectedness and a stretched out ache — but it wasn’t the kind of pain I wished away. It was strange and fascinating and made me want to laugh and cry all at once.

  I came back again and again to how thankful I was that we waited. I knew my parents would have wanted me to wait longer, much longer, and for that I was sorry. But being in this bed with Ben, I knew that for me, there was nothing to be sorry for. A year ago — the first time I dated Ben — I would not have been ready. Or even a week ago or two days earlier would have been too soon. This moment had been the right one. There was no guilt. There was no fear. There was just Ben and me and love.

  Ben

  I was surprised by the intensity of
all I felt. I had done this before, and on occasion with people I liked. But this was unexpectedly more, and the understanding of that fact overwhelmed me to the point that tears had filled my eyes. I’d asked B not to tell anyone, even though I knew she never would.

  B didn’t know that I spent part of the night watching her sleep. At some point, my eyes had opened and I’d startled when I realized someone was next to me. It was my first night spent in bed with a girl — and not just any girl — and I didn’t want to just let it pass. It sort of made me regret the other girls I’d been with because it diminished them as well as me now that I knew how different it was when you truly cared for the other person. Maybe that’s dumb and sentimental, but it’s true.

  I fell asleep at some point, but I was drifting back to consciousness and I could feel her eyes on me. I was afraid that once I opened mine, the magic of this space and this time would be gone. But I couldn’t help myself because I had to know that there were no lines of worry or regret on her face, and that she was as gorgeous as she was in the night and on all of the days I’d known her, even the days when we wanted to kill each another.

  And there she was on the pillow next to mine, a peaceful smile on her face that hinted at a secret only we shared. Her smile broadened and she reached out to touch my face and I winced at the bruise her uncle put there, and she moved her fingers to a less painful spot and I slipped my hand under her so I could pull her closer and she wrapped her leg around my hip and I never wanted to leave this place or this moment.

  But my stomach grumbled and we both heard it and laughed.

  “Do you want to get something to eat?” she asked.

  I cursed my body that was betraying me in a whole new way. “I guess.”

  “I need to shower,” she said.