by Peter Giglio
“Well?” she said.
He didn’t say anything; rather, he pulled his T-shirt down over his crotch, trying to hide the growing bulge in his pants.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.
“Goddamn, Aubrey,” he said, “are you sure this is what you want?”
“Why not?”
“You’re four years older than me, and—”
“Hush,” she said, putting a finger to his lips. “My mother was five years older than my father.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I said shut up.” Then she lunged at him, kissing him again. And this time, he gave in, throwing his arms around her and putting his tongue in her mouth.
* * *
That night, Ben once again couldn’t sleep. But this was different. Unable to wipe the smile from his face, he massaged the mean erection beneath the covers, routinely flicking his eyes at the door to make sure his mother wasn’t watching.
In the dark corner of the room, the silhouette of Johnny seemed to shake his head in disapproval. But Ben didn’t let his old friend say anything.
Fuck you, Johnny, he thought. Fuck everyone and everything. I’m in love.
5
When he woke up the next morning, Ben’s neck was stiff and his shoulders sore. A quick glance at his alarm clock told him it was already close to noon, and he was surprised he’d slept so late. Creeping out of bed, his first thought was to call Aubrey, but then he remembered that she started her new job today.
The plans they’d made for Saturday night came back to him; they were going to see an encore presentation of Gremlins at The Fox, the dollar theater downtown. He suspected she’d made that choice to lessen the risk of running into her classmates. Cool teenagers didn’t frequent The Fox or make a habit of seeing movies meant for kids, but the whole arrangement was fine by him. After last night, he wasn’t anxious to run into Craig Winstead anytime soon, and he was glad to be spending more time with his favorite person.
In the bathroom, he changed the bandage on his wrist, then he popped open the orange prescription vial of antibiotics, which his mother had told him were to protect his wound against infection. He snapped a Dixie cup from the dispenser on the vanity and filled it under the tap, then he chased the pill with the water. Before leaving the bathroom, he took a couple aspirin, hoping they might lessen the ache in his joints. Clearly, he’d slept in a weird position.
Rubbing his neck, starting to feel human again, he slogged to the kitchen counter. There, he found a note from his mother that told him she was out shopping. Other than the drone of the central AC, the house was silent. No sappy love stories on TV, no adult contemporary coming from the kitchen radio. Peace and quiet. Comfort. But he knew it wouldn’t take long before boredom got the best of him.
Back in his room, he eyed the stack of paperbacks he’d picked up from The Book Rack a week ago, even flipped through a few, then shook his head. Horror novels, all of them. Monsters and mayhem didn’t fit his present mood.
Standing in the dining room, he stared at the pool and thought about going for a dip, but the sky was overcast, clouds pressing low. He could tell it would start raining soon, and he didn’t want to run the risk of death by electrocution.
As he entered the kitchen to fix breakfast, wondering if there was any Captain Crunch left in the pantry, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He gazed through the window above the sink and watched a vehicle pull up to the house. To his knowledge, the blue Ford station wagon in the driveway didn’t belong to a friend of the family.
If a salesman emerged from the wagon, he’d duck around the corner and scurry to the safety of his room through the front of the house. Sure, he could easily deal with a vacuum peddler or an insurance agent; he’d just tell them his parents weren’t home. He wasn’t, however, anxious to face a stranger in his Tron T-shirt and boxer shorts.
But it wasn’t a stranger who got out of the car. The moment the business end of a crutch landed on the pavement, Ben knew who the visitor—his visitor—was.
Lori Chance, with evident effort, pulled herself up on the crutch beneath her left arm, planting her leg, the one she hadn’t lost in the accident, on the cracked driveway.
Ben hadn’t seen Johnny’s mother since the memorial service, which had been delayed a month while she recuperated in the hospital. Their exchange following the funeral had been brief and tense. And now, a rush of dread, inescapable, consumed him, a chill dancing like cold fingers along the back of his neck.
He considered darting for the TV room, pretending not to be home. But he couldn’t look away from Mrs. Chance as she hobbled up the walkway to the back door. This was his best friend’s mother, and he knew he was honor bound by that. Also, the last thing he needed was another layer of guilt to contend with.
Approaching the sliding glass door, he locked eyes with Lori Chance. Smiling, she leaned her weight onto her right crutch and leg, waving at him. He slid the door open. “Hi, Mrs. Chance, my mom’s not home.”
“That’s fine, Benjamin.” She grunted a little as she struggled up the stairs of the deck, and Ben was gripped by shame for not helping her. He just didn’t know what to do, and worried that if he tried to help her with his trembling hands, he would only succeed in knocking her down.
At the top of the stairs, she said, “I’m actually here to see you.”
“Oh, okay. Well, come on in.” He stepped aside, giving her a wide berth as she struggled into the house. He said, “I, uh, let me go put some pants on, okay?”
“Of course,” she said, resting her crutches against the wall by the door.
When he returned, she was sitting at the table, smiling up at him.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
He stood there for a moment, looking down at her, waiting for her to start talking. It was clear she was uncomfortable, though Ben didn’t know why. If she doesn’t want to be here, he thought, why did she come?
