The Nothingness of Ben (16 page)

“Hey, Trav,” he said, opening the door, expecting to see him making pancakes or something. “I’m feeling….” He stopped.

“Ben, did I wake you up? I sure didn’t mean to do that, but since you’re here, what the hell, have a seat. I’m fixing migas and I know how much you love ’em.”

Ben didn’t believe his eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

Because standing in front of him, dicing a fresh tomato and scrambling some eggs, was his father.

Chapter 12

“
W
HAT
’
S
going on?” Ben asked.

“Sit down, let’s have some breakfast.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“That never stopped you before. Remember when you were a boy and couldn’t sleep? We’d come in here and fix something to eat. Afterward you were always right as rain.”

“What are you doing here, Dad? You’re dead.”

“Life is full of surprises,” he answered, throwing up his hands in a gesture of resignation. “Sit down.”

Ben took a seat at the kitchen table. His father finished scrambling the eggs and vegetables, throwing in the tortilla strips at the last minute. He split the contents of the skillet onto two plates, sprinkled them with grated cheddar cheese, and brought them over to the table. His father went to the fridge and retrieved a jar of salsa. Finally, he sat down and inhaled the aroma of the food in front of him.

“Ah, smells great, doesn’t it?”

He put a couple of spoonfuls of salsa onto the Tex-Mex egg dish and then shoveled a forkful into his mouth.

“Dig in, Ben.”

Ben picked up his fork and tried the migas. They tasted perfect. He added some salsa and watched his father while he ate.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

“Checking in, mostly. The world whacked you upside the head pretty dandy, didn’t it, son?”

“Pretty dandy, Dad. I wish I could say I’ve been this superhero who swooped in and rescued everyone, but so far I suck at this. I wasn’t too happy when I thought I was going to be moving back here, either. I was really pissed off.”

“Yes, I know that. Get it off your chest. You’ve always had a selfish streak, even when you were a child. You never wanted to share your toys with other kids. I suppose you don’t remember throwing a fit in the middle of Aunt Julie’s living room? With your cousin Billy? Over a Tonka truck, no less. But, son, it doesn’t matter what mood you’re in on the road to doing the right thing. You’re allowed to bitch and moan all the way. You still got there, that’s my point. And you don’t
suck
at this. As long as everyone’s alive, you’re doing just fine, and the last I checked, they were all still breathing. You don’t need to be a superhero.”

“You set the bar too low.”

“I wouldn’t be upset if you turned out to be a better man than I was.”

“It hasn’t been all bitching and moaning. I like my brothers. I never appreciated them before this happened. I had no idea they were so interesting, really. I mean, Quentin is a handful but I love him to death. Jason I just want to shelter. And Cade… well, you had to see it. He reminds me so much of you. Every day it becomes more and more apparent. Quentin sees it too. I catch him watching Cade with this sad look on his face. He’s going to miss you most of all, Dad.”

“Which one? Cade or Quentin?”

“Cade.”

“Well, that’s where Travis comes in.”

Ben smiled. “Travis is a part of the family now?”

“Son, life is pretty much a process of problem-solving. Sure, I’ve studied as much philosophy as the next English professor, but at the end of the day, the most successful people are the ones who recognize how to match solutions to their problems. Cade has interests that none of you share. That’s a problem. If you don’t recognize Travis as a solution—as a part of your future—then you’re simply not paying attention. I’m going to tell you a 100 percent true story. On the day I first met him by the curb, I came into this very kitchen and said to your mother, ‘Grace,’ I said, ‘that boy has Ben written all over him.’ Well, she thought I was crazier than a shithouse rat. And now look at you two. ‘Lovebirds’, isn’t that what Quentin called you?”

“You were never okay with the gay thing, were you?”

His father scoffed at the suggestion.

“Horseshit. I was fine with the gay thing. We’re all fine with the gay thing.”

“Then why did you tell Travis everything about me except that?”

“Because
that
was something he needed to hear from you. Your problem is that you play up the gay thing because you don’t think you’re interesting enough without it.”

“That’s not—”

“Be careful.”

“—true. Mom’s family is not okay with it.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Here’s what you don’t know. You and Travis would be what you are even if you weren’t gay. You two are not an accident and you have more history than you’ll ever realize. But you’re also not pony rides and sunshine. This is going to be a hard road for both of you. One of these days you’re going to ask yourself, is it worth the….” His father paused. “Never mind. It’s not fair for me to say anything more. Just remember, match your solutions to your problems. And if you lose your way, listen to Quentin.”

“Quentin?”

“He’s an old soul.”

Ben looked at his father and blinked.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t really know what I was doing either.”

“You were an awesome dad.”

“We both know that wasn’t always the case. I never even managed to get Christmas lights on the damn house.”

“Well, you’re not going to hear any complaints from me. According to Travis, I turned out alright.” Ben paused. “I feel like I’m waiting for that moment, though. When things will make sense to me again. When I won’t be so angry. I know that you’re gone, even though I’m sitting here talking to you. I’ve acknowledged that. But our lives have no… forward momentum. Does that make sense?”

“Let me tell you a story. It all began back when I was a boy and my folks took me and your Uncle Tommy on vacation to the lake house. Every summer. This was in the 1970s. I was maybe thirteen or fourteen. My father drove a Chevy Impala. I mean, this was a boat of a car. The backseat was so big that me and Tommy could both sleep lying down. My dad built this bench that went in the space between the back and front seats. My mom took the towels and bedding we brought for the rental cottage and made a mattress. So we had this bed in the back because we drove for ten hours, straight through. Tommy slept the whole way there. Me, most of the time, I would sit with my arms on the front seat, my head propped up between Mom and Dad. I liked to watch my father drive.

