Ben pt. 6 - Ben and Anita

Anita should have been wringing her hands. Wiping them against each other as if washing. The limousine took her to the Daily Grind. She didn't sweat or fidget, nothing like this had ever happened before. Ben always treated her courteously, but professionally, too. He'd never taken her out to lunch unless he was meeting with some big shot or other. To call her out of nowhere and request she make haste to meet him at a dive coffee shop. Her dive coffee shop. On any other day Anita would be a nervous wreck, today, however, Anita felt only an amusing curiosity.

She had an idea that Ben had been dabbling in something he wasn't comfortable doing on a professional level. Some huge new reveal, perhaps. Gambling, that's what Anita suspected. How he would ever gamble away his fortune was beyond Anita. Perhaps that's what Ben had called her out for. A confession of some guilt.

Actually, Anita thought, that wouldn't be terrible. A tickling at the back of her mind, back and back where it's really dark. A tickling, a notion: It's not terrible if Ben confesses some wrong doing or character flaw, this gives me leverage. She might even be able to pull his strings and make him dance, make him do... other...

"We're here, Miss Anita." The limo driver, Chris, was standing at the open rear door.

She stepped out onto the side walk and looked up at the big light up sign, 'The Daily Grind'. As the limo pulled away from the curb, the corners of Anita's lips perked up in a slight smile. My, doesn't Chris have nice eyes, Anita thought and filled her chest with air, stretching her shirt. Anita wasn't nervous at all.

-------

Ben sat tapping his fingers on the edge of his empty coffee cup. His other hand twirled a very expensive looking pen. He tried to sort everything out. Too much he didn't understand himself. He'd let himself slide in the last few months. God, he hoped it hadn't been a full year. Uncle Henry had a friend - younger guy, but he liked to help Henry turning wrenches - and sometimes he'd start up on Henry about the drinking, quoting some AA stuff. Henry didn't talk about that stuff much, mostly when he really tied on. Something this guy told Henry once occurred to Ben: A day in the bottle is equivalent to a year in real time. This thought, this saying, this notion arrived in Ben's head in frightening detail and sharpness.

Ben's fingers stilled, the pen took one last slow motion, shiny, revolution and stopped. The limousine pulled up to the curb had already stopped. Ben's mind roared, he had nothing prepared, nothing planned. His entire life had a plan; week, day, hour, minute. And now Chris is opening the door for her.

The shiny pen fell to floor. Proving to be worth its prestigious look, the pen made nearly as much noise as his cell phone had. Ben felt the heat rise in his cheeks. His entire being wanted to explode, leaving a ruined pile of expensive clothing. He felt as if his head might burst, it certainly was warm enough. As he bent over to retrieve his pen, he caught a glimpse of the underside of the table.

There in crude Sharpie. No talent here, some little kid. Some Future Felon of America, scrawled a figure down here. Ben only looked at it for a second, yet he knew what it was, he was offended by the unskilled hand that made it but then he thought of the picture on his office wall.

When he straightened back up in the seat, he saw Anita outside the plate glass windows. Something way back and further still, way down in the darkness tickled in Ben's mind. She had such a beautiful smile.

--------

As Anita walked under the sign and through the door, the piece of graffiti she'd not really thought about passed through her peripheral vision. She didn't think much about it now, either. Not on the surface. Her confident stride took her through the entry way and straight to the table where Ben sat.

"Hello. Ben," Anita said. She kept her eyes on his the entire time she pulled out her chair, sat down, and smoothed her skirt.

"A-Anita! So glad you could come down. I... um, I know this is unorthodox, for us to meet like this. I'm... I'm..." His face flushed. He knew he was blushing. He did not know why this was such a difficult thing to do.

"Ben, it's okay. Really, Ben, whatever you need to discuss with me, I'm sure I can handle it. I'm a big girl, Ben." The corners of her mouth quirked slightly, almost a smile.

