Blind Squirrels

by Jennifer Davis

  “You’re Ben, right?”

  “That’s me. Hey, you’re in my psychology class, aren’t you? Let me think...Katrina maybe?” I couldn’t believe he knew my name.

  “Right! How did you remember that?” I asked in amazement.

  “I always make it a point to remember people I want to get to know. That’s why I’m sitting here. I saw you when I came in.” He had a charming smile, and when he smiled, his brown eyes crinkled.

  “Okay, Ben. We’ve met. What now?” I completely forgot the music class I needed to get to.

  “Let me buy you lunch after my next class – if your schedule is clear,” he offered.

  I suddenly remembered where I needed to be. “Next class – I almost forgot. I’ve got Music Humanities with Gerald, whoever that is. I’d better run. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria at ten-thirty.”

  “I’ll be waiting. First, I’ve got Chemistry with Dr. Noble. I’ll see you soon.” Ben turned and walked away down the aisle. I was beginning to like college quite a bit.

  Music Humanities was not going to be one of my favorite classes. The course focused on classical music, and I had little interest in symphonies, operas, or concertos. Mr. Gerald – the instructor – was an odd character. He wore his orange-red hair in a Dutch Boy cut, and he had a bushy orange mustache. He wore brightly colored silk smoking jackets to class, and on a daily basis he forced us to listen to recordings of Handel, his favorite composer.

  I walked into the cafeteria at ten-fifteen. A few students were sitting around talking, but most of the tables were empty. While looking around for a place to wait on Ben, I noticed that Ben was already there. As I approached the table, Ben stood up and smiled.

  “Hey. I see you made it. You’re even early.” He pulled out a chair for me to sit in.

  After Ben bought us some lunch, we spent the next two hours talking together. He acted like such a gentleman, but I believed that he liked me. When twelve-thirty arrived, I didn’t want to leave, but I knew I had to get to my tennis class. Ben asked me for my phone number, and he promised to call me later.

  As I left the cafeteria, I thought about how cute he was. His dark brown hair was shoulder length and layered. His sexy brown eyes twinkled when he talked, and his eyelashes were long and lush. His lips were full and sensual, and he had a cute little snub of a nose. His body was lean and muscular, and he had a deep, dark tan. He was – without a doubt – the best looking guy that had ever shown me attention. I just hoped he was sincere.

  My tennis instructor was a small oriental man. Jimmy Chen was a former state champ on the tennis circuit, and he would prove to be a methodical, consistent coach – expecting only the best from his students. He and I connected immediately, and I endeavored to do my best and to make Jimmy proud of me.

  That afternoon, Ben called me at home. He asked me out to dinner that night, and I accepted. I was giddy and excited as I planned what I would wear. I picked out an ivory cable-stitched sweater and a pair of black tailored tweed pants. I also wanted to wear my best lined jacket – it was cold outside. It was in a storage box in the bottom of my closet, so I started moving things out to get to it.

  I found the box, and removed my jacket. Underneath was a scrapbook I had made during high school. Without a thought, I took the book out and flipped through it. Most of the pictures in it were of my friends: Aurelia, Dominique, Olivia, Laura, Felicia, Mona; also Jack, Wayne, and Roger. There were several pictures of Max as well. These included photos taken at Bons Copains’ meetings and snapshots my friends or I took in secret. Before, I would have slipped away into a world of nostalgia, but today it wasn’t happening. I knew right away that I was finally over Max. As good as he looked to me, I was still over him. Ben was my new beginning. Max was in the past at last.

  Ben picked me up that evening. He came in and met my parents. We went out to eat at the Waffle House, and I learned that Ben’s favorite foods were bacon, bacon, and bacon. I’ve never been big on breakfast, but I had an omelet just the same. After dinner, Ben showed me his apartment. We sat on his bed and talked for hours. Ben was something of a kook, but he was a likable kook. He kept me laughing most of the evening, and the hours just drifted away. He took me home at midnight, and we lingered for a while at the front door. Our first kiss was nothing to brag about – just a quick peck on the cheek. Then he left me standing on the doorstep expecting something more.

