When You Were Older (retail)

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

  ‘I think it means I don’t see them any more.’

  ‘Right. That’s what it means.’

  ‘I like Vince.’

  ‘Yeah. Me, too. You ready to walk some more?’

  This time I tried to breathe, and to slow down. We walked, more or less together, to the corner.

  ‘Pet store there, bus stop there,’ I said. Pointing. ‘That’s pretty easy. Right?’

  ‘Well. I was just following you.’

  ‘But we talked about which way to go. Which way do you go when you come out of the store?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Toward the stoplight.’

  ‘The stoplight! Right!’

  ‘Then which way?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘How can you not remember? You love pets, right?’

  ‘Oh! The pet store!’

  ‘Right. Now. Again. Which way when you come out of the store?’

  No answer. We stood there on the corner for a good minute. Well, not a good minute. But a minute. Ben had no answer.

  I sighed, and walked to the bus stop, and he followed me.

  We sat with our backs up against the cool bench, covering up an ad for a funeral home. Looking off in the direction of the bus. Assuming there would be a bus. At some point.

  Ben spoke first. ‘Are you mad at me, Buddy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. Good.’

  ‘But I’m not giving up on you, either. We’re going to keep after this.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said.

  It sounded far less optimistic than his previous ‘oh’.

  22 November 2001

  IT WAS TWELVE miserable days later, at 7.05 a.m., when I got the call that Ben hadn’t shown up at work on time. I was standing at Anat’s counter, picking out a powdered sugar donut. And dying a thousand deaths. From the look on her face, she was dying in similar numbers.

  My cell phone went off in my pocket. I fished it out, and recognized the number as Gerson’s Market. And I knew this could not be good. But, to put it as bluntly as possible, I didn’t even expect good news any more. I just hunkered down as best I could and waited for the bad news I assumed was stacked up waiting.

  Anat looked up at me expectantly. I think she saw my concern.

  We were alone in the shop. But, though we’d never discussed it, I think we had both toyed with the idea that Nazir might be watching us, or having us watched. We were behaving. In an exaggerated display. Thus the numerous deaths.

  ‘Problem with Ben?’ I asked, in place of hello.

  It was McCaskill. ‘I’m thinking so. He’s not here. He’s twenty minutes late. And you know how Ben is. Ben’s never late. I’m thinking maybe he forgot to get off the bus.’

  ‘I don’t think so. He had a note for the bus driver, asking for a reminder to get off at Ridgewood.’

  ‘Maybe he forgot to show it to him.’

  ‘No, that driver knows him. I made sure that driver would be on today. He knows Ben now. He would’ve asked. He must have gotten off the bus and walked the wrong way. I made him a map, but …’

  ‘I just know he’s not here. We’re all a little concerned.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go out and look for him. Right now. And from now on I’ll drive him in and we’ll practice on the bus home. I know you want him in on time.’

  ‘That’s not the problem,’ he said. ‘That’s not what we’re worried about. It’s Ben we’re worried about.’

  A pause, during which I had a flash of knowing. It told me to hang up quickly, before he said more. It told me he was gathering up to say more. But my reflexes let me down.

  He said more.

  ‘You know, your mom tried this. And it never did work out.’

  ‘I know that. I was just thinking maybe she gave up too soon.’

  ‘She tried for an awful long time.’

  I sighed deeply, moving the phone away first, so he wouldn’t hear. I looked up at Anat, snagged on her worried gaze. I covered the phone with one hand.

  ‘I have to go look for him,’ I said, realizing as I spoke that there was nothing I could tell her that she hadn’t already gathered. I uncovered the phone and turned my attention back to McCaskill. ‘Give me a little more time with him,’ I said.

  ‘I guess it’s up to you. I guess you know best. I just want to make sure you know—’

  I cut him off. I was tired of knowing things. Everybody wanted me to know things. All things I’d be happier not knowing.

  ‘I have to go look for Ben. I’ll get back to you.’

  And I hung up on him.