“Have a seat,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He dragged a chair from under the table and sat across from her.
“Do you do that a lot? Apologize for no reason?”
“I, uh, well, I get nervous when people stand over me and talk. Makes me feel like, I don’t know, like I’ve done something wrong, so I guess I’m sorry for standing over you. It’s just that I didn’t expect you to come by.”
She nodded. “I understand, Benjamin, but you should reserve your apologies for times when they really mean something. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Her voice was kind, and Ben started to relax despite the rigid formality of her posture, which told him that her presence here was a chore.
He blurted a nervous laugh. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“And it’s I who should be sorry for not coming to talk to you sooner.” After saying that, she eased back in her chair, as if a burden had been lifted from her.
Ben was struck by a terrifying notion: What if she’s here to ask for the Super 8 camera and projector back? He felt his muscles reflexively tense. Those things had, after all, belonged to Johnny’s parents. Maybe she and John Senior were feeling nostalgic and wanted to watch old home movies of their son. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Chance, but I don’t get it. Why are you sorry?”
Looking down at her lap, she said, “Have you ever heard of a phantom limb?”
He shook his head.
“Sometimes,” she said, “I feel like my leg is still part of me. It’s not as bad as it used to be, mind you, but sometimes when I wake up, when I’m in that hazy state between worlds, I forget what happened to me, forget my handicap.”
“Oh, yeah, I think I saw something about that in an old war movie a long time ago.”
“Well, as painful as it was to lose my leg, it was nothing compared to losing my son. No matter what state of mind I’m in, I never forget what happened to him. Johnny’s not a phantom. He will never leave me.” She reac
hed across the table and took Ben’s arm in a tight grip. “And he’ll never leave you, his best friend. Do you understand that?”
“I…I think so.”
“He loved you, Benjamin. Very much. You were the only friend he had, and even when other kids picked on him, I knew he would be all right, because he had you.”
Ben’s throat was suddenly dry, his pulse thrumming hard enough that he could hear his heartbeat. Part of him wanted to race from the room, yelling at Johnny’s mother to leave, but a bigger part of him knew this conversation was necessary. He took a deep breath, then said, “I miss him.”
“I know you do, sweetie. So do I. But the world keeps turning and life goes on, just like it will when we’re gone. Do you know what the worst thing a living soul can do to the dead?”
“Forget them?”
She smiled. “You’re a smart kid, and I suspect that’s what most people would say, but that isn’t exactly the truth as I see it, though it is important. The worst thing we can do is cling to them. I’m not saying we should forget who they were or the joy they brought us. And I’m not suggesting for a second that we can’t hold on to memories of them. But we have to let them go in the here and now, painful as that might be, or else we become casualties of whatever horrible fate they were dealt.” Lori reached into the breast pocket of her shirt and pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper. She stared at it for a moment before handing it to Ben.
He unfolded the paper, instantly recognizing Johnny’s handwriting.
“Life,” Lori said, “is for the living.”
Ben read:
I Johnny Chance being sound of my mind want everything I have to go to my best friend and only friend Ben if some thing bad ever happens to me that makes me be dead. That means my Atari and all of my games and the Super 8 camera and projector my parents give to me. That means my collection of books and comic books and baseball cards and toys but not the dumb ones I got when I was a little kid that he wont want any way. Ben is my brother and if I am dead than I miss him. And I hope kids at school will stop being so mean to him because I know I am the reason why they are so mean to him because of my lisp and thats why they call me gay boy. I hope he is always happy and has loads of other kids to play with. I hope that no one reads this and I am not dead and I get to keep all of my things and have lots of friends some day when the doctors fix my voice and I become a big shot in the movies. I also want Ben to have this letter if I am dead. I want him to know I love you but not in a gay way so don’t get any funny ideas and dig up my body. Ha! Ha! He likes to come over and play my Atari games. If I am dead he cannot come over to play my Atari games and my parents don’t like Atari games so Ben should have them. If someone killed me I want Ben to get revenge. If I died because of some thing lame and boring than I want Ben not to worry like I would if some thing did happen to him. I want him to play Atari and be happy every day.
John Michael Chance
March 21, 1982
Tears in his eyes, Ben looked up at Johnny’s mother, who had also started to cry.
“He was only ten when he wrote this,” Ben said.
She laughed. “He clearly hadn’t been taught how to use commas yet, had he?”
“When I hear his voice in my head, he doesn’t have a lisp.”
“That’s nice.”
“Not really.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
Johnny smiled. “’Cause he sounds more like Eddie Haskell from Leave it to Beaver than Johnny.”
“Oh, how awful.”
“I know.”
“I mean, how awful for you.”
“Well, Wally Cleaver did all right, so…” He shrugged.
Lori laughed.
“Why today?” Ben asked. “Why did you come today?”