Ben was unbalanced to the extent he almost didn't recognize this odd behavior. Everything had a place and everything in its place, everything under control. Every situation could be dealt with. Not this one, this situation had no handles, nowhere to grasp, to get this thing under control. He brought his eyes up to meet hers. She continued to stare, almost unblinking. Ben took a deep breath, held it for a second and in that second he saw into those eyes. His gaze took him through those eyes - so beautiful - past the millions and billions of reactions, past the speed of thought and he was in the darkness. He exhaled his breath. Very under control.

"You're eyes, Anita," Ben swam in the comforting darkness while he spoke. "Your eyes are just the most brilliant, beautiful eyes I've ever seen." Breath escaped through his nose. "My god."

Instantly, Anita was self aware. Aware of herself the way she had been earlier when she had no face cream. The relaxed pose felt unnatural, she fidgeted and sat up straight. Perhaps a little too quickly she brought her hand back away from the middle of the table. Was I really going to touch his hand? Anita wondered.

"Anyway," Ben sat forward, "I wanted to talk to you about something I've been doing as, say, a side project. Do you have any plans this afternoon, evening?" Ben held his eyes on hers now. Anita looked back and forth between the condiments arranged on the table.

"I... guess, I don't. I don't have any plans, no."

"Good, I've got to pick up my uncle from the airport in a little while. We can have dinner. You can meet my Uncle Henry." Ben smiled, "And we'll discuss this business. This, situation."

"That sounds fine, Mr. Stra... Ben, I mean."

"Now, what kind of coffee do you drink?"

They sat in the coffee shop in the afternoon city commotion and talk. Well, Ben talked. He told her about the property out in the country, about the strange compulsion, this undefined feeling he's been having lately. The need for secrecy. He even talked to her about going out to Collin's County. She agreed, hell, she'd been all over the globe with him. He even mentioned something he wanted to show her back at the office. He couldn't describe it, he said, trying to put words of description would never justify it. She looked up at him with a steady eye when he talked about the 'thing' in his office.

That dark thing way back, and back farther still, tickled slightly. Way back behind those beautiful eyes, the dark thing in the darkness. Not in the color of any sort, in the color of vacuum, in the no color.

Ben pt. 5 - Ben Gets a Coffee

After surfing the web for awhile, scanning the news and watching stocks, Ben got up from his desk and got ready to have lunch with this Mr. Tooki. He put on his suit jacket, The Revenue was a classy place. On his way out he ran a finger along the glass on the picture frame and brought it to his lips. He took a breath and went out the door.

As he passed Anita's desk she looked up at him and smiled. Those eyes, that face, so pretty. Today something was there he'd not seen before. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but something in her eyes touched him. Today, he'd tell her. He'd buy that trashy honky tonk bar and he'd tell Anita about everything. Everything.

"Ben! Oh, Ben!" Anita spoke up after he passed her.

She handed him a small slip of paper. "I kept getting this call in the night. Didn't recognize the number. Thought you might."

He glanced at the number written on the paper. No, he didn't recognize it, and this was very strange. Anita didn't get calls for him in the night. Her phone was set up for that, true, but she never got a call. Unless he'd had too much to drink, that was. He put the paper in his pocket.

"Hurry up. You'll be late."

--

Lunch was dull. Mr. Tooki wanted sponsorship for something or another. Ben tried to focus on the overpriced dull food. The lesser of two dullnesses. After Mr. Tooki finished his over practiced monolog, Ben excused himself to the restroom.

Before he left the Men's Room. He took the slip of paper out of his pocket and looked at the number again. He had recognized the area code, Collin's County. Still, the number itself didn't ring any bells. He put the paper back in his pocket, next to the cell phone he used to call those numbers. Of course, Anita had that number now. It was okay, he would tell her.

When he returned to the table Mr. Tooki started up again. Ben wished he'd heard that twinge of desperation in Jack's voice. Oh well, he could afford what Jack wanted.

"No, Mr. Tooki. I don't think Avalon is interested in making an investment at this time. Thank you, and have a nice day."

Ben left the restaurant. He didn't go back to the office. He told the driver to take him to a little coffee shop on the other side of downtown. An hour later he sat at a table by the window in The Daily Grind. He took the cell from his pocket and wondered who he should call first: Jack, this mystery number from the same area, Anita?