  I sighed. And looked right into her eyes. We just locked into that moment for a long time.

  Then I said, ‘I guess I’ll be taking that powdered sugar donut to go.’

  I drove around until twenty after seven, dropping powdered sugar on to my jeans, and on to the driver’s seat of the car. I almost ran a stop sign brushing powdered sugar off my lap. I almost sideswiped a parked Lexus craning my neck to follow a man who turned out not to be Ben.

  Finally, just by luck, I saw him. In the back seat of a station wagon as it drove by, heading in the opposite direction. I swung a dangerous U-turn and followed the car. Not surprisingly, my chase led me into the parking lot of Gerson’s Market.

  I parked right behind the station wagon and jumped out, leaving the engine still running.

  Ben was just opening the door. Untangling his endless legs.

  He looked up at me. ‘Hey, Buddy,’ he said. ‘Don’t be mad.’

  ‘Ben, what happened?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I looked up at the driver, who had gotten out of the car. An old man, maybe eighty. His face looked familiar, but only in that small-town way. He definitely wasn’t new around here, though. We’d grown up somewhere near him. His wife stayed in the passenger seat.

  ‘We picked him up over on Randall,’ the man said.

  ‘Randall?’

  ‘Yeah. He was a good mile and a half from work. First we saw him, but we just went by. But then we went around the block. My wife said, “Ben should be in to work by now. What’s Ben doing wandering around all by his lonesome?” So I drove around again, and we stopped and asked him where he was going. “Gerson’s Market,” he says. But he was walking in the exact opposite direction.’

  I looked to Ben, but it was too late. All I saw was his back disappearing through the automatic door of the market.

  ‘Well, I appreciate your help. I appreciate your stopping for him.’

  ‘You know, your mom tried to teach him to ride the bus. Never did work out.’

  Small towns. I had an overwhelming flash of longing for New York, where the person who offers assistance is nearly guaranteed not to know your entire family history.

  ‘Thanks again,’ I said, and followed Ben inside.

  He was already at his station, bagging groceries.

  ‘Don’t be mad at me, Buddy,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not mad at you. I was just going to see if there’s anyone at your work who could walk you to the bus stop.’

  ‘I could walk him,’ the checker said. She looked about fifteen, with braces and problem skin. ‘I can take my break around the time he gets off.’

  ‘Thank you. That would be really helpful. Ben. Don’t forget to show the driver your note.’

  ‘OK. But I have to think about work now. I’m late. And there’s a lot to bagging groceries. More than you think.’

  I just stood rooted to the spot for a moment. Then I looked at the checker, who smiled shyly at me. As though she thought I was dreamy.

  ‘Bye, Rusty,’ she said.

  I didn’t bother to correct her. I just drove back to the house.

  I left the house at three thirty to walk to the bus stop. I sat on the bus bench for nearly an hour. Three buses came by. Ben wasn’t on any of them.

  * * *

  At about six o’clock, after nearly two hours of driving around looking for him, I came home to c
heck the answering machine. In case somebody had called on the land line to say they had him, or had seen him.

  I saw the red message-light blinking, and prayed this would be good news for a change.

  I played the message. It was hard to make out. Someone calling from a crowded room. Like a party, or a bar. A guy. I didn’t get his name.

  ‘Just want to let you know we have Ben. Found him wandering over by the railroad tracks, a few miles out of town. So we took him to the funeral with us. I was gonna bring him home right after, but Mark said let him come with us. And that was OK with Ben. All the guys are out getting drunk. You know. In honor of Vince. Anyway, I’ll make sure Ben gets home tonight. I’ll drive him home myself.’

  Click.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I said out loud.

  Then I pulled up the caller ID and called … whoever it was … back.

  ‘Yeah?’ I heard. And the same rush of background noise. Voices, and the unmistakable clink of bottles and glasses.

  ‘Who’s this, again?’

  ‘Rusty?’

  ‘Yeah. Who am I talking to?’

  ‘It’s Chris, man. Chris Kerricker. You know. From track? Norville High?’

