The Wastebasket

“Employee of the Month. Again.” Ben looked at the framed photograph that hung in the back room of the Best Buy where he worked. He glanced back at the photo that had been taken two months before, mentally noting that his smile, confident and natural in the first picture, had lessened to the same strained smirk he would display in family portraits, forced to smash his face beside his sisters’ or allow his father’s hand to rest on his shoulder. He opened his employee locker and pulled out his keys, cell phone, and wallet, before slamming the locker shut and heading for the door.
“Hey Ben, hold on a minute.” Ben turned to face Donald, the store manager, a middle-aged, overweight man who seemed to think he was somehow a father figure to Ben. “Congratulations, again,” he smiled and shook Ben’s hand.
“Thank you, sir. It means a lot.” Ben wondered if his feigned sincerity was even a little bit believable.
“Listen, Ben, I was wondering if you’d decided about going back to school.”
“I’m still working on that,” he replied automatically, supplying his boss with the answer he’d been feeding anyone nosy enough to ask.
“Well you know we’d hate to see you go. I wanted to tell you that there’s going to be an assistant manager position opening up and I’d love for you to take it if you’re going to stick around.” Donald was wide-eyed and excited, as if he thought all Ben’s hopes and dreams would be fulfilled by this possible promotion.
Ben shifted his weight and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll get back to you on that, if that’s alright.”
“Sounds great. Have a good one, son.” Donald gave Ben a manly pat on the back as he stepped out the side door and into the employee parking lot. He walked quickly to his car, a junky four-door he’d driven since high school, which was parked in his usual spot. He rolled down the windows as he pulled out of the parking lot, enjoying the warm May air and trying to think about anything but the promotion he was just offered and the decision he didn’t want to make. As he hopped onto the freeway, he glanced at his cell phone, balanced in one of the cup holders, and saw that he had missed a call from Alyssa. She was home already, probably rehearsing the interrogation session she would force Ben to endure. He wondered if it was abnormal to mentally compare facing one’s girlfriend to being before a firing squad.