He didn't like this confusion. He thought about the picture on his wall. He thought about the fields and hollows out there in the middle of nowhere. He opened his phone and dialed Anita. She said she knew the coffee shop. The limo would be dropping her off in thirty minutes. Okay, one down. He knew the call to Jack. He knew exactly how it would go. He wanted Anita there. He wanted her to a part of this thing now.

"Hello?" half-asleep, and whoever this was sounded like they had a mouthful of marbles. "Who is this?"

"Well, I was hoping you could tell me who you are. My assistant got some calls in the night from this number. That's very strange and unprofessional. What is it I can do for you?"

"Ben?" surprise, this guy was awake now. "Ben, thank god. Ben I'm sorry, I know you're busy. This is Uncle Henry, from Sowell Pike. I really need to talk to you."

"Uncle Henry?" Ben put his head down in his free hand. "Have you been drinking again? You know I've offered to pay for help Henry. You have to let go of Margret. You need help."

"No... I know. Yes, I need help. Bring me in to the city. Put me in rehab. I just need to see you. It's important Benjamin."

"Oh god. If I fly you in this weekend, you're going to a hospital Monday. That's the deal, the end of it."

"Not this weekend. I can get to the airport in a few hours. Now, Ben. Now."

"What the hell is it Henry? You're losing it."

"Adam, that's what."

Henry might be drunk but he wasn't crazy. Ben knew that name. The phone fell to the tile floor and split in pieces. Some of the customers turned to see - what was that? in a small town like Sowell Pike everyone in the coffee shop would talk about this for several days, but in a big city like this, no one cared, those that looked forgot before they looked away - still, Ben put on his best smile. He wasn't the head of one of the largest companies for no reason. Why did this shake him up so bad? That was the question. He left his coffee alone.

Don't Worry. He thought of the birds outside his kitchen window.

Be Happy.

Ben pt. 3 - Ben Gets a Call

The cappuccino - Anita didn't really want the foam anyway - fell. When her eyes closed and that dark door inside everyone, way in the back, way down at the bottom of the sightless places opened inside her, Anita's hand relaxed enough to allow the paper coffee cup to slip through her fingers. In the split second the cup fell half-way to the sidewalk, Anita's mouth went slack. When the cup hit the ground, before the coffee splashed her nice business heels, Anita's body was a thousand winking and tingling pin hole stars.

A gust of wind helped the spilling coffee cover both her feet and tore the words from the cabbie's mouth. She looked at him and let out a breath she'd, apparently, been holding.

"Hey, lady! Hey, you okay? You gonna sneeze or somethin'?" She heard him that time.

"Yeah..." she blinked, "I'm fine."

Anita's reflection in the window showed her a different woman this time. Her eyes looked glittery and alive, her bust line sat just right, not quite low enough to be slutty, and the natural pout of her lips made her smile, she liked that smile. She looked and felt sexy. So what?

"Avalon Tower, please?" she seated herself and crossed her legs.

She smiled that smile she liked all the way to her desk. When she saw the clock on her computer she added a chuckle to the smile. She was ten minutes late, and that was okay. She'd enslaved herself to her work for a long time. She was allowed to be late once.

As she settled into her chair she kept expecting the old maid in her head to start going over all the repercussions from signing into her HP desktop ten minutes late. Computer hard drives created permanent records, records that the company monitored. It may take awhile, but in the end this would come back around. The computer, and the reports it generated, were heartless things that turned a blind eye to facts like Anita's impeccable work record thus far. As her programs loaded on her computer she thought, if the computer doesn't care why should I?

----

"Morning Anita," Ben said as he strolled by her desk about forty-five minutes later. "Don't you just look... what's the word, what's the word?" he took a deep breath, expanding his chest, stretching his shirt a little.

"Sanguine, today."

"Good morning Mr. Strass. You've got nothing this morning. At one, you need to be at The Revenue to have lunch with a Mr. Tooki. I've arranged everything for our flight to Japan next week." Anita went through this routine every morning with Ben. Now, he would turn on his heel and walk into his office with a polite Thank You as she smiled at his back.

"Did you say Tooki? My goodness, it's like I'm working with Anime characters. Anyway, we're flying first class I assume, sweetheart."