  ‘Oh, Chris. Right. I didn’t understand your name on the message.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s noisy in here, man.’

  ‘What was the thing about a funeral?’

  ‘Vince, man. His funeral was today. Full military funeral at sunset, you know, with the gun salute, and the flag they fold up and give to his mother. The whole nine yards.’

  Right. Vince. I didn’t even know they’d shipped his body home.

  ‘Nobody told me Vince’s funeral was today. I would’ve wanted to go.’

  A long, ugly silence. Freighted with something.

  ‘Sorry, man.’

  But he wasn’t. Well, maybe he was now. I don’t know. But it was clear, in the way he said it, that I was not left off the guest list by accident.

  Unless I was being paranoid. Reading something in.

  No. I wasn’t. What I heard is what was there.

  ‘Wait … where was this funeral? Around here?’

  ‘Fort Scott.’

  ‘Fort Scott?’ I shouted. ‘That’s like a hundred miles from here!’

  ‘No way, man. Sixty. Sixty-five tops. We made it in a little over forty-five minutes with Mark driving, but he was booking it pretty good.’

  Great, I thought. It’s OK that you took Ben sixty-five miles out of town, because Mark drives like a maniac. Perfect. But it was water under the bridge now.

  ‘How did Ben do with the gun salute?’

  ‘Freaked him out. But he’s OK now.’

  ‘Look. Chris. This is not acceptable. I’m coming to pick up Ben. I don’t want Ben drinking. Are you back in town?’

  ‘Yeah. We’re back. But he’s not drinking, man. He’s just with us.’

  ‘Is Mark there?’

  ‘Yeah. Mark’s here. Everybody’s here.’

  ‘Just tell me where you are. I’ll come pick up Ben.’

  ‘No, let him stay, man. He knew Vince. He loved Vince. It’s like an extra private memorial. Just for us guys. We’re honoring Vince. Ben wants to be a part of this. He’s having a good time. It’s his life, man. Let him have a life.’

  That one hit me below the belt. Because that is the idea. The goal.

  ‘Chris, I …’

  ‘I won’t let him get sloshed, man. But let him be with us. Vince was our brother. It’s what brothers do.’

  I knew better. There was a very clear place in my gut that knew better.

  But all I said was, ‘OK, but no booze. And not too late.’

  By eight o’clock I knew all was not as it should be. I’d fully expected Ben to walk in the door by 7.58 p.m. So he could be in bed by eight. Not a moment sooner. Not a moment later.

  I sat by the window, steaming up the glass with my breath. Looking out into the darkness. Every time I heard a car engine, I sat up straighter. But the car always drove by without stopping.

  At eight thirty, I called Chris’s cell phone again. And every ten minutes after that.

  All I got was his voicemail every time.

  At nearly eleven, the phone rang. I grabbed it up on the first ring.

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Ben’s not there with you? Where’s Ben?’

  Anat.

  ‘Oh. Hi. He’s out with some of the guys.’

  ‘I didn’t know Ben ever went out with some of the guys.’

  ‘No, neither did I.’

  A long silence. I wondered how much I should tell her about it. I didn’t want to talk about Ben. I didn’t want there even to be a Ben to have to talk about. I had Anat on the phone. I had my own needs. My own life. I was already tired of being Ben’s constant manager.

  ‘Where did they go?’ she asked.

  ‘I didn’t really mean to let him go out. At all. I went to meet him at the bus stop, but he must’ve gotten on the wrong bus or something. I don’t know what he did. But this guy I know from high school picked him up out by the railroad tracks. They’re all out drinking and mourning this friend of ours who got killed in Afghanistan.’

  ‘Vince, yes. Vince. I heard. His funeral was today. Out at Fort Scott. You didn’t tell me he was a friend of yours.’

  ‘Didn’t I? I thought I did. Well. I probably tried. There’s been a lot going on.’

  ‘Are you worried about Ben?’