A half hour later, Ben knelt down in the middle of the driveway to examine his damaged bumper. He determined that while the streaks of white paint would be easy enough to remove, the dent caused by the impact of his Alyssa’s convertible would be a little more difficult to deal with. He glanced at the muddy tire tracks that she had created as she sped away, concluding the argument with a one-fingered salute. He thought of the way her eyes had been fixed on the road, her blond hair swept around her face, her expression masked by her large sunglasses. Ben tightened his jaw and gave the bumper a good kick before picking up his duffle bag and walking up the driveway and into the house.
He slammed the front door behind him in a manner that would have resulted in an automatic grounding as a kid, and he relished the way the very walls of the living room seemed to vibrate. His mother was sitting on the couch as usual, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, staring blankly at the television.
“Hey Mom.”
She looked up at him after a moment’s pause. “Oh, Ben. You’re home already.”
Ben resisted the urge to say, “Yes, Mom, I’ve been at work for nine hours, and now I’ve returned, as I do every day,” and instead asked what she was watching while leaning to kiss her head. Ben’s mother was a petite woman, and she seemed to sink into the large beige couch, her feet hanging a few inches above the floor. Her short brown hair was uncombed and fanned out against the pillow behind her head.
“It’s called ‘Mystical Gardening Techniques,’” she replied, looking up at him with a small smile.
“Gardening? I didn’t know you liked gardening,” he commented.
“Oh I don’t,” she said, and devoted her attention back to the TV.
“Have you taken your pill?”
She thought for a moment. “Of course,” she answered, rearranging the colorful, hand-made afghan that lay on her lap.
“That’s good. Is Dad working late?”
“He doesn’t tell me that sort of thing,” she responded with an intentionally mournful sigh. Ben nodded, despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at him, and left the room to change his clothes. He noticed the half-painted hallway as he walked towards his room, initiated by his father in a fit of productivity that came about once every ten years and usually resulted in an unfinished project or some sort of permanent damage to the house. He stepped over a pile of dirty laundry and knocked on the door at the end of the hallway.
“Yo,” called a muffled voice. Ben swung the door open and was greeted by the distinct stench of unwashed clothing mixed with body spray, and his younger brother Eddie, who was slumped in a chair playing some sort of violent game on his Xbox, a leg thrown over one of the chair’s arms. He gave Ben a brief nod of greeting.
“Ugh. Eddie. What died in here?” he asked, throwing his bag onto one of the two beds.
Without looking away from the screen, he dryly replied, “Your mom.” Ben rolled his eyes and Eddie glanced sideways at him and then looked quickly back at the TV. Ben sat down on the bed to watch Eddie play.
“Were you and Alyssa having a fight out there?”
“You could hear us over all the death and destruction?” Ben gestured towards the video game.
Eddie looked at him, eyebrows raised.
“You could say we were fighting,” Ben admitted.
“You guys never used to fight.”
“And our room never used to smell like road kill. I’m opening a window.” Ben rose and cracked the window before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Standing alone in the hallway, he looked at his watch. As he walked downstairs he saw that his mother was in the same position and he wondered if she was even really watching the TV, or merely staring at the moving images.
“Are you making dinner, Mom?”
“Is it that time already?” she asked him, seemingly surprised that the setting of the sun and the evening news coincided with the time in which all American families were supposed to gather around the dinner table for camaraderie and fellowship.
“I’ll take care of it,” Ben said shortly, turning away from her to go into the kitchen. He was greeted by a sink full of dirty dishes, a crumb covered counter top, and a table piled with papers and magazines. “Why am I even surprised?” he muttered under his breath.
The front door slammed and from the kitchen Ben heard his sister make her grand entrance. “Hey Mom! I’m going to Sandra’s in a second, ok….. yeah we’re just going to work on some homework.” She bounded towards her room and Ben stepped into the living room, stopping at the foot of the stairs. Seconds later, she was running down the stairs and nearly collided with him. Her shoulder length curly hair had been dyed red since the last time Ben had seen her, and she was wearing tight jeans, paired with a black t-shirt, smeared with the name of a punk rock band.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Aren’t you nosy! Sandra’s. I told Mom.”
“I’ll walk you out.” He followed her outside, noticing the black Jeep that was parked in the driveway, driven by a teenage boy. Ben cynically thought that the boy’s lip piercing and slick, crow-black hair made him the perfect companion for his sixteen year old sister. “I see Sandra had a sex change.”
Lucy stopped on the steps and shot Ben a poisonous look. “Seriously, Ben. You need to get a life. Mom and Dad let me do what I want and so should you.” She adjusted the straps of her backpack, smiling winningly at the driver of the car. “Since when have you cared what I do anyway?”
“Enjoy your evening,” he commented dryly as he watched her leap into the passenger seat of the Jeep and drive off, her arm wrapped around the driver’s neck. Going back into the house, Ben checked his watch again. He thought about making something for his mother and Eddie to eat and then dismissed the thought. What was stopping her from doing it? Besides that, Eddie was thirteen years old, he should be able to cook some pasta or make a sandwich. He picked his keys up from the kitchen table, said a short word to his mother, and left the house he had arrived at a mere fifteen minutes before.