Whoa, Anita froze along with everything around her. She forgot to breath. One single moment stretched like rubber band. And snapped back.

"Of course, Mr. Strass."

"Ben, please. Anita we've been over this before," then he winked at her and turned on heel. "Thank you, Anita." His office door closed behind him. He stood behind his desk and brought his right thumb up to his lips. He had some other meetings today. Meetings Anita didn't know about. For the last three years Ben held conference calls with some of the world's leaders. Dictators, Kings, Presidents, Prime Ministers: Anita coordinated these and kept Ben on point and on time. Other times Ben made calls on a phone Anita didn't know about. He set up lunch with poor farmers on the weekends. He'd fly them to the city wine and dine them and then take their land at such a low price it's a wonder Ben slept at night.

Today, Ben needed to get in touch with Jack. Jack owned a bar in a dump side of town. Ben was prepared to take the worthless lot off Jack's hands at what Jack would think was a deal. Along with the bar, Ben would slide in rights to all of Jack's land in a nearby rural county. He'd talked to Jack a few times and gleaned that Jack was a sharp guy. He'd be a hard sell, but Ben had negotiated contracts worth exponentially more money. He'd made deals with countries that eased famine, and filled his bank accounts. He'd get the bar and the land. Today, he would seal the deal.

He also intended to talk to Anita. He could think of no reason not to tell her. She'd think it strange that he was interested in farm fields out in the middle of nowhere. But when he explained to her how sometimes you had to follow your gut. When he conveyed to her how strong the gut feeling about this land was, she'd understand. He kept putting it off. She'd look at him and say good morning and he'd see those eyes. Something inside Benjamin Strass stopped him from talking to her. She'd give him her morning summary and walk directly into his office. He couldn't look at her innocent face any longer.

Ben turned and put his left hand down on his desk. He stood with his thumb against his lips and looked at the picture on the wall. He hung that picture himself not long ago. He stood and stared and thought about the farm fields and forgotten patches of forest out in Collin's County.

The phone in his pocket vibrated. As if waking up, Ben shook his head and blinked his eyes. He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the clock before accepting the call. He'd been standing next to his desk for thirty minutes. Nothing this morning, Anita told him. Now the phone, JACK showed on the screen.

"Jack, buddy. How's it going?" Ben said.

"Good, good. Have you thought about the numbers we talked about?" Straight to business. No time for Ben to butter him up with idle yet praising chitchat.

"Yeah, you know, I have been thinking about that. Working some figures," Ben paused for a beat. Jack didn't fill the space with desperate monosyllabic words like: yeah, yeah, yeah. 

"Anyway, listen, why don't I fly you into the city Friday afternoon and we'll do lunch Saturday? We can really get some gears turning on this thing."

"I run a bar. We're open on weekends. How about you tell me whether you like those figures, because they break my heart but I'm a realist."

Damn, this guy was good. Stubborn like one of those pharmaceutical company lawyers. "Okay, okay. I've got to do lunch today at one. I'll call you after. Let you know if the paper work is in the mail or not."

"Good."

Ben would pay what Jack wanted and Jack knew it. Ben could afford it, certainly, but he was a business man. Can't blame him for trying.

Ben pt. 3 - Anita Gets a Coffee

Anita gave a quick glance at herself in the closed rear Taxi window. An almost unrecognizable sigh escaped her, she'd done a good job with the makeup but still, she wasn't satisfied.

“Where to, lady?” the cabbie must not be having the best morning either.

“The Daily Grind, if you could,” Anita replied. The taxi sped away from the curb into the sea of horns.

"Can you wait here a minute while I get a coffee?" she needed a coffee this morning. The burnt thick coffee waiting at the office just wouldn't do. She checked her watch again, plenty of time. As long as Anita was there before the boss she'd be fine. She had to tell him about the calls in the night.

"Fine," the cabbie said. He hocked back a good one and spat on the ground as Anita turned away.

The coffee shop, The Daily Grind, wasn't crowded and the smell of roasting coffee beans filled Anita with a much needed moment of bliss.

"What do ya want?"