  Over the next few months, Ben and I would spend almost every day together. We became great friends, and I kept telling myself that we would never be more than that. Ben had several habits that I hated, and I knew he would never give them up. At the same time, he was very critical of some of my behavior, and I stubbornly held on to those quirks that he hated most.

  Inevitably, near the end of the summer our relationship blossomed into more than friendship. Ben took me out to the beach one day, and he told me he had a surprise for me. He handed me a bucket of sand and a sand sifter. “Your surprise is in here,” he said, pointing to the bucket of sand.

  I carefully began sifting through the sand, and I feigned surprised when I found a ring close to the bottom of the bucket. My excitement turned to aggravation when I realized the ring came from one of those quarter toy machines that are always in the front of department stores. Before I could exact my revenge, Ben presented me with a genuine ring – a quarter-karat, marquis, diamond engagement ring. He proposed on bended knee there in the sand, and I accepted. We planned to marry in December.

  Olivia could not get excited about my news. She was happy for me, but she and Chris had recently split up, and she was in a depression over him. Olivia was usually a cheerful bright person, but she could get melancholy and distraught when things were going rough. I tried to bring Olivia out of her slump, but she wouldn’t budge. I managed to get a couple of chuckles, but when we hung up, I knew she was still feeling despondent.

  Next, we told our parents about our plans. My parents were a little concerned that Ben was six years older than me, but they did not try to interfere. Ben’s parents lived in Ohio, but I had spoken to them over the phone. They seemed distant and somewhat cold, but they told us that they were happy for us. They planned to come to the wedding.

  Somewhere around this time, Ben decided that he was going to change me into the perfect fiancée. I wasn’t a skinny little petite woman, and suddenly that was what Ben wanted. Every day, he started criticizing my eating habits and urging me to exercise more. His unexpected faultfinding prompted me to start pointing out things I didn’t like about him. It was beginning to look as if we might call the wedding off because neither of us would give in. To Ben, my critiques were merely nit-picking. On the other hand, I felt Ben had no right to judge me by my weight. After all, I hadn’t gained any weight since I had met him.

  The battle finally ended when I brought up Ben’s marijuana habit. Ben rarely smoked pot around me, but I knew he frequently smoked it at other times. When I objected to that, Ben immediately apologized for making my weight an issue. He assured me that he loved me the way I was. He further declared that he’d only started the argument because he was nervous about getting married. I should have stuck to my guns and refused to marry Ben if he kept smoking, but I was too much in love to do something so intelligent. We were once again a happy, loving couple.

  Ben and I married on December 16. We had a lovely church wedding with about fifty people in attendance. I wore a white satin gown with pearl and lace trim. Ben wore a dark blue tuxedo with a burgundy cummerbund. Olivia was my Maid of Honor, and Ben’s father was his Best Man. Ben’s parents paid for our wedding pictures and for a man to videotape the event. Ben paid for everything else.

  Life as Mrs. Benjamin Bellanova was blissful at first. I was out of college for the Christmas break, and I loved staying home in our apartment. I saw very little of Ben, but our time together was erotic and exciting. We were immensely happy, and we saw no reason why our happiness would ever end.

  Although Ben had a modest income from investm
ents he had made before I met him, he decided that he needed a full time job to support his new wife. He took a position as an artist at a silk-screening factory, and he made a fair salary. Ben was a very talented artist, but he wanted to work in communications. He had no desire to make art his career, so he planned to continue college in January while working at the factory at night.

  Just before our January classes began, Ben invited some friends over for a party. All of these people were strangers to me, and all of them were into marijuana and other drugs. I spent much of the night in our bedroom, but periodically Ben would drag me into the other room to show me something or someone. By the end of the night, there were people passed out all over our living room. I locked myself into our bedroom and cried myself to sleep on our queen-sized bed.