The house was quiet when Ben returned with a six pack of Sam Adams. He had spent the night aimlessly driving, occasionally stopping at places of interest, thinking about everything while managing to gain nothing from his thoughts. He found his mother curled asleep against the arm of the couch, her mouth hanging open and her bare feet poking out from underneath her blanket. Ben gently adjusted the cover, pulling it over her feet as she stirred without waking. He carried the beer into the dark kitchen and passed the empty pizza box on the counter on the way to the fridge. One piece remained, presumably for him, and he supposed that his father had brought it home in a pang of detached concern and unfulfilled responsibility. He opened up a beer and began to drink it, leaning against the counter and eating the piece of pizza. As he tipped back his head to finish off the beer he heard the front door open and close, quietly but not quietly enough.
Ben craned his neck towards the living room without moving and saw through the dark that it was Lucy, walking unsteadily towards the stairs, one hand clutching the back of the loveseat. Her usually impeccable hair was pulled up into a messy bun that had come loose, pieces falling rebelliously in her face. She looked up at Ben, squinting her eyes and smiling strangely, waving at him with her other hand. He stared at her for a moment in confusion before walking quickly towards her, seizing her wrist and pulling her into the kitchen.
“Where were you?” he hissed.
“Sandra’s, I told you,” she said, too loudly, and he motioned for her to be quiet. Ben held her still and peered into her face, seeing that her cheeks were flushed and the whites of her eyes were pink. He smelled the alcohol on her breath and grimaced, leading her into the bathroom that adjoined the kitchen.
“Sit down, Lucy,” he said quietly, folding down the toilet seat. She assented without question and Ben ran the tap and filled a paper cup with water. He handed it to her and she tried to take a sip but coughed, spitting the water onto Ben’s jeans. She put her elbow on the counter and held her head in her hand, closing her eyes.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“I don’t know,” she told him without opening her eyes, taking a shallow breath before gagging and clapping her hand over her mouth. Ben grabbed her arm and pulled her off the toilet, quickly flinging up the seat with his other hand. He knelt beside her, clenching his jaw tightly as she vomited into the toilet, slumping against the porcelain bowl, and he rubbed her back awkwardly. He suddenly remembered the New Year’s Eve when he had cleaned up Alyssa’s vomit and repeatedly assured her that he still loved her. As he hesitantly tried to stop his sister from spewing vomit all over herself, he wondered if this was the first time this had happened to her.
“Shit, Lucy. How did you get so trashed?” he asked when she appeared to be finished, not really expecting an answer.
Lucy took a deep breath and leaned her forehead against the toilet bowl, thoughts of hygiene set temporarily aside. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t mean to,” she almost whimpered, so unlike her usual caustic responses to the most innocent questions, and he felt a pang of sympathy for his sister. She lifted her head up, spit into the toilet, and then returned to her unhygienic position. “I’m sorry, Ben, I’m sorry, I feel like crap, and you’re going to hate me forever now,” she said, her voice tinged by impending tears.
Ben realized that he had been wrong in thinking that Lucy was never sorry for anything, she just had to be drunk to admit it. “None of that, Lucy. Drink some water and take some aspirin and you’ll feel better.” He poured her another cup of water and dug two aspirin out of the medicine cabinet, pushing a bottle of his mother’s anti-depressants to the side. The bottle fell over and slipped off the shelf, hitting the ground and settling against the back wall. He quickly picked it up and then stopped, shaking it, and heard nothing. It was empty. He wished that the bottle were a soda can he could crush in his fist. It wasn’t, so he satisfied himself by chucking it into the kitchen, deriving the smallest amount of pleasure from the sound of the plastic rolling across the linoleum.
Ben turned his attention back to his sister, who had started to cry. He handed her a tissue, not knowing how to help her in any way other than directing her puke into the toilet and trying to prevent a hangover. He told her not to cry, and she stared at him silently through her red-rimmed eyes. He didn’t know what else to say. Did emo-punk boy let this happen to her? What else did he do to her? Would she even remember this tomorrow?
After Lucy swallowed the pills and a few sips of water, he helped her to her feet. He walked with her through the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom. She lowered herself slowly onto her bed, and Ben clumsily pulled off her shoes. Ben wondered if he had fulfilled his responsibility to her, and he hesitated, hovering in the door as she lay motionless on the bed. “Night, Lucy,” he said, wondering how long it had been since he had said that to her. She didn’t respond but he saw her chest rise and fall with the rhythmic breathing of sleep and he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Ben stood motionless outside of Lucy’s room. He listened to the almost musical drone of his father’s snoring from where he lay alone in his King sized bed. The images on the muted television lit the living room and part of the hallway, and the darkness and disorder of the house combined with the seizure-like flashes of the television to make the house seem eerie. Piles of papers, dirty laundry, and unread books cast flickering, shapeless shadows on the walls, seen by Ben alone. He felt detached, unable to move from his position in the hallway, seeing everything clearly, with as much power to stop it as he had to stop the clock from ticking. He didn’t even know what “it” was, but he knew that it had crept up gradually on what once had been a family, making them little more than a group of five people who shared a last name. In the wake of that realization, Ben felt impossibly tired and went to sleep on the futon in the basement, unwilling even to face his sleeping brother.