She hadn't made it all the way to the counter yet, but James - the mighty name tag declared - spoke loud enough to turn the heads of the few patrons in the shop. Her lips turned down in the way that causes frown lines. Anita coughed into as much smile as she could muster. "I'll have a caramel cappuccino, please."

"Want foam?"

Screw you, James! Just make the damn thing! She sucked that all back in with a sigh and held her breath.

"Well?"

A moment too long, apparently. She really wished he'd quit bouncing on his feet that way. Was that tooth pick rolling from side to side in his mouth really sanitary?

"Sure, thank you," Anita studied the big board behind the counter. She added and re-added her price plus tax, then, systematically, deduced how much cash she had; down to the penny, plus gratuity, of course. Oh, but her hands worked against each other. Why couldn't James just do his job. Probably a felon, best gig he could get. Especially with those eyes.

"Your change. Hey, your change here," he dropped the coins in her hand as if he couldn't wait to be rid of it. That was fine with Anita, she couldn't wait to be rid of him either.

As soon as the door shut behind her a gust of wind assaulted her from the left side. She turned head so that her chin rested on her right shoulder and held her coffee up high, as if in salute. The gust stopped as abruptly as it started. She ran her hands through her hair, mourning the loss of the curl she'd put in it. Matches my eyes now. This thought ceased to exist the moment it was born. From the corner of her eye a section of the corrugated fencing that flanked The Daily Grind caught her attention.

The Daily Grind had yards and yards of chair link interspersed with corrugated sheet metal fencing. No Trespassing, Keep Out, Under Construction: a myriad of signs adorned this fencing, along with all the other blocks around the city that are under construction on a fifty-year plan. Along with signs, these fences were the canvas for urban artists. Graffiti, from the crude amateur scrawling to the talented works of timeless import, covered mile after mile of this surface across the city. Anita passed by these fences on these streets, this street, countless times. When she first moved to the city the graffiti assaulted her. Almost blinding her, the colors and pictures on these fences and walls looked like decay. The rotting of the American dream spelled out here by the low of society. Much like anywhere else - the dirty close on the floor in the bathroom - the surroundings become almost invisible with familiarity. Anita didn't even see the litter in the street drains, the burned out buildings, and the graffiti splattered fencing anymore.

The particular piece that paralyzed her on the sidewalk in front of The Daily Grind was simple: nothing flamboyant here, nothing big and multicolored. In fact, the artist used only a portion of one can of flat black paint. In a stencil square about the size of a standard piece of paper an old fashioned silhouette, left facing, image of a male face stood out against the white wash thrown over previous works.

Anita didn't sway or stagger. She didn't fall to the concrete. She stood stolid in her business style high heels. Her hair swirled slightly around her face. Her eyes closed and darkness came. Dark behind her eyelids, sure, yet darker still behind her eyes. Darker inside her bones, her marrow felt dark like the void of space. From the ends of her hair to the ends of her fingers and toes she was the velvet darkness of a vacuum. Behind her belly button, the soft blackness turned warm. Radiating from her middle, behind the comforting heat, a sensation as if her body had gone to sleep and now tingled with pins and needles. This sensation concentrated with the most intensity in her midsection. There was pleasure in this darkness.

Ben pt. 2 - Anita

"...The recent troop surge back into Iraq is coupled with the bloodiest week since the beginning of the war in 2003. The military is stretched thin and is asking that all news programs encourage their listeners and viewers to volunteer. Also, in Washington, talks of a draft and broadening the rules for hiring private security firms have taken the front seat of political debate. With the election year coming fast and approval ratings at an all time low, politicians across the board are scrambling for a ray of sunshine in these dark times..."

-

Anita Clackson heard Joannie Turmonghastanti reporting from somewhere. She wondered why news casters always seemed to have such unbearable last names as she towel dried her hair and then looked in the mirror. The puffy around her eyes wouldn't do. Anita hung her towel up - on a shower rod, her shower had a curtain. Her fingers tapped the tops of an assortment of medicine cabinet standards: aspirin, Midol, razors, toe-nail clippers, and there, right where she'd put it back, face cream. Anita did not want to go into work, at 100 Avalon Square, with the puffy around her eyes. Her boss expected more of her, of everyone.

