Life From A Distance

Life From A Distance

Ben

Chapter Eighteen

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After hanging up the receiver, I thanked Mr. Voit and walked back toward the bedrooms. Matt met me.

“You can put your things in here, Ben.”

I went in the door and stopped, standing still as I looked around the room. It felt cold, almost sterile. Mike and I had slept here tens of times before he had died and I’d never felt that way before. My eyes drifted about, focusing on nothing and everything all at once.

God, I miss you, Mikey, I thought to myself.

I stumbled to the bed and sat heavily, as though the weight of the world sat on my shoulders. In truth, the weight of my world did sit on my shoulders. I had lost my brother in a stupid, stupid stunt, and because of that I was also losing my father. My family was being torn apart because of something I had been a party to, and I was powerless to stop the resulting disintegration.

“Ben?”

Matt’s soft voice penetrated my thoughts. I looked at him and saw concern in his expression.

“I don’t know what to do, Matt,” I said despondently. “My dad hates me. I can’t go back there. He’ll kill me.”

“I hope you don’t mean that literally,” the boy replied.

Matt came in and sat next to me.

“I don’t know, Matt. He wanted to hurt me tonight.” Unexpected tears formed in my eyes. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

Turning my head, I saw Matt was watching me. I met his gaze as the tears continued to build. A moment later Matt looked away, apparently uncomfortable. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Matt and Mark were not capable of helping me. The realization helped me regain my composure.

I hastily stood and walked to the bathroom, where I relieved myself and washed my face. The visage staring back at me from the mirror startled me. I thought I saw Mike staring back at me, but of course he wasn’t.

“I miss you, Mike. I wish you were here. I need you,” I whispered to myself, praying that Mike would answer me, but I knew he would not. He couldn’t answer me from the grave.

On impulse I started the water in the tub. As it was warming, I stripped out of my clothes and climbed in, redirecting the water to the shower head as I did. The first blast of water was like ice when it hit me. That was followed by a stream of water whose temperature steadily increased. I adjusted the temperature until it was just below being too hot and let the water spray over me. I leaned against the stall wall and found myself crying. By the time the water ran cold, I had taken control of my roiling emotions. I turned the water off and opened the curtain to find a towel and some sweats had been deposited on the toilet. My clothing was not to be seen.

I dried myself thoroughly before putting on the sweats. Shorts had not been provided, so I went without. After making a half-hearted effort to do something with my hair, I went back into the room I was to stay in and lay down on the bed to rest my eyes. I did not awaken until the next morning.

The sun came through the window and struck off a mirror the hung on the wall, reflecting directly into my face. I grumpily suspected the arrangement was for just that purpose. A glance at the alarm clock on the side table informed me it was half-past-six. Knowing I would not get back to sleep, I got up and changed into the extra set of clothes I had brought with me and then walked down the hall and into the kitchen. I was surprised to find a half-full coffee carafe waiting on the table. After pouring myself a cup, I found Mr. Voit sitting on the deck and reading the paper. I debated on not going out to join him, but I could see no reason not to. If he was going to send me home, then an hour or two of sharing the paper would not make a difference

“Good morning, Ben,” the twins’ father said as I opened the door. “You’re up awful early.”

I shrugged and said as I sat, “This is when I usually get up, sir.”

“Well, the boys won’t be up for another hour.”

“That’s okay. Can I borrow some of the paper?”

“Help yourself.”

The man took a sip of his coffee as he watched me rummage through the sections and choose the comics. I picked up my cup and was just about to take a sip when Mr. Voit spoke.

“Ben, I spoke to your mother last night.”

I set my cup down and focused on my hands in my lap.

He continued, “She said she would pick you up this morning at eight and take you home.”

“Oh.”

“She didn’t sound like she was angry, Ben. She sounded relieved,” Mr. Voit added.

I nodded my head as he finished speaking, but my mind was elsewhere. I was already planning my escape. There was no way I was going home as long as my dad was drinking. He’d scared me pretty badly the night before, and I didn’t like being that vulnerable to him.

I let the silence grow between us, fighting against my instinct to bolt. I managed to sit there and drink my coffee while staring at the paper, remembering to turn the page occasionally. When my cup was empty, I stood, went back into the house, got dressed, and walked out the front door before anyone could stop me.

I was half-way down the street before I realized I had no clue where I was going. I paused at the corner and looked back at the Voit house. I saw my mom’s car pulling in the driveway. I watched long enough to see her get out of the car and then took off again. I didn’t stop riding until I was out of our neighborhood and at Dogwood Avenue. Without thought I turned south and followed the canal down past Tenth Street. I slammed on my brakes, bringing my bike to a skidding stop. Water flowed sedately through the canal beside me. A bridge crossed it not more than ten yards in front of me. To the right of the bridge was a high pile of dirt. A shudder passed through me as I realized that I was looking at the place my twin had died.