Ben met Alyssa after work in a small, family-owned coffee shop that he always thought tried too hard to be quaint. He arrived after she did and he spotted her immediately, sitting in the corner, her sunglasses resting on her head like a crown. She seemed out of place there, in her stiletto heels and flawlessly coordinated outfit, among the intentionally mismatched furniture and sub-par paintings by local artists. She looked up from aimlessly stirring her latte and watched as Ben walked towards her. Her eyes fixed on his for a moment before she glanced back down at her drink, her left hand tightening around the mug.
“Hey there,” she said as he sat down. He nodded in reply, slipping off his sweatshirt and throwing it over the back of his chair. The barista came over and he ordered a cup of black coffee. As the barista walked away he looked at Alyssa and saw that she was frowning slightly.
“What?” he asked bluntly. Apparently black coffee wasn’t sophisticated enough for her.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, her blond curls bouncing. “How’ve you been?”
He almost smiled at the irony of her question. “Well let’s see. My mother hasn’t moved from the couch in weeks, she isn’t taking her medication, Lucy came home wasted last night, and to top it all off, there is now a huge dent in the bumper of my car.”
Alyssa stared back at him. “Are you going to tell your parents about Lucy?” She pointedly ignored his reference to their fight.
He looked at her; she appeared to be concerned, leaning towards him, her elbows on the edge of the table. The barista returned with his coffee and he sipped it too quickly, burning his tongue in his impatience. He swallowed hard and rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth before answering. “You know they won’t do anything about it. They might ground her for a week if they’re feeling especially strict and then set her loose to destroy her liver and lose her virginity to whatever punk happens to rape her after she passes out.”
Alyssa raised her eyebrows, presumably to his harsh tone and dark prediction of Lucy’s future. “You should tell them anyway. They’re your parents.”
“They don’t act like it.” He felt the typical rush of anger against his parents and their failings rise within him, but he suppressed it, picking up his paper napkin and crushing it in his hand. The anger rose again and instead of smothering it, he redirected the emotion to the girl sitting across from him, so calm and collected, sympathy written on her always pretty, but presently condescending face. “What are we doing here, Alyssa? You didn’t ask me here to make small talk or counsel me about my family.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” She removed her elbows from the table and sat with her back against her chair. “I want you to grow up and apologize.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she were making a business proposal, instead of attempting to reconcile with her boyfriend.
“Are you serious, Alyssa? You intentionally hit my car and you’re demanding an apology from me?” He clenched his fists and pounded them lightly against the table in frustration.
“Try to grow up, Ben. Do you even remember why that little incident occurred?”
“You became momentarily insane?”
“Ok, I’ll remind you. You told me that you’re not going back to school, you’re going to spend the rest of your life working in retail, just like your dad, because you’re too stubborn and scared to do anything else.” She raised her voice slightly, clearly unhappy, if not quite angry, and Ben almost enjoyed provoking her. “And, if that wasn’t enough, you called me a stuck up bitch!”
“Wow! You must have seen the extended edition of this argument because I don’t remember that from the theatrical release!” Ben thought his comment was clever, but Alyssa did not laugh. “I said I was offered a promotion and thinking of taking it, which doesn’t imply that I’m never going back to school. It also doesn’t justify what you did!”
“I would total your whole car if it meant you would wake up. Can you even see who you’re becoming? Why is your semester off to ‘find yourself’ turning into your career?” She didn’t raise her voice but her words were as charged as if she had screamed at him, and something dark and heated flashed in her eyes. The way she spoke made his heartbeat quicken and he began to sweat
“I need to wake up? Look at yourself! Ever since you started this internship you’ve become someone else. Your opinion is the only one that matters, you spend all your time sucking up in various ways, you ditch me and the rest of your friends for your uptight, stingy co-workers, and you wear,” he gestured at her ensemble, “Designer…. stuff!” Ben’s heart pounded quickly as he waited, watching her, hating that she took a deep breath to keep her cool, behaving as if even her moment of rage the day before had been premeditated.
“I’m trying to do something and become someone, Ben. You can’t understand that because you’d rather stay in here forever and keep me here with you than risk changing. You say you don’t want to be like them, but you are, even if you can’t see it. You’re just like your parents.”
Ben got to his feet but instead of raising his voice, he lowered it, steadying himself on the edge of the table, leaning so that his face was inches away from her. “I am not like them. I’m nothing like them. You know I’m not.” He tried, and failed, to keep the pleading out of his voice.
“Then prove it.”