She popped the top with her close cropped finger nails. Unpainted, plain, if she had her way her nails would be just a little longer and she'd have a different color for each day of the week. But she didn't mind being plain, she had a good job and good pay. So what, if she was approaching thirty with no husband? So what, if her old baby stuff, a crib, a blankie, an old rattle toy, sat collecting dust in a storage shed out by the freeway? She could bear it and continue saving her money and building a not-so-plain portfolio. Only, the portfolio wasn't doing so hot lately. Export from China had slowed to a trickle, the stock market fell to a new record breaking low and with each deployment of military forces to some corner of the globe, the deficit went up. Anita's finances were hanging in there, she had put a large portion of her money directly into Avalon Inc. Soon to be the only stock that saw gains of any kind. So what, if she didnt' have anyone to share this with? So what? 

She overrode the loud farting sound the face cream bottle made when she squeezed it, AHHH! Her shout bouncing back at her from the slightly discolored shower tiles sounded like someone else. Anita never yelled or threw things. She threw the empty bottle now. What's wrong with me? she thought, Just what the heck is wrong with me? It must be the lack of sleep from the night before.

All night her Black Berry rattled against the top of her night stand. She set it on vibrate, a naturally light sleeper, Anita knew she would hear the rattle if someone tried to call the direct office line at the top floor of Avalon Tower. Few calls came through that line during business hours, an ensemble of automated, 'speak your selection' menus and a slew of secretaries stood in the middle ground between the phone on Anita's desk and the phone some impatient person pressed firmly against their ear on the other end. But there was a number, one number that dialed straight into her phone. Her boss didn't give this number out, he had no family to speak of, no wife or serious girlfriend - kind of like me, Anita thought sometimes. Anita synced her Black Berry with her desk phone so that after business hours, when the computer voice stopped asking questions and gave a simple directive - TRY YOUR CALL AGAIN DURING BUSINESS HOURS - whoever might dial directly to her desk could reach her through her cell. The only time it rang after hours was when her boss called to tell her about some big to-do the next day. Some meeting they'd be flying across the globe to. And he never called to ask her how she felt about it, never asked if she wanted to go, only to tell her what color suit she should wear, or how she should fix her hair. He was so cold, almost robotic, but Anita adored his ability to soak up everything around him, his unfailing optimism. Not optimism in a future for Anita - she'd stay as long as she was useful - but optimism in the big picture. Anita tried to follow suit, although, this morning Anita didn't feel optimistic at all. Those damn phone calls.

Each time she got to the phone and looked at the number, the vibrating ceased. She didn't recognize the number and they, whoever, didn't leave a message. Wrong number, was her first thought, but after the third intrusion on her feather weight sleep she wasn't so sure. Maybe it's him, but that was just her, that was just Anita being overly optimistic. No, no, it wasn't him. 'He' never called her, not just her boss, any 'he'. Anita had no knight on a white horse ringing her bell spouting poetry. She knew it wasn't her boss, but a quick Google search of the area code confirmed the notion. The number was from some speck-in-the-road town in the south: Sowell Pike.

The name tickled in the back of her head. She pushed it away along with the big comforter and got out of bed. The sun hadn't come up yet, but she could see that storm that threatened to move in out of the west. She could see the infected mucus colored sky just starting to lighten. None of the news stations (what else were there, nowadays every station was news) reported anything about the weather. Sure the meteorologists would spit out highs and lows, any mention of rain gripped a portion of the viewing area, where as it infuriated the other portion. Anita pushed all that aside with her sleep clothes and took a shower.

Now, with the empty bottle of face cream in her hand and the puffy all over her face, her angry outburst dieing in the little bathroom, Anita began to cry.