It took a monumental effort to start moving again, and once in motion I could not direct where I was going. Something had taken control of me and steered my course toward the base of that mound of soil, where I stopped again. I stepped off my bicycle and let it fall noisily to the ground. My feet carried me to the top of the hill overlooking the canal, and it was there that I sat down.

Time had no meaning as I watched the water lazily flow by. The sun reached its zenith and began its slow retreat to the western horizon before I became aware of the stinging in my skin and the burning thirst in my throat. I stood, adjusting my balance to counter the stiffness in my limbs, and slowly stretched my body to loosen the protesting muscles in my legs and back.

A glance at my watch told me I had six hours of daylight left in which to find a haven for the night. I knew there would be no rain in the middle of June, so I didn’t necessarily have to have a roof over my head: sleeping under the stars was a reasonable option. Looking around, I noticed that there was enough space under the bridge anchorage for me to sit comfortably. A quick inspection showed no animals using the area as a den, and I decided that I had my hidey-hole for the night.

My next priority was getting food and drink to last me for a while. I mounted my bike and pedaled my way up to Ninth Street and over to California Avenue. It took me no time to purchase what I needed at the grocery store. I even managed to save some of the money I had for later if I should need it.

I returned to the lot and began cleaning out my chosen shelter and collecting wood for a small fire, not that I was going to need one to keep warm, but having flames nearby would provide some sense of security. Once everything was arranged as I wanted, I resumed my vigil over the water.

The whole morning, while sitting over the canal, I had been thinking about how different things would have been if Mike hadn’t died: mom and dad wouldn’t be fighting; dad wouldn’t hate me. Mike and I would be as close as we had been, or even closer as we grew up. We’d still spend time with Ian, but he would be a friend. I wouldn’t have had Ian as my boyfriend if Mikey was still alive.

As the remainder of the day passed, I mentally called out to my twin’s shade, begging him to answer me, but as had been the case for some time, there was no answer. My brother, even if he was an invention of my grieving mind, had seemingly abandoned me.

The afternoon slipped into evening, and evening into night. The sunset cast the western horizon behind me in crimson before fading to deepest violet. The sliver of the moon shed no light. Crickets filled the air with their calls. An occasional car passed on the other side of the canal, illuminating the road as it passed. Bats swooped all around me, dining on the insects attracted by the flickering flames of my tiny fire under the bridge. None of this, however, encroached upon my consciousness.

I sat stationary on that mound of dirt well into the middle of the night, slept until dawn, and took my place again for another day. Although I was thinking the entire day and through the evening, I can not tell you what I was pondering specifically. My thoughts centered on Mike and my family, my dad, Ian, and life in general.

What time I finally took to my nest near the fire that second night I don’t know. When I placed my head on my pack, I lay there unsleeping through the remainder of the darkness, waiting for the sun to once again brighten the eastern sky, signaling the beginning of a new and, perhaps, better day.

As the sun cast its first beams from behind the mountains, I renewed my vigil, this time sitting at the edge of the canal in some vain hope of feeling nearer to my dead sibling. My thoughts again turned to my father. He’d made it clear that he thought, after convincing me otherwise, that I had caused my brother’s death. He’d made it equally clear I was no longer welcome in his home.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and cradling my chin in my steepled fingers. Again I entertained the thought that things would have been better for everyone involved if I had died and not Mikey. A resolve grew deep inside.

What are you thinking, Benji?

“Oh sure. Now you show up,” I carped bitterly.

Don’t change the subject. What are you thinking?

“Like you can’t tell?” I asked sarcastically. “You’re in my head. You should know.”

Ben, I can’t read your mind. Why are you so sad?

“Dad hates me. He wants to kick me out.”

He doesn’t hate you, Ben.

“That’s fucking bullshit, Mike! He thinks I killed you!”

It’s not bullshit, Ben! My leaving hurt him.

“Oh, like it didn’t hurt me?”

It’s different for him. He was my dad.

“And I was your brother!” I shouted to the presence in my head. “But I guess that doesn’t count!”

God, I hate it when you get worked up. You always were impossible to talk to.

A silence fell in my brain.

“Mikey?”

Yeah?

“Are you really there?”

I’m talking to you, aren’t I?

“That’s not what I mean. Or maybe it is. Are you real, or am I making you up?”

Does it matter?

“Yeah, kinda. Not really. I don’t know.”

Ben, I’m always going to be with you. Sometimes you don’t need me though. You have Ian now, and you should be talking to him, not me.

“I miss you so much, Mike. Nothing is the same.”

And it shouldn’t be. I’m not there, Ben, but I’m still with you.

I struggled to my feet and stood staring at the water. A strange feeling of peace washed thorough me, penetrating to my core. I took a step closer to the canal and smiled as I watched a duck and her ducklings paddle by.

“I love you, Mike. I’ll always love you,” I said quietly, tears in my eyes.

I know, Benji. I love you too. Remember, I’m here- always.

“I know.”

“Ben!”

A loud voice startled me. I spun to see who it was, but the loose gravel under my feet gave way and I slipped, falling backwards into the canal with a splash.