by Jay Bell
“That he made it here alive is a promising sign,” the doctor assured him. “He has a five-hour surgery ahead of him. If he can pull through that, he has a good chance. I must warn you though, there could be complications. Are you family?”
“Yes.”
Every complication was listed on a piece of paper Ben was asked to sign. He barely scanned this list of nightmare possibilities. This was a choice between life and death. If Jace survived, they could deal with what sort of life he was left with.
Jace’s family arrived while he was still in surgery, which was a great relief to Ben. Finally he was with people who understood that the world was coming undone at the seams. That calm, unshakable Jace had fallen was impossible.
A nurse informed his family that Jace had suffered a class four cerebral aneurysm. They were able to explain to Ben what this meant. An aneurysm was a ballooned portion of blood vessel filled with blood. If left undetected it could rupture, causing bleeding in the brain. Once that happened there was only a fifty percent chance of survival.
Waiting for the results of the surgery was pure agony. Ben tried to imagine his life without Jace and couldn’t. He had been the center of Ben’s world for too many years now. Going on without him would be impossible. He’d rather die himself. How could anyone expect him to do otherwise?
Redemption came in the form of a very tired surgeon. He gave them a weary smile and the news that the surgery had been a success. Now it was up to Jace to recover.
The next four days were crucial, the high chance of fatality still looming over them. Ben maintained a constant vigil as Jace flitted in and out of consciousness. At times he didn’t know who Ben was, or he would say strange things, worrying once that Samson was going to be late to work. Their laughter at such times was frantic and short-lived. What if this is how he would behave from now on? What if Ben remained forgotten?
Equally worrying was the lack of movement on Jace’s left side. Among the constant warnings from doctors and nurses was the possibility of permanent paralysis on that side. When Jace began clapping on the fifth day, for reasons known only to him, the entire family cried with relief.
By the end of the week Jace had returned to them. He knew who they were and remembered what had happened. He also complained of pain and how loud everything was. Another side effect. They had to whisper when around him, otherwise they sounded like they were shouting.
“I’m sorry about all of this.”
This was the first coherent sentence Jace said to him. Ben wept while covering his face in kisses.
* * * * *
The ducks snapped up the bread greedily, occasionally bickering with each other and trying to steal more than their share. For Ben and Jace this was a game as they tried to ensure that every duck received its fair portion. Sitting cross-legged on the dock, they were benevolent judges, casting torn bread to the meeker ducks in the back and refusing those who behaved too aggressively.
Renting the lakeside cabin had been a gift from Ben’s parents to celebrate Jace’s graduation from six weeks of physical therapy. He was doing great, too. Physically he had made a near full recovery. Occasionally his left hand gave him trouble but it was manageable, although he still tended to tire easily.
Mentally things were a bit harder. He often had short-term memory loss, would forget what he was going to say or what he had been doing. On good days he could laugh about it, but his medical crisis had brought out a new side to Jace. Ben had noticed it during his rehabilitation, how impatient Jace would become, even losing his temper on a few occasions. His usual self-assured calmness was gone.
Noise was still a problem, too. Occasionally he developed a strong sensitivity. Predicting when it would happen was difficult, but when it did he would shut himself in a quiet room and could only be addressed in a whisper.
“I’d like to go back to work again,” Jace said, tossing the last chunk of bread to a duck brave enough to come onto the dock.
“You will eventually.”
“Not if I can’t remember safety procedures, or what drink someone ordered.” Jace frowned. “And not before the other surgeries.”
A MRI had revealed two other aneurysms, not yet ruptured, that would have to be removed. The doctors wanted to give Jace a few months between surgeries to make sure he recovered from each. The plan was sensible, but Ben could understand how it made Jace feel like a ticking time bomb.
“I’m just glad to finally have you home so much,” Ben said, leaning on his arm. “Nearly losing you was a pretty hefty price, but I’m willing to reap the rewards now.”
Jace smiled and pulled him closer. “Maybe I can get a job at one of the check-in counters. Lifting luggage would be good physical therapy and the computer does the rest.”
“Stop talking about work, you jerk! I’m trying to have a romantic moment here.”
Jace laughed. Together they watched the ducks slowly lose interest and swim away.
* * * * *
“Come here.”
Ben looked up from his script. Jace was standing there, his hand held out to him.
“Come to bed with me.”
“We just got up,” Ben said, checking his watch.
“Come.”
Ben took his hand and followed. He understood what this was about. There were only a few days until Jace’s next surgery, and they both had been tense all week. Jace had lost his temper a few times, nothing major, but for him even the slightest bit of anger was a transgression.
“We’re okay,” Ben assured him as he sat on the bed. Samson blinked at them sleepily, before continuing his nap.
“No, we’re not,” Jace said. He wouldn’t let go of Ben’s hand. He pulled him down, wrapping Ben’s arm tightly around himself so they were pressed together.
“What’s going on?” Ben asked. He could feel Jace’s heart thudding against his arm.
“My head hurts,” Jace swallowed back tears. “Just like last time.”
Ben tried to get up but Jace wouldn’t release him.
“Just stay with me,” Jace pleaded. “It was a miracle I made it last time. I’m not going to again.”