Ben pt. 1 - Don't Worry

Soaked in cold sweat, Ben tossed and turned in his enormous bed. He rolled this way and that until the moist silk sheets tangled around him in a coccoon like embrace. His salt and pepper hair matted at the back of his head. When he became sufficiently wrapped, like a restless child on the operating table, he stilled. Only his eyes under his closed lids moved, back and forth, back and forth, almost as if they wanted to continue the chaotic bed sheet dance a little longer. Ben's muscular body, curled in a fetal position, suddenly went erect. Or tried to. The sheets snapped taut and his well manicured toe nails made deffinate lines where his feet tried to point at the foot of the bed. Had they been inexpensive discount cotton sheets, Ben would have ripped through them like the Incredible Hulk growing out of his normal sized clothes. But these sheets were top shelf, these sheets were imported, and these sheets held against his straining body.

His blue eyes snapped open the same moment his body tensed. He tasted blood in his mouth, probably got the inside of his cheek when his teeth came together with a click. Ben was greatful, though, the nightmare had ended.

Before the water rinsed the night sweat from his body the nightmare was long gone. In fact, he never remembered dreams, pleasant or not. Ben wasn't one to go about having his palm read or gazing into crystal balls. Ben had made his money through good old math. He excelled in Statistics and Economics in college and put what he learned to lucrative use, even before his third year. By the time he had his degree he had amassed enough money to dabble in the rocky soil of venture capitalism. A lot of people lost their ass shelling out large sums of money or credit to help a fledgling idea become half as succesful as Yahoo! Not Ben, Ben didn't gamble, Ben studied and calculated and never put down a dime without the garuntee of ten million in return. And it worked. It worked so well he didn't need his stunning good looks to fill the empty side of his bed, he didn't need credit cards to buy those imported silk sheets or to stand in a shower that had mood lighting and needed no door, no curtain - it was really that big.

He dried himself and put on his robe. The coffee pot would be done and he needed some of the special exotic brew - stuff that would make Starbucks patrons weep at the price. He'd never been afflicted with chronic hangovers, he didn't have a perscription for Ambien and he only needed, at most, six hours of sleep to feel refreshed and reenergized. All that changed when the nightmares started. He didn't remember them but when he woke with the feeling that he'd been hit by a Mac truck, well, he knew something was going on.

Sitting at his marble counter, Ben sipped his coffee and stared out the window above the sink. Two birds sat on a power line. They flipped and flapped against the wind. Ben was sure they were chirpping at each other although he couldn't hear them through his top-of-the-line energy saving multi-pane windows. He thought idly about how birds always made happy sounds. Birds only made sweet music, no death dirge, no funeral hyme, no achy-breaky heart. He was positive they were singing in the morning with love ballads, shakespearian sonnet songs.

Under the yellow sky - it was yellow all the time now, except when the sun was low, either rising or setting, then it was a yellow that burned - the birds sang but didn't fly. They hadn't risen from their pirch in three days. Somehow, they made sugar coated songs in their misery.

He got up from his seat and set the coffee cup in the sink. One of the birds, Don't Worry as Ben had named the one on the left (the bird on the right, of course, named Be Happy), fell from its pirch.

Despite the nightmare and the declining stocks, his dwindling portfolio, and now the bird - Don't Worry - lying dead under the worsening sky, Ben wasn't worried. Not one bit.

Perhaps he should have been.

Sherry's Soda Fountain - Afterward - Secrets

Oh yes, the secrets. I thought I had gotten out from under that one. Well, I suppose, a promise is a promise and I'm a man of my word. Although, I've promised myself time and time again to put these coffin nails down. As you can see I haven't lived up to that one yet. Easy as pie to start, damn near impossible to stop.

Margret and I were nearly inseparable that spring and summer. We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together and brought in the New Year holding hands. The trials and tribulations of an awkward young person in High School faded and were over run with the sweetness of her hearted exclamations in notes passed during class. The anticipation of walking home together made the day bearable.

We were in love. Strong and determined, the adults would dismiss our flowery professions as 'puppy love'. The more roughened the grown up the more contemptuous the dismissal. Some would even say we didn't know the first thing about love. But I tell you we did. The word and emotion evolves and changes with age, nonetheless we did love each other. We loved each other with all the passion and innocence of youth. Maybe, our love was of the purest sorts.

I never hounded her for more than she was willing to give. The sweet, close-mouthed, pecks on the lips or the cheek, holding hands and walking down the street were fine, they were just right and just enough. Though, we did get older, memories are static, frozen like a picture but the present keeps moving and so did we.