Alyssa’s words ran through Ben’s mind as he sat between his parents on the couch, their undivided attention devoted to the latest ridiculous reality show to debut on primetime TV, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from the antics of ordinary people willing to sacrifice their dignity for a chance to win thousands of dollars and fifteen minutes of fame. Ben moved his head slightly so that he could observe his father, seeing that he in fact was engrossed by the television, laughing aloud and occasionally commenting on the show to his wife, who sat on the other side of Ben, with her usual dazed look on her face.
Ben’s father scratched his bushy, graying beard and sipped a beer, wearing the same plaid pajama bottoms he wore every day after work. Ben’s father would follow the same exact routine each day, from his morning cup of coffee to the donut shop he visited on his way to work. He had worked the same job as a retail manager for twenty five years, declining transfer opportunities and openings in the company office. He claimed that a different position would cause him too much stress, saying that he was better off doing what he knew best. He was a creature of habit, unwilling or maybe unable to do anything else but follow the schedule he had imposed upon himself. The daily routine typically culminated in nightly TV watching with his wife, the only activity the two engaged in. When the show went to commercial break, Ben cleared his throat.
“Hey, I want to talk to you about something. If that’s alright.” Ben was never good at initiating serious talks, or really any sort of conversation with his parents.
“Go for it, son.” Ben nodded at his father and looked at his mother, who had leaned forward slightly, apparently interested in what he had to say.
“Lucy wasn’t where she said she was yesterday. She wasn’t studying at Sandra’s. She was at some party and came home pretty drunk and I just, well I thought you should know.” He felt awkward and hypocritical, like he was tattling on his sister for something he had gotten away with himself. But he wasn’t Lucy. He wasn’t a teenage girl with no one to look out for her. He was the older brother who knew what guys did with girls who giggled with drunkenness and abandoned morals.
His parents took a moment to respond, and Ben wondered if they already knew of Lucy’s escapades and chose to ignore them. “Well, kids will be kids,” his father replied, settling back against the couch.
“She said she was working on homework,” his mother answered, disappointment written on her face.
“But she wasn’t, Mom.” Ben said sharply before turning to his father. “Dad, are you going to do anything?”
“At least it’s not heroin.” He smiled good-naturedly and chuckled but Ben did not return the smile. The older man shrugged. “She’s a teenager. She’s just going to do it anyway.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re just going to let her get away with this?” Ben edged forward on the couch, almost laughing in his disbelief.
“Wait ‘til you’re a parent. You think you have all the answers now, but you won’t someday.” Ben’s father adopted his rarely-used authoritative tone.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben felt the thrill of confronting his father run through him, making his voice crack as it rose in question.
“It means that you have no idea how to be a parent.”
“Like you do?” Ben couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud.
His father stared at him, unused to being challenged. “Watch yourself, young man.”
“Ben, please,” his mother softly pleaded, her face mournful.
“Do you have any idea what could happen to her? Do you even care, because it doesn’t seem like it!”
“That’s enough, Benjamin,” his father said sharply, his voice rising to a volume Ben hadn’t heard since he was a kid. “You’re out of line and you’re upsetting your mother.” Tears had welled in his mother’s eyes, but Ben shook off any feelings of guilt or remorse.
“Maybe she wouldn’t be so upset if she took her pills,” Ben shot darkly, turning away from the flash of pain in his mother’s eyes. Ben’s father looked his wife silently while she stared down at her hands.
When neither of them spoke, Ben stood up. “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know what to say to you.” The commercial break ended and Ben’s parents gratefully focused their attention back to the non-threatening television program. He looked back and forth from his mother to his father. It became clear that the discussion was over, and he left the room, muttering, “This show sucks.”