“You don’t know that!” Ben pleaded.
“You know the statistics as well as I do.”
Only fifty percent survive an aneurysm. Of those only another fifty percent survive the surgery, and the chances of making a full recovery without complications were even slimmer. Ben had repeated those facts in his head over and over again. He could only imagine how often Jace had.
“Please, I don’t want us to argue, not now, and I don’t want to die in a hospital.”
“Jace.”
“Please do this for me. I love you, Ben.”
Ben held him and kissed him, and told him a hundred times how much he loved him. He didn’t stop, even when Jace’s breath became ragged. He held him until his body ached with discomfort and his stomach grumbled with hunger, long after Jace had stopped breathing. When the last of the light had left the room, Ben took Samson and shut the door behind him.
* * * * *
That the sun still rose the next morning was incredibly unjust. Someone good had died. People still woke up, had breakfast, went to work, and it was wrong. Flower petals still opened in the sun’s early light, and animals still grazed the day away, their minds untroubled. Someone good had died and the world had the audacity to move on.
Ben refused to. He no longer ate, and when he drank it wasn’t to give his body nutrition. He didn’t read, he didn’t watch TV, he didn’t entertain himself. He didn’t work, shower, or clean the house. The only task he allowed himself was making the necessary arrangements for Jace’s body, and even that was quickly taken over by Allison when she discovered the state he was in.
Ben knew he would die of a broken heart long before the funeral. If he didn’t, he would find another way to be with Jace again, no matter how extreme. Ben had never given much thought to the afterlife, but now it was his obsession. If he could get there, they could be reun
ited.
Three days after Jace’s death, Ben realized he hadn’t fed Samson. Everything had been forgotten in his grief, but the cat’s yowling could no longer be ignored. He wavered uncertainly before opening the can of cat food. What was to become of Samson? Who would take care of him after Ben was gone? Someone would, surely, but what if he was unwanted or mistreated? Jace had loved Samson more than anything and wouldn’t want to see him with strangers. What was Ben going to do, kill the cat before he killed himself?
Samson began meowing desperately as Ben tried to make up his mind. The cat had been aloof and unhappy the last couple of days, but obviously he still wanted to eat. Ben opened the can, his mouth watering at the smell. Hunger hit him hard, causing his stomach to cramp and his head to swim. He scooped the food out onto a plate on the floor before opening the cupboard and grabbing a loaf of white bread.
He shoved a piece into his mouth. The flavor was exquisite. After seventy-two hours of not eating, he thought the spongy slice of bread a meal fit for a king. Ben didn’t think about what he had done until he swallowed. He, like the rest of the world, had decided to go on, and the thought made him cry.
Ben promised himself to never stop hurting, to never let the pain leave him. He would ache inside and out, just as much as he did today, never letting it fade. He would never allow anyone to believe he was okay. Time would never heal his wounds. More than anything, he promised himself he would never love again.
Epilogue:
Austin, 2008
Chapter Twenty-eight
The doorbell rang again, sounding more mechanically grumpy than it had the first two times.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”
Ben stumbled for the door, kicking off the shoe that he had been putting on. He expected a late-night package delivery or someone handing out religious pamphlets as he opened the door. Instead he found an elegant woman wearing a black sequined dress and a hairstyle complex enough to puzzle M.C. Escher.
“How do I look?” Allison said, gesturing over her body like a showroom girl selling herself.
“Fabulous, but since when do you ring the doorbell?” Ben asked. “ The door wasn’t locked and you have a key anyway.”
“We have to conduct ourselves properly,” Allison said in her best English accent as she glided into the house. “We are on a date, you know.”
“Well, I still need to get my shoes on and check my hair.” Ben found one shoe in the hall before searching the living room for the other. “Jesus, you look good,” he said, eyeing Allison as he tied his laces. “I think I might be underdressed.”
“Hm,” Allison considered him over eyelashes that were longer than they’d been the day before. “Do you still have that grey sports jacket?”
“I think it’s clean, yeah. But grey with a pink dress shirt? Isn’t that kind of eighties?”
“You can pull it off, and there will be more colorfully dressed people where we are going.”
“I wish you would tell me where that is,” Ben complained.
“But that would ruin our secret romantic mystery date!”
“Stop calling it that,” Ben scolded.
“I need a date!” Allison pouted. “They never seem to happen when you’re married.”
“Take that up with Brian,” Ben said as he ducked into the bedroom to find his jacket.
“You could use a date too, you know,” Allison said when he returned. “It’s been two years,” she added as delicately as possible.
Ben shrugged in his jacket, trying to make it sit right on his shoulders. He stopped suddenly and fixed Allison with a stare. “That’s not what you’re doing, is it?”
“What?” Allison asked a bit too casually.
“No,” Ben said, beginning to take the jacket off. “Forget it, then.”
Allison rolled her eyes. “I’m not fixing you up with anyone.”
“No blind date?”
“Not blind, deaf, amputated, or anything else. It’s just me and you going out for a night on the town. Promise.”