  By morning, I was all cried out and ready to fight. The sight that met me in the living room was horrifying. Someone had puked all over my beautiful teal, paisley-print, French provincial sofa leaving an indelible stain to mark the occasion. I found cigarette burns on all of my pillows and cushions. I also found a collection of marijuana seeds in ashtrays and embedded in the furniture. All I needed now was a little dirt – and there was plenty of that all over the kitchen floor. Everyone had left – including Ben. With no one to fight with, I used my anger to make the apartment spotless.

  Around noon, the phone rang. A man on the line asked if I was Mrs. Bellanova and then proceeded to tell me that Ben had been in an accident. He was in stable condition at Memorial Hospital, and he was asking for me. Forgetting my anger and frustration, I quickly left for the hospital.

  The receptionist at the Information Desk told me that Ben was being moved from emergency to a semi-private room on the third floor. I took the elevator and arrived at the room just as the orderly was arriving with Ben. Ben was happy to see me, and he assured me that he wasn’t severely injured – the doctors just wanted to keep an eye on him for the night. Feeling much relieved, I waited patiently in the hall while Ben was being transferred from the gurney to the hospital bed. A policeman was approaching from the direction of the elevator, so I moved over to allow him to pass. Instead, he looked at the room number and then stood staring impatiently into Ben’s room. “Are you looking for someone, Officer?” I asked.

  “I’m just here to speak with Mr. Bellanova,” he replied curtly.

  “I’m his wife,” I said. Why did he want to speak to Ben?

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I will need to speak with your husband alone for a few minutes.” It was clear the officer wasn’t going to tell me why he was there, and it was clear that he wanted me to leave. I took the elevator back down to the waiting room, but I continued to speculate on what was going on with Ben.

  I took a seat in an oversized chair. The room was rather large and the lights were dim, so at first I didn’t see the young woman sitting alone. I noticed her when I heard muffled sobs coming from the corner of the room. Her head was bent over in her hands and her bright red hair hung down into her lap. It was obvious that she was crying, and her body jerked with each sob. I wanted to console her, but I had no idea what to do or say. So I sat and watched her and did nothing.

  After a few minutes, a nurse came into the room and went over to the weeping young woman. The girl looked up at the older nurse who was carrying some items in her hands. The young woman’s face was streaked with mascara trails and her eyes were ringed in black. I could see that she was about my age and she appeared very fragile. I thought that she was too young to carry whatever burden was now weighing her down.

  When the nurse began to speak, I overheard what was said. “Mrs. Cartwright, here are your husband’s things. I’m very sorry for your loss. Can I help you in anyway? Do you need a ride home?”

  The young woman took the items from the nurse. It looked like a wallet and a key ring. “Is this all?” the girl asked. “Can I see him? Please, I really need to see him…”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you really don’t want to see. Once arrangements have been made, he’ll be cleaned up and you’ll be able to see him then.”

  “But doesn’t someone have to…identify the body?”

  “His father has done that so you wouldn’t have to, Mrs. Cartwright. In your condition, you don’t need to…see…um…you don’t need so much stress. Please, let me get someone to take you home.”

  “Is Travis’ father still here? I can go with him, I guess.”

  Travis? Cartwright? Was this young woman related to Travis in some way? Or was I just reading things into it?

  As if to answer my questions, Travis’ father came hurriedly into the room. I knew he was Travis’ father; I had seen them together a few times when we were still in school. Mr. Cartwright was looking at the floor and he almost ran straight into me. I moved just in time and he looked up. A look of recognition crossed his face as he met my eyes. “Aren’t you Katrina Kipling?” he asked. I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and he looked ragged.

  “Yes, that’s me. Mr. Cartwright?”

  “Yes. Are you here about Travis too?” He had a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Is Travis here, too? My husband was just admitted to the hospital. I’m here with him.”

  Just then the young woman interrupted. “Mr. Cart…Dad.” And with that, she burst into a fresh round of tears.