  ‘Closer to frantic at this point. Chris promised me he wouldn’t give Ben any alcohol. But it’s eleven o’clock. I can’t imagine what would be going on with Ben that he would miss his bedtime. He’s fanatical about it.’

  ‘Maybe he just got caught up in the moment. They’ll bring him home. If you have to sober him up, you will. Life will go on.’

  I looked out the window for another moment, letting her last sentence percolate. Does life really know enough to go on? Even after all of this? Is there life after Nazir’s disapproval? Would we get beyond that someday? Look back at it and laugh? Or at least not cry? I hadn’t been able to bring myself to ask her if she would ever consider marrying me against his wishes, or even without his blessing. What a question to ask a woman you’ve known just over two months.

  ‘Where did you just go?’ she asked. Quietly. Intimately.

  ‘Sorry. Talk to me about something that isn’t Ben. Tell me why you called.’

  A long silence.

  Then she said, barely over a whisper, ‘I was having an imagining.’

  ‘Oh. Tell me about it. Please.’

  ‘I was imagining I called you and said, “Unlock your front door.” And then I came over and climbed into bed with you, and we held each other all night.’

  ‘I should get to bed, then. I’m sitting up waiting for Ben.’

  ‘I can’t, really,’ she said. ‘You know I can’t.’

  ‘Afraid he’ll find out?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. That’s not why.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I think if I were to go through with this idea I might not be a virgin any more.’

  I felt tiny hairs standing up on my forearms, and the back of my neck.

  ‘I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want. You know that. I promise.’

  ‘But I don’t. I don’t promise that.’

  No one said anything for close to a minute. A literal minute. I was too aware of my breathing, and I wondered if she could hear it.

  Then she said, ‘Take the phone and go into your bed.’

  ‘OK.’

  I did as I was told. Except I really didn’t have a bed. Not in this part of the country. My mother’s bed would have to do.

  I slid in under the covers.

  ‘OK. Now what?’

  ‘Just put the phone right beside your face. Right where you would want my face to be.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Now tell me anything you want to tell me. Anything that’s true. Tell me what you would say if I were there wi
th you.’

  I froze. I couldn’t say anything. What if I told her I loved her and she thought I was out of my mind? What if she said I couldn’t possibly, after so little time?

  The silence dragged on.

  ‘Russell,’ she whispered. ‘If you’re ever going to go out on a limb, make this the night.’

  ‘What about you? How are you at going out on limbs?’

  ‘I’m going to be with you whether my father objects or not. Can you think of any scarier limbs than that?’

  I lay under the covers, feeling the news warm every nerve synapse, every muscle, every brain cell. I wasn’t frozen any more. But I still couldn’t speak.

  ‘All right. You’re very bad at this,’ she said teasingly. ‘I’ll go first. The very first day you ever walked into the shop, I looked up at you, and I said to myself, There he is.’

  ‘There he is?’ I parroted. Stupidly.

  ‘Yes. There he is. You know, you think about who you might meet and when they might come. You always know that someday a door will open and in will come the one you’ve waited for. And then the waiting is done. And the rest of your life can begin. And the minute I looked up and saw you there, I thought, There he is.’

  More silence. I just could not pull it together to speak.

  ‘Did you know anything special the first time you saw me?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It was the second time.’

  ‘Oh. That’s not bad.’

  ‘Remember when we were talking about my mother, and I started to cry? And you handed me paper towels because you didn’t have tissues? And a minute later you said I was looking at you strangely? I was looking at you strangely because I’d just fallen in love with you. At the time I wasn’t sure if it was fair to call it love. But now I know it really was.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that.’

  ‘I know it seems too soon, doesn’t it, Russell? If someone were listening, they’d say it was too soon.’

  ‘What do they know?’

  ‘Right. What do they know?’

  ‘Things change so fast. Life turns on a dime. Someone said that to me. Recently. Who said that to me? Oh. Right. Your father. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned him.’

  ‘It’s OK. I haven’t forgotten him or anything.’

  ‘You sound sleepy,’ I said.