When we brought in our third New Year together our bodies were in full swing and the chemicals in our brains were working an exhausting amount of overtime. I will never forget the way our eyes met, that was the best part, some may scoff at that - don't listen to them. The act itself was bitter sweet - I won't say it wasn't beautiful - it was terrifying and nerve wracking at the same time. The best part was the way she looked at me. Our love for each other was a tangible thing that night. It had substance, it passed between us, not under the sheets young man, between her eyes and mine. The same as it did that long ago day outside Sherry's Soda Fountain.

For those few minutes the world was ours. Happiness without end, forever and ever. Happiness does end, maybe at the same place that secrets start. I don't talk about this, it's painful, see. I've never told anyone about this, I suppose the time has come that I did.

Not long after that New Years, Margret's parents sent her away. The secret shared between Margret and I became apparent to her mother and father. They called down to my mother and father. Then they came over - without Margret. I was told to sit away from the table with my chair against the wall. Watch and don't make a sound, my father said. And I did, they talked and said horrible things about me, I kept silent. Then the talk turned to the things nightmares are made of.

Margret's father said she would be leaving the state to stay with her Uncle, forever. The word echoed in my head and my heart stopped cold. My paralysis broke, I stood up and shouted, YOU CAN'T DO TH-

And then my father knocked me out. We have a fight, no, he stood and turned and I was on the floor. I suppose I deserved it. The worst, perhaps most cruel, punishment was that I never saw Margret again. I was scarred and the scar hurt badly for years. I kept it together for the most part, though. There are times in life when you have to reserve the pain, hold it back, until late at night when you're alone in bed, the rest of the day in the sunlight you just have to bite it back and go about your business. And I did.

I received one letter from Margret, and only one. I've not seen her or heard from her since and that's okay. The memory of that split second peck on the lips is enough for me. I still have the letter, forgive me but I can't read it or tell you what it says. It pains me deeply to even mention it. I will let you read, though, if you wish. See, I'm old now and the world is burning out there and I have raised no children. Maybe I will live on in your memories, maybe not.

Here, here's the letter. There are no copies so be careful with it. When you are done leave it there, by the bookcase. I must go lay down now, I'm tired and old and I've told all I can.

Dearest,

I'm sorry I haven't written you or called. Not a day has gone by that you are not in my thoughts. I love you more than I can express in a letter. Uncle Tim says often that he would like to put you down like a lame animal, I tell him not to upset me, for the baby's sake. He goes out to the barn and busies himself with work until after my light is out. Some nights I hear him slamming the door when he comes in. Don't worry, Uncle Tim won't do any such thing. Aunt Bev says he's just upset about it and doesn't know how to deal with it.

Speaking of Aunt Bev, she's told me that once the baby comes it'll - she! it's a baby girl! - go for adoption. I don't know how I feel about that. I always dreamed about us having a family, yet, it doesn't look like that will happen. Not this time, not ever. Please, don't hate me, you will always be at the very center of my heart. Know that I will always, always love you. But I won't ever be able to come back to Sowell Pike. I think, I think it's best if we keep each other alive in our hearts with our memories. I will always love you, I only ask that you don't hate me for this. Please, don't try to come here. A clean break heals the best.

I won't get to name the baby but after the Dr. said it would be a girl I can't help but think of names.

I like Evelyn, or maybe just Eve.

With love, forever and ever,

Margret



Jacob set the water spotted (or was it tear spotted) letter down and sniffed back a lump in his throat. The house was silent. He got up and walked to the back of the old man's place meaning to tell him Thank you. Jacob wasn't sure what exactly he was thanking the old man for but he felt it appropriate. When he got back to the bedroom door, he stopped and decided not to knock. The quiet turned him around, he didn't think he even heard the old man breathing. Surely he was just sleeping and hadn't started sawing logs yet, surely.

Jacob went out the front door and eased it closed behind him. He didn't want to wake the old man up - he was just sleeping, right? He headed West, toward the thunderheads. Without a thought in his head as to why he was going that way.