  Mr. Cartwright put his arms out in front of him as if to push her away. “Charlotte, I’m not your dad, and I can’t talk to you right now.” Now I saw tears welling up in his eyes. “Travis is gone…and…and…”

  “…and I’m not,” she sobbed. “I know. I wish it was me instead!”

  Travis gone? Oh my God, was Travis dead? What had happened? I wanted to know, but I could see the pain both of these people were going through, so I just stood there. I waited for Mr. Cartwright to console the girl – probably Travis’ wife – and assure her that he didn’t wish she was dead instead of Travis. But he just glared at her and said nothing. She clutched the items in her hands against her chest and then ran out of the waiting room towards the elevators. Mr. Cartwright didn’t try to stop her.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cartwright,” I finally managed. “Travis is…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Dead,” Mr. Cartwright said matter-of-factly. “He was killed in a car accident this morning. Charlotte, his wife of about three days, was driving the car. She’s only eighteen and she’s only been driving for a short time. They said it wasn’t her fault, but…” There was hurt and anger in his eyes.

  I was still at a loss for words. I could feel tears stinging my eyes. Travis was never my favorite person, but he had been a part of my life. And he was so young. The whole thing seemed so unfair. Then slowly my brain grasped what Mr. Cartwright had said: Travis had died in a car accident. Ben had also been in a car accident, and a policeman was questioning him. “Please, God,” I prayed, “don’t let Ben be the one that killed Travis.”

  I wouldn’t be getting the story from Mr. Cartwright. He apologized and said he had to be going. I moved out of his way and he rushed on towards the exit. I couldn’t move for a few moments while the whole thing turned round and round in my head. I finally decided that I had to talk to Ben.

  As I turned to go back upstairs, the red haired young woman appeared in front of me. She still had tears streaming down her face, but she was a little more in control than she had been a few moments before. “You knew Travis?” she asked me.

  “Y-Yes…we were in high school together.”

  “I’ve only known Travis for a few months. We fell in love so fast, and we were only married three days ago. And now….now I’ve killed him.” The sobs came pouring out again. I found myself putting my arms around her and trying to comfort her. She seemed so much like a little girl.

  “You didn’t kill him. It was an accident. Mr. Cartwright said it wasn’t your fault,” I said in an effort to calm her.

  “He…he said that?” she pulled away and for the first time looked hopeful. “He was acting like he
blamed me for the whole thing. The policeman told me that the other driver was using drugs. He said I couldn’t have avoided the accident…The other car came out of nowhere. It ran the red light and plowed right into the passenger door where Travis was sitting…”

  I was getting scared now. I knew Ben had been high all the night before and I knew him well enough to know that he had probably been high when he left home this morning. It was Ben that killed Travis! I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run to Ben, but Charlotte was holding onto my arms tightly. I also didn’t want her to know that it was my husband that killed her husband.

  She kept talking as I struggled with my feelings. “And what am I going to do now? I’m six weeks pregnant. Oh, Travis, why did you have to die?”

  She was becoming hysterical now, and I desperately wanted to get away from her. I was toying with the idea of just pushing her away and running as fast as I could to the elevator when the nurse from earlier came up to us. She gently pulled Charlotte off of me and said, “Come on, Mrs. Cartwright. I’m off duty now and I’m going to take you to your mother’s house. You need to get some rest and take care of that baby you’re carrying….” They walked away with the nurse still consoling her. As soon as they were out of sight, I headed towards the elevators.

  I paused just outside of Ben’s room. My hands were clammy and I was shaking like a leaf. I finally went in the room, and that’s when I realized that the police officer was still there. I was about to leave again when the officer said, “You don’t have to go, Mrs. Bellanova. We’re done with all the questions. I was just about to leave.”

  “Is Ben under arrest?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am. Your husband wasn’t driving the car. He was just a passenger. I just needed him to tell me what happened. Two people dead because of drugs. It’s a shame.” The officer shook his head and walked out of Ben’s room.