Ben glanced up at the overcast sky as he and Alyssa walked through the park the morning after the failed conversation with his parents. He had initiated the meeting without knowing what to say to her so they walked in silence garnished by occasional, irrelevant commentary. Children scampered, swung, and slid on the sturdy wooden playground, oblivious to the young people who walked slowly past them, occasionally glancing for reassurance at the attentive mothers that sat at the picnic tables beneath the trees, ready to plant kisses on scraped knees and bruised elbows.
Ben looked at Alyssa and she stared back at him, the paleness of her complexion contrasting with her perfectly painted lips. She pressed them together and kept walking. They walked away from the playground and continued along a winding gravel path alongside blossoming trees that had petals scattered beneath them like snow. Ben sat down on a bench and Alyssa sat beside him, close but not touching him. He took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds, and then exhaled deliberately and forcefully.
“What are we doing, Ben?” she asked softly, looking up at him, no longer so completely self-assured, but hesitant and questioning, more like the girl he had fallen in love with than the composed woman that had confronted him in the coffee shop.
He looked at her and felt overwhelmed with tenderness that contrasted so strongly with the anger he had held against her only the day before. He pushed his questioning rationality out of his mind. “I want to make this work.”
“How?”
“Does it matter how?” His façade of calmness disappeared and he was suddenly passionate. “I still love you and that has to be enough.” He studied her expression, watching as she swallowed and fought to keep her eyes from watering.
“Believe me; I want to work this out. I just don’t know how.”
“Then don’t try,” he murmured. “Not right now.” He reached over and tentatively took one of her hands, feeling its softness and familiarity, knowing the curves of her fingers, and the imperfect crookedness of the finger she had broken playing basketball in high school.
“I don’t know,” she told him, without taking back her hand. “Is love really enough? Maybe you’re supposed to let go instead of hold on. Maybe change is what you need.”
Change, change, was it always about change? “No!” he said forcefully, raging against the tears that welled in her eyes. “It’s enough. It has to be. Just think of us, of how we used to be, how we still can be.” She closed her eyes, and Ben interpreted her silence as her agreement, and he kissed her, wanting to believe, in spite of everything that was spiraling out of control, that he still had her to hold on to.

That night, Ben slept restlessly, his dreams more vivid and alarming than he could ever remember. He dreamed that his parents ran away together, leaving nothing more than a sticky-note telling their children where they had gone. They periodically sent postcards from random places in the country- Miami, New Orleans, Denver, and Los Angeles- telling the kids that they were having the time of their lives. In his dream, Ben wasn’t even angry at them for their abandonment or their lack of adult responsibility. “As long as they’re happy,” he thought to himself. He dreamed that Lucy told him she was pregnant with punk kid’s baby and instead of killing him, he gave the kid a manly pat on the back and welcomed him into the family. Alyssa told him that she and Eddie were getting married and he congratulated them wholeheartedly. He dreamed that he was taking his license test and all he had to do to pass was change lanes on the freeway. But he couldn’t make himself do it. The moment he started, a tractor trailer appeared out of no where, and was about to hit him-
“Hey. Ben. Wake up. Wake up!”
Ben woke with a start to Eddie shaking him by the shoulders. “What’s going on?” he asked, dazed and rubbing his eyes. His bare torso was coated with sweat and as he adjusted his tangled sheets, he felt that they were soaked through.
“Are you trying to wake up the whole house?” Eddie asked, crawling back into his own bed and pulling the covers over his skinny fourteen year old body.
“Huh?”
“You were thrashing around and yelling. I didn’t know you still had nightmares.” Ben’s younger brother rolled over to face the wall, pulling his blanket over his head.
“I had the craziest dream. I guess it was a nightmare,” Ben admitted, receiving only a grunt in response. “I dreamed Mom and Dad left us and went off on some sort of a cross-country trip. And you were getting married to Alyssa.”
“You’re crazy, Ben,” Eddie mumbled sleepily. “Though they might as well leave,” he added. He groaned and then continued, “I guess I’d marry Alyssa. She’s hot.” Ben silenced Eddie’s incoherent mumblings by throwing a pillow across the small room and hitting his brother in the head. “Ok, ok. Bye.”
Ben rolled over on his side and closed his eyes, contemplating how his mind had produced such nonsense. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered what it meant.

