lfad02

Life From A Distance

Ben

Chapter Two

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“But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!”

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

"Break Break Break"

The funeral was held the following Wednesday. I blocked out what happened immediately after I realized Mike had passed until that morning. I remember waking up, expecting to hear Mike breathing or maybe stirring in his sleep, but of course he wasn’t. I slept in his bed every night, clutching his pillow to me and remembering what he smelled like and felt like. It was all fading so fast.

Mom and dad were quite literally destroyed by the accident. I simply wasn’t there as far as they were concerned. My father told me to stay in my room while he helped my mother clean herself. I could hear them arguing back and forth about who was to blame, and they would alternately blame God and then me. They wouldn’t let me out of the house. They wouldn’t let me see Ian, the only person in the world who would have understood what I was going through. I was completely alone.

It wasn’t enough that I blamed myself for what happened to Mike. The fighting between my parents continued, and everything they said about Mike’s death seemed to my hypersensitive ears that they were laying all the blame at my feet. I reached my breaking point about two weeks after Mike left me.

My parents were arguing loudly right outside my room. It was an argument they had four times a day, and I knew it by heart. I’d finally had enough and I packed myself some clothes and a few mementos of Mike into my backpack and slipped out of my bedroom window. I picked up my bike for the first time since it happened. My body began to shake and tears flooded my face. My hand released the bicycle and it fell to the ground with a crash. A sound from the garage spurred me into action and I ran as far and as fast as I could. When I stopped I had no idea where I was. It wasn’t hard to find myself, though. I checked the next major road I came to and found I was at Juniper and Third Street, about six miles from home. I really had no idea how I’d gotten there or even where I was headed. I stood at the intersection turning in a circle. I had no idea what to do. Mike’s face, my face, kept coming to mind: his smile, his sardonic grin, his frown, his expression when we felt especially close.

A car stopped next to me as I continued to turn.

“Are you okay, son?” queried a male voice.

A glance told me it was a policeman. I couldn’t find my voice to answer him, so I nodded slowly. I was so dazed and confused that I didn’t realize he’d gotten out of the squad car until he was standing in front of me.

“I asked you where you live,” the stockily built man repeated, staring me in the eyes.

I noticed idly that he was shorter than me.

“Come on, son,” the man said in a kindly voice. “Let’s get you home.”

I jerked away from him the moment his hand touched my shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home.” I informed him.

“So you can talk. Why don’t you want to go home?”

I didn’t want to tell the cops that my parents were fighting because they might arrest them. Instead I said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m on my way to visit my brother and I had to remember how to get there.”

Shock hit me again, but I held the tears back.

“Where does he live?” The officer asked, still staring me in the eyes.

“Down on eleventh and Fir. It was a nice day so I decided to walk.”

Eleventh Street and Fir Avenue was the cross-street for the Legion Cemetery. That was where Mike had been buried.

“What’s your name?”

“Mike… er… sorry. Ben Foster,” I corrected quickly. “Michael is my middle name.” I felt the blood run from my face. Why had I called myself by my twin’s name?

“What’s in the bag, Ben?”

The whole time the guy was talking to me he was staring in my eyes, like he was trying to catch me lying to him or something. I pulled the bag off my shoulder and started to open it. The cop stopped me and his partner stepped out of the car.

“Whoa, there. Why don’t you let me open it. Is there anything in here you want to tell me about? Any drugs or weapons?”

I gaped for a moment before responding, “N-no, just a pocketknife and my inhaler.”

“You have asthma?”

“Sometimes. On bad air days.”

He unzipped my pack and went through it quickly, pulling out my inhaler and knife for a brief moment before replacing them and handing my bag back.

“Okay, Ben, there you go. Have a good walk.”

“Thanks. Have a good day.”

“You too, son.”

The cops got back in their car and drove on.

Suddenly the idea of visiting Mike’s grave became an obsession. I had to get there as soon as I could. The bus ran right down Highland to Tenth Street, and I could walk from there. What little cash I had was spent on bus fare. The bus got to my stop about five minutes later.

The bus stop was right across from the main gatehouse for the Highland Estates, a huge area where the super-rich lived. I’d never been in there but rumor had it that some of the mansions were in the fifteen-thousand square foot range. I couldn’t imagine living in a house that big. My house was barely two-thousand square feet.

The cemetery was a couple miles east from the bus stop. A hole in my stomach that had formed when I told the cop I was going to see my brother was now the size of the Grand Canyon and growing with every step I took. I managed to cross the street without incident, and the next thing I knew I was at the cemetery entrance. The realization that I didn’t know where Mike was hit me. I had already forgotten my other half. Mike’s voice sounded in my head.

You’re being stupid, Benji. You could never forget me, and I know that.

“Oh, God, Mike,” I said aloud. “I miss you so much I could die!”

You’re not going to die, Benji. You have a long life ahead of you.