Ben eyed her a moment longer before feeling satisfied. He glanced over at the framed photo of Jace on the end table. The full-length shot showed Jace sharply dressed in his flight attendant uniform, every detail immaculate from the white starched collar down to his pointed shoes.
Ben smiled. He had grown tired of Jace’s name being synonymous with sorrow. No longer would he tarnish his memory. Jace had gone out of his way to make him happy and it wouldn’t please him to see Ben moping around. The memories they had made together were all that was left, and these days Ben tried his best to find joy in them.
“Ready?” Allison prompted.
“Yup.”
The roles were a bit reversed for a traditional date. Not only was Allison driving, but she was also paying. Ben had been happy to oblige since he was perpetually strapped for cash these days. A meal out anywhere was appreciated, but he was nevertheless taken aback by her choice of dining establishment.
The restaurant was supposed to be Cajun, but how Mexican food and karaoke factored into that was beyond comprehension. Ben and Allison were severely overdressed considering the rowdy vibe of the dining room, but he was at least glad not to see any romantic hopefuls waiting at their table. Knowing Allison, she had only chosen this dive so they could sing together, which was fine by him. They picked over their greasy meals before abandoning them for the stage, where they crooned a number of their favorite songs together.
They continued singing in the car on the way to their next destination. Ben suspected they were going to hit a few clubs, but Allison drove them downtown to Second Street. She found a free parking spot, acting as if she had just won the lottery. Ben had to chuckle, envying her enthusiasm. They walked together for a few blocks until they approached an art gallery where people flittered in and out.
“This is why we needed the fancy duds?” Ben asked.
“Mm-hm.” Allison nodded. “Piece of gum?”
Ben accepted it from her with suspicion. “No blind dates?” he asked again.
Allison smiled broadly, and Ben knew it was too late. He took the gum anyway. Ben scanned the people standing outside the gallery, looking for someone who seemed particularly expectant or nervous. He didn’t spot anyone.
“We’re here to look at the art,” Allison said innocently.
Ben glanced through the nearest window and away again, before doing a double take. The painting on the nearest wall was of a bulldog, bounding through a canvas glowing with iridescent colors. Emotion raced through his system, centered in his chest and nestled there comfortably, glad to be home again after so many years.
“Want to go inside?” Allison asked gently.
“I don’t know if I can handle this,” Ben confessed.
“I’ll sort of make you anyway,” Allison whispered.
“Okay,” Ben laughed nervously. “Is he-- No, don’t tell me. Let’s just look at the art.”
They browsed through the gallery, Ben trying to focus on only the paintings, but his head whipped around every few seconds in an attempt to spot the artist. He recognized some of the paintings from their younger days. Others he had never seen before, pieces from a life that he hadn’t been a part of. One was beyond simple, a finger-painted frog on a box of some sort, that caused Ben to laugh despite his nervousness. And then there was the portrait of Eric, completed now and glorious in its beauty. A small crowd of admirers surrounded it.
The teeth-grinding sound of microphone reverb cut through the gallery. “Is this thing on? Whoa! Too loud. Sorry.”
Ben practically ran toward the sound of that voice. The rest of the gallery moved with him, clogging halls and frustrating his attempts to get there first. By the time he reached the main room, it was already half-full. Ben stood on his toes, straining to see past the people in front of him. The old man just ahead moved to join his wife before a portly lady scooted to the side, perhaps sensing the laser beams shooting from Ben’s eyes.
And there he was. Tim W
yman. He looked fantastic. The pudginess was gone from his belly, the tight dress shirt revealing the all-too-perfect physique that Tim had before meeting Ryan. His jet black hair had grown out some and was styled messily around the silver eyes that no longer looked tired. Instead they shone with a light that Ben had only seen in their most private moments. Those eyes were searching the crowd, but before they found Ben, the portly woman had shifted back, obscuring him from view.
“Uh, I’m really glad you all decided to be here,” Tim began. “I’m not really good at speeches, so bear with me.”
The audience laughed. Ben began working around to the side of the crowd, hunting for a way through to the front.
“The art you see here is about twenty years in the making. I’m sure most of you have seen my crowing achievement, ‘Frog Goes Sailing on Boat’?”
The audience laughed again.
“That’s from when I was eight and is the first painting I ever did.”
Ben had finally broken through to the front, but was so far to the side that he was beyond Tim’s peripheral vision. At least he could see him now, nervously shifting from foot to foot while mumbling into the microphone.
“I owe this art to a lot of people. The subjects in each piece, of course. My dog Chinchilla, or Eric, who was a father, a hero, and much more to me. Even strangers, like the old woman I saw lying in the grass at the park, staring up at the clouds and giggling like a little girl at what she saw there.” Tim paused, searching the crowd again. “So many people have inspired me, but only one gave me the courage to show what I had painted to other people. I hope he’s here somewhere tonight, and as I finish this clumsy speech, I’d like you all to clap for him, not for me. Thank you, most of all, to Benjamin Bentley.”
The audience burst into applause. Ben blushed, even though he was effectively incognito. Tim turned off the mic and gave a little bow, and people slowly began to disperse. Some remained behind to talk to the artist. Ben watched them with envy. How easily they could walk up to Tim without being overwhelmed with a decade’s worth of feelings.