For Ben and Alyssa, the next day was a re-creation of a day in the springtime of their relationship. They played Frisbee in the park, ate a picnic lunch, and pushed each other on the swings. Their conversation consisted of forgotten memories that brought them to tears of hilarity. Neither mentioned the internship, Ben’s promotion, or the plight of his family. Alyssa wore Ben’s favorite pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt, and her hair was loose and windswept. He was relaxed in her presence, feeling again as if he had nothing to prove, and he was as in love with her as ever. They went to dinner at a low-key pizzeria and Ben brought her home earlier than usual, ignoring the fact that the reason for cutting the day short was her early morning commute to the city.
When Ben returned home, his parents were performing their required hours of devotion to the Holy of Holies, the digital cable box. He walked into the kitchen, barely acknowledging them, and pulled a beer out of the fridge, frowning when he noticed that his supply had been depleted, most likely by to his father. He brought the beer down to the basement and sprawled out on the futon, turning on the TV and lazily flipping through the stations. He was half-way done with his beer when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. He pulled it out and looked at the glowing caller ID. It was Lucy.
“Lucy?” he answered, instantly worried, wondering why she was calling him, of all people. Maybe she wasn’t meaning to call him at all. He could barely hear her over the background noise, which sounded like a mixture of music, the dull roar of conversation, and the occasional exclamation. “Lucy?”
“Ben?”
“What’s up, Luce,” he asked, forcing calmness into his voice.
“Ben, you have to come get me.” Her voice sounded restrained, and as if she was intentionally speaking quietly.
“Why?” He kept her talking as he pounded up the basement stairs, grabbing his keys off the kitchen table before bolting out the front door.
“You just do. Nick- he’s- I don’t know, he’s really drunk and he’s scaring me.”
“How is he scaring you? What did he do to you?” A hysterical note seeped into Ben’s voice as he started his car, noticing that his hand was shaking as he put the key in the ignition.
It took her a moment to answer. “Can you just come?”
“I’m on my way. Where are you?”
She described her location haltingly, mostly using landmarks, but Ben could see a clear picture of the place in his mind. It was across town on a side street across town, about ten minutes away.
“Is there anyone else there that you know?”
“No. Only Nick.”
“Lucy, just hang tight and I’ll be there as fast as I can. Don’t move until I call you.”
“Ok.” Her voice sounded small on the other end of the phone. Ben slammed his foot down on the accelerator and sped through town like he hadn’t done since he was late for curfew in high school. He blew through a red light and skidded through a stop sign, turning the car quickly onto the street that Lucy had described. He parked in front of a typical suburban home, except there were cars lining the street and packed in the driveway. Ben kept the car running but stood beside it as he called her cell phone, looking through the open door for any sight of her. She didn’t answer, so he walked across the yard towards the front door. He heard raised voices, recognizing one as his sister’s, and as he quickly climbed the front steps, Lucy suddenly flung the door open and stumbled towards him. The hood of her zip-up sweatshirt was pulled over her head and Ben didn’t see her face until she ran into him and he grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Let go!” she shouted, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp.
“Hey, Lucy, it’s me!” He tightened his grip on her shoulders. She looked up at him and he saw that her face was tear-streaked and smudged with running mascara. Her eyes were blood-shot and puffy, and looked at him with a mixture of fear and relief.
“Lucy!” Nick appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, looking more disheveled than usual, a sloppy grin on his face.
“She’s going home. Take one more step and I’m calling the cops. Got that?” Ben waved his cell phone for emphasis, wondering if he looked more threatening than he felt.
“Go on and pretend you don’t like this, baby,” the boy leered. “I know you do.” Lucy began to audibly sob and stepped behind her brother.
“Don’t try me, punk,” Ben warned. Nick lurched forward and Ben’s reaction was violent and automatic. He shoved Lucy behind him, and grabbed the kid roughly. “You don’t come near her!” He dug his nails into the boy’s arms, and slammed his gangly frame against the side of the house. He shook with a rage he didn’t know he was capable of and he tightened his grip on the scum bag who had dared to mess with his sister, who had done who knows what to her. He held Nick’s trembling, pathetic face in place, inches from his own, and he smelled a mixture of fear and alcohol on his breath before he pulled his face away in revulsion. “If I ever see you again, I swear to God, you are dead, do you hear me, you are dead.” His voice was lowered to little above a whisper, and in the back of his mind Ben knew that his mannerisms were inspired by all the dramatic confrontations he had ever seen in movies or on TV. But he wasn’t a hero and this wasn’t a movie. Nick nodded, trying to wrench himself out of Ben’s grasp. Ben slammed him against the side of the house one more time before letting him go and turning around, holding his shaking hands in front of him, to face his sister. She stood unmoving before him, one hand covering her mouth and her other arm wrapped around her body.