“I can’t live without you!” The words ripped from my throat were cast upon the wind.

“Son? Are you alright?”

Another voice brought me back to reality. Coolness touched my cheeks in contrast to the flushed heat in my face. I realized I was crying.

“I need to see my brother.” The comment was automatic, not a conscious statement.

“Who is your brother?” The man who had interrupted my conversation with Mike asked.

“His name is Michael Benjamin Foster. He…”

Again my throat constricted. I was unable to complete my sentence. The man put his hand on my back and gently guided me into the graveyard.

“Let’s see if we can’t find your brother, okay?” He said gently

As he started to walk me into the cemetery I pulled away.

“That’s okay. I know where he’s at,” I choked out through a sob.

I turned and ran out into the field filled with headstones. Flowers in all stages of life and death littered small urns in front of some of them. Some people watched me curiously as I ran through the cemetery as if it were an odd occurrence to see a boy running into a graveyard. I passed two funerals on the way to the back corner where we had put my brother into the ground. I couldn’t even look at them. Tears threatened to run down my face. Another kid my age caught my attention as I ran on. He was in his father’s arms crying. It made me sick that all my father could do was yell at my mother when we were all suffering.

Slowing as I approached the area of Mike’s grave, I looked around to see if I was alone. With the exception of the father and his son almost one hundred yards away there was no one near me. It was easy to see where Mike lay because the sod hadn’t really settled in over the grave. A slow walk took me there, and on impulse, I laid down over him. I awoke some time later, feeling the need to talk with Mike. As I spoke, I imagined his voice responding back to me.

“Hi, Mikey.”

Hello, Benji.

“Sorry I haven’t been to see you before this.”

It’s okay. I understand. You’ve been busy.

“Mom and dad are fighting. It’s driving me crazy.”

Go to Ian.

“I can’t go to Ian’s, Mike. It’s not right. It’s not the same without you.”

I really want you to see Ian, though. He needs someone too.

“I hate being alone! Why did I have to be so stupid?”

You weren’t being stupid, Benjamin, so stop it.

“I knew it was dangerous. I know we’re not supposed to play around the canal and I go and jump it!”

And I followed you...

“If I hadn’t jumped you wouldn’t have either!”

I followed you because I wanted to, Ben! This wasn’t your fault.

“It’s my fault you’re dead. Why couldn’t it have been me? Why couldn’t I be the one who died?”

It wasn’t your time. And I could’ve gone to the bridge instead of jumping. It was my choice.

“I killed you!”

“You didn’t kill him, Ben. It was an accident.” The voice startled me. I didn’t even hear anyone come up on me. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I sat up and faced the owner of the voice. He was about my age and height with brown hair and olive green eyes. His face was lined with grief. A tear slid down his cheek as he knelt in front of me.

“I killed him, Ian.” I said stolidly. “He died because of what I did.”

“Benji,” I winced at his use of Mikey’s pet name for me, “that’s not true. It was an accident. That’s all it was.”

Another tear slid down his beautiful face.

“I led him to the jump. If I hadn’t, he’d still be here!” I yelled in an agonized voice.

“You don’t know that, Benjamin,” said another voice, a man’s voice with an English accent.

I looked over Ian’s shoulder and saw his father. He too was weeping openly.

“You don’t know that,” Edward Kettenger repeated. “Mike might very well have went for the jump anyway. No one knows anything for a certainty.”

“I do,” I barked back. “I know he wouldn’t have. I know Mike, and he wouldn’t have jumped.”

“You know him because he’s your identical twin?” Ed inquired in a quiet voice.

I nodded, trying to ease the knot that was forming in my throat again.

“What makes you so certain, Ben? If you two were identical and he wouldn’t have jumped, why did you?”

I stared at the man I called Dadtwo, a man I considered another father. In many respects he was a better father to me than my own.

“I killed him,” I said once more.

“Benji, please stop saying that!” Ian yelled.

“Why?” I asked sharply.

“Because it isn’t true!”

I simply stared at Ian. His tortured expression captivated me. As I studied him, he moved closer to me until he was nearly touching me.

“I can never know how much you loved Mike, Ben,” Ian said softly, “but I do know how much I loved him, and it’s tearing me apart. I know you must’ve loved him more than I did, and it has to be tearing you apart, too.”

I remained silent, my gaze locked to his.

“Please talk to me, Ben,” Ian pleaded.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“Why not, Ben? Why can’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

“Because if I do, I’ll lose it,” I said, still whispering. “I’ll die. I killed him, Ian.”

“No you didn’t!”

“I killed my brother! I killed Mike!”

Ian’s arms shot around me and pulled me tightly against him, forcing my face into his chest. My cries were muffled against him. Ian was shaking but held onto me as I broke down and cried. Another set of arms more powerful than Ian’s surrounded us both. Together, a father and his sons mourned the passing of a son and a brother.