“He always drove with his right hand at twelve o’clock and his left hand on his left thigh. Every so often, he would open up his right hand, rotate it to the right, like he was airing it out or something, and then close it back down on the wheel. He did this maybe every ten minutes or so. Open, Close. Wax on, wax off. And I watched this from the backseat, summer after summer.”

“Did you ever ask him about it?”

“Never. I just watched. It was a secret that I shared with him. I knew that something was going on, even if I didn’t know what it was. I knew it was a part of him and that made it a part of me too. It was a mystery that lasted my entire childhood.

“So, when I turned sixteen, I started driving. We still had that old Impala as a second car, and my dad said that if I was going to wreck something, I could wreck that. So I wasn’t allowed to drive the new car. One day Mom and I were going to Dallas for some back-to-school shopping, and I wanted to drive, but of course that meant we had to take the old Impala. She wasn’t crazy about the idea but gave in eventually. So we’re heading up I-35, and this is probably the longest I’ve ever driven on the freeway. I’m talking to my mom and trying to pay attention and making sure I signal and this and that. And without even noticing it, I end up with my right hand at twelve o’clock and my left hand on my left thigh.”

“Just like your dad.”

His father winked.

“I look down at the dashboard. Now, this was an old-style dashboard, where the speedometer spans about ten inches across. It’s not a tiny little dial like you see today. It was this big sprawling thing that goes from zero on the far left to 120 on the far right. And in the middle was 55, which was the speed limit at the time. This was back when we were trying to conserve gasoline. Now, I’m driving along with my mom and I want to make sure I’m not speeding. So I look down. At the dashboard. I can’t see the needle on the speedometer because my right hand is at twelve o’clock, blocking the middle section, where 55 was. So without even thinking about it, without any understanding of what I was about to do, I open up my hand and rotate it to the right, so that I can see the needle and check my speed, and….”

Ben’s jaw dropped. “Wax on, wax off.”

“Yes. In that instant, I understood my father. All those years I sat in the backseat, watching him drive. All those years I wondered why he lifted his palm up every ten minutes. The answer was simple. It was to see the speedometer. But I couldn’t see that from the backseat. I couldn’t know that from my point of view.”

“Did you ever say anything to him?”

“Sure I did. He confirmed it. That’s what he’d been doing all along, which he said he would have told me if I had bothered to ask. That was the day my father lost all his mystery to me. Utterly. It was an Oedipal strike against him. I stepped into his point of view.”

“And now I’m stepping into yours.”

“Well, you’re not quite there yet, but when it happens, you’ll know it. And that’s when you’ll feel this forward momentum you’re talking about.”

“Hmm,” Ben murmured. “I see.”

His father added some more salsa to his migas. “You’re moving the boys to New York?”

“That’s the plan. What do you think?”

“Who’s paying for all this?”

“Colin’s family.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I have a job there, Dad. My life is there. Colin’s family is a resource for me, and I need all of those I can get right now. I’m matching a solution to a problem.”

“Fair enough. But do you believe this solution comes with no strings attached?”

“What do you mean?”

“If they pay for all this, you’re bound to them, correct? What if you want to go to another firm in ten years? Or better yet, what if you want to start your own firm? Do you think they’ll let you go?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

His dad paused while he finished up the last of the migas on his plate. “Maybe you should. You land on one space and think that’s the only option. Then you land on another space and think that’s the only option. Have you thought about keeping your options open? If they pay for this, then you’re selling your soul to somebody. I’m not exactly sure who that is at this point, but whoever it is, you’d better believe they’ll be around to collect someday.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Do me a favor. Humor me.”

“How?”

“Register for the Texas Bar Exam. It’s only given twice a year, in February and August. If you end up moving, you don’t have to take it. But at least register—as a favor to your old man. Will you do that for me?”

“Sure, Dad.”

“Good. Thank you.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“How long can you stay?” Ben asked.

“Not long. Your mother will get worried if I’m not back soon,” he said, snorting a chuckle at his own dead joke. “Seriously, Ben. You’re doing a good job with your brothers. I’m proud of you. Just try to be patient with Travis. It’s going to take him awhile to….”

“I’m falling in love with him, Dad.”

His father nodded. “I know.”

“I’m falling in love with him and I don’t know what to do about it. He doesn’t feel permanent. Do you remember when I did
Brigadoon
in high school?”

“That’s the one where the Scottish village only appears for one day every hundred years?”

“Right. I played Tommy, who falls in love with Fiona on that one day, and after that, she’s gone. That’s how it feels with Travis. Like he’s only here for one day, and when it’s over, he’s going to disappear for another hundred years. And I’ll be left wandering the highlands of Scotland looking for him. I’m trapped in a Broadway musical. That’s how surreal my life has become.”

“Muddy waters, Ben.”

“Yes, I know that. But for how long?”

His father got up from the table and cleared the plates away to the sink, rinsing them off as he always did before placing them immediately into the dishwasher.

“You should go back to bed. That fever took a lot out of you. Get some sleep and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Ben didn’t move. “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes,” his father answered. “It won’t be this way forever, Ben. For a while, yes. But not forever.”

He looked at his father one last time.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I love you, son.”

Ben got up from the table.

“One more thing,” his father said. “Do you remember how that musical ends?”

Ben stopped at the door to the kitchen but didn’t look back. “Yes. He loves her so much that the village reappears and he’s able to get back to her.”