“Let’s go.” Ben turned Lucy away from Nick and lead her to the car, putting his arm around her shoulders that had started to shake with sobs. As he opened the passenger door of the car for Lucy to climb in, he glanced back at the house and saw that the boy had gone inside but still stood watching them through the screen door. Lucy buried her face in her hands as she sat in the passenger seat, crying quietly. Gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, Ben drove away from the house and towards home. He didn’t speak and he didn’t expect her to. He tried to block out his thoughts and focus on the road, as if he were driving to the supermarket, or picking her up from a sleepover, but he couldn’t stop wondering what the scum bag had done to her. Had he touched her, forced her, or had he only scared her? Should he ask or should he let her sob her heart out in the seat next to him while he stared at the road?
Ben slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Damn it, Lucy! What happened in there?”
“Nothing!” She took her hands away from her face and he looked over at her. Her face was red and blotchy from the tears that still streamed down her face.
“Then why the hell are you crying?”
She sniffed and wiped her face. “Because of what could have happened.”
“What?”
“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “What you’re thinking of.”
“So it didn’t- he didn’t- you-”
“No. He didn’t.”
Ben breathed and loosened his grip on the wheel.
Lucy was silent for a moment. She seemed calmed by their conversation, her voice shaky but under control. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”
“Tell them what?”
“About what happened.”
He laughed dryly. “I already tried to tell them about you. It didn’t go over so well.”
Lucy let her hands drop to her lap. “So they don’t even care. They wouldn’t care if I ended up in the hospital.”
“Is that what you’re shooting for?”
“No. I’m not an idiot.”
“Well you’ve been acting like one.”
She didn’t answer immediately, but looked out the window, watching the darkened houses pass by. “I know.”
“Then do something about it.”
“Alright. I will. As of right now, I’m done.”
The conviction in her voice made him pause. “Done with what?”
“With all this. Partying. Drinking. Nick. Lying. I’m done.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to change.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure it out.” He heard her try to hold back her tears and he saw she knew what she was leaving behind. “I don’t want to be like Mom and Dad. You know?” He frowned and she answered his unasked question. “They don’t even try to help themselves. It’s stupid.”
Ben laughed, feeling triumphant. “You’re right, they don’t, and it is stupid. All they can do is sit on the damned couch and watch TV, ignoring their problems, ignoring everything. Not trying to get better, not trying to move on, not talking, not doing. The same thing, every single night. I thought I was the only one who saw it.”
Lucy looked at him and frowned. “You’re not much better than them, you know.”
“Ha! Are you kidding? You must be drunker than I thought.”
“I’m plenty drunk, but I still see it. You’d rather work at Best Buy than go back to school, rather fight with Alyssa than be alone. Rather watch and criticize than change yourself. So much different than Mom and Dad, huh?”
“It is different; it’s more complicated than that.” He gritted his teeth and drove faster.
“I’m sure. Dad dropped out of college for a completely different reason and he and Mom don’t talk ‘cause they can read each others minds. Right. But don’t worry, Benny, it’s not too late for you.” She reached over and patted his arm.
“Shut up. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Ok, ok. I’m just your little sister anyway.”
“You won’t even remember this tomorrow.”
“I remember the other night.”
Ben didn’t answer. He turned into the driveway and turned the car off. After sitting in silence for a few moments, Lucy reached for the handle of the door, ready to leave. He hit the automatic lock and she took away her hand. “I hope you do remember,” he said, hoping this really was it for all the ways she hurt herself and allowed herself to be hurt.
She nodded. “Thanks Ben.” She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “I hope you do too.”
“Hey Luce,” he called after she had climbed out of the car. She leaned over, waiting for him to speak. “Thank you.” She smiled and closed the car door before walking into the house, swaying slightly and grabbing onto the railing, glancing back at Ben, who sat unmoving in the car. He wasn’t the same person who had climbed, with trembling hands, into the car to drive home his sister. What Lucy had said changed him, without him signing off on it, without his permission or agreement. He could take it or leave it; keep following his parents, or he could get out of the slow lane, pass their junky station wagon, and go forward into the unknown. Maybe they would catch up with him, or overtake him, as Lucy had. Or they would eventually break down and fall apart. He didn’t know where his parents would end up, if Lucy would follow through, or if he would do anything differently, even after his realization. At the very least, he decided, walking up the front steps, even if he didn’t turn down the promotion, go back to school, or break up with Alyssa, he would start small, and finish painting the hallway.

The Wastebasket

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Idea for first scene...

Saturday, May 31, 2008

I have a title... help with the storyline?

Friday, May 23, 2008

The Moth

Monday, May 5, 2008

Changing Lanes- My Fiction Writing Short Story

Monday, April 28, 2008

Power lines

Ms. Harrington

Friday, April 11, 2008

Never

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