“I should have come sooner. I found this letter when John and I were going through his things six months ago, but…I couldn’t let go yet. I know they’re only material possessions, things that I could never get any use out of, but…they reminded me of him, the way his room was set up, the way he had left it. I…I didn’t want to change any of that. I wasn’t ready. But I’m most ashamed of why I didn’t come see you sooner.”
“Why was that?”
“Because, you were alive and Johnny wasn’t. That’s terrible, I know.”
“No,” Ben said. “It’s not. I understand completely.”
“Are you sure?”
“Heck, I’ve been imagining your son, my best friend, as a bully from a sixties sitcom. I think we’re even.”
She laughed again. “Thank you, Benjamin. You were always such a good kid, and the way you stood up for Johnny meant the world to me and John. Clearly it meant a lot to Johnny. You were always so loyal. He talked about you every day.”
“But what made you come today, Mrs. Chance?”
“I promised I wouldn’t say anything, but I must tell you what a good friend Aubrey Rose is to you.”
“She called you?”
“No, she came by the house and saw me on her way to work this morning. She told me that you were…well, she told me that you’ve been troubled by Johnny’s passing. Is that true? Have you been troubled?”
Ben nodded.
Lori touched Ben’s cheek. “Don’t let that go on, sweetheart. For yourself, your parents, your friends…and, most of all, for Johnny. People don’t write their last will until they have someone special in their lives to care and worry about. It’s something old people do, not ten-year-old boys. That’s how much you meant to him.”
Ben got up and, leaning down, put his arms around Lori. They held each other until the door slid open. Hefting a grocery bag, his mother barreled through the door as Ben took a step back from Johnny’s mother.
“Oh, hi, Lori.”
“Hi, Claudia.”
“I was wondering whose car that was in the driveway.”
“I was just getting ready to leave.”
“Don’t rush off on my account, let me make us some tea or…” She dropped the bag on the counter and turned back to her unexpected guest. “Or maybe you’d prefer coffee?”
“Thank you, but I have to get going. I just stopped by to give Ben some more of Johnny’s things.” Balancing on her leg, Lori pushed herself up on the chair before bracing herself against the door.
“Ben,” his mother said, “why don’t you help Mrs. Chance?”
“No, no,” Lori said. “When people try to help me, they just end up tripping me up. I’ve learned to get around pretty well on my own.” Firmly on her crutches, Lori shifted her attention to Ben. “But I do need you to come outside with me. There are a few boxes in the back of the station wagon that are yours.”
“Good seeing you again, Lori,” Ben’s mother said.
“Good seeing you, too.”
When Ben and Lori reached her car, she unlocked the back hatch and lifted it. Gesturing down at three cardboard boxes, she said, “All yours.”
One at a time, Ben lugged the boxes out and sat them on the edge of the driveway, then he turned back to Johnny’s mother as she slammed the hatch.
“I put a few of his old T-shirts in there, too,” she said. “Anything with Star Wars or Superman or Battlestar Galactica on it; all the stuff you guys were into together. I know he was a little smaller than you, but I thought you should have them anyway.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“There’s one more thing I need to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m sorry for being cold to you at Johnny’s funeral. It’s just that…well, I was numb inside at the time. All of my reactions—proper reactions, that is—they were delayed. It was like something deep inside triggered a shutdown for my own good. It’s hard to explain.”
Ben understood. He’d felt the same numbness after Johnny’s death. “It’s strange,” he said, looking down at his feet, “when I think about how people act all the time about little stuff. How mad my mom gets if I leave the milk out on the counter or slam the refrigerator do
or. But when the big things happen, the stuff that really matters, people just…freeze up.”
“Hopelessness,” Lori said. “That’s what it is. If you get angry about milk being left out, there’s a good chance the guilty party will get the message and make a change. There’s hope in that.”
Ben looked up. Lori, though still smiling, had tears streaming down her face. “Isn’t that what heaven’s for?” he said. “So we don’t lose hope.”
“Yes,” she said, “but it’s hard to make a leap of faith when your world’s been pulled out from under you.”
“The world’s a dark place,” Ben said.
Lori nodded. “Sometimes. But if you look around you—really look—you’ll see that there’s just as much good in the world as bad. Heck, there might even be more.”
“It sure doesn’t seem that way a lot of the time.”
“Look at me,” Lori said. “I have two good arms and one good leg. In the limb department I’m batting seven-fifty. Now if that were a batting average in baseball, I’d be bound for the Hall of Fame.”
Ben chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“All right,” Lori said, starting to hobble to the driver’s-side door of the station wagon, “that’s enough serious stuff for one day. You’re a kid, so go have some fun. You deserve it.”
Ben managed a weak smile and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Chance.”
Balancing her weight on the car door, Lori tossed her crutches into the backseat. “You keep thanking me when I should be thanking you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For being there for Johnny. Thank you for that, Benjamin. You helped make his life worth living.”
6
Not long after Lori Chance drove away, a hard rain fell.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Ben tried to block out the rataplan from the roof as he stared at the three boxes on his floor. His mother stood in the open doorway. He normally would have closed the door, but after lugging Johnny’s old things to his room, he’d been too mixed up to recognize his own habits.