His Name was Ben

by Paulette Mahurin

  “That good?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I’ve always liked Steve Martin.” He playfully traced her cute upturned nose. “Just never had him figured for an intellectual. Has it ever been made into a movie?”

  “I don’t know.” She crinkled her face where it tickled from his touch. “Don’t think so.”

  “Check it out and we can rent it.”

  Sara loved the idea of renting a movie and cuddling up with him. “Oh, that’d be so great, Ben. We could make popcorn, snuggle up.”

  They returned to the room a little after ten. “That walk felt so good,” she kissed his arm. “I feel really blessed.”

  “Blessed? With all you’ve been through?” What he didn’t say was and that shit with your mother.

  “But I’m okay now. Someone must be watching over me. They got that embolism resolved. I haven’t had any problems with the blood thinner, and I think I can probably get this bandage off in a few days.” Pressing her leg against his, “Trust me, I am lucky, and pretty soon you’ll get luckier.”

  “You’ve an infectiously great attitude. I love that about you.”

  She ignited. “You said the L word.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Are you,” she snickered, “taking it back?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Not what?”

  A breath away, “Not taking it back,” he smothered her in kisses, maneuvering around her bandages, as they made their way to bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ben woke up a little after daybreak, drenched. Sara was fast asleep next to him. Unlike times in the past from a bad dream or fever, this was different. His answer to doctors questioning him about night sweats since the cancer diagnosis was always, “No, I haven’t had any.”

  Sara’s peaceful face, angelic to his eyes, didn’t stop the heartache that he had turned a corner, not the one he’d hoped for. The synchronous rise of her chest in unity with his—life—was a gift he didn’t want to throw away by dwelling in the anguish that there might not be nights of movies, popcorn, and cuddling. That would serve no purpose other than to rob him of whatever precious time he had left, and as long as he lived, who knew what turn the next corner would take him to. Being keenly aware of his senses and keeping his attention on what was actually occurring gratified him. That alone was miracle enough. As his thoughts shifted from horrible outcomes back to the bed, to Sara, the ache in his heart drifted to the ethers. He let his pajama bottoms dry without waking her.

  A couple of hours later, “Good morning,” Sara nestled into his chest. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not bad,” he lied.

  They had just enough time to eat and get to Zimmerman’s office by eleven for Ben’s appointment. As they made their way, listening to the hum of the wheels on asphalt, a piece of gravel flew up hitting the windshield and chipping the glass. “Oh no,” Sara put a finger on it to see if it went through. “It’s smooth on the inside. Maybe you won’t need to fix it.”

  His stomach turning sour, he glanced at the tiny crack that was still intact. “It’ll need to be taken care of so it doesn’t spread.”

  “If you’d like, we can try to contact someone when you bring me home.”

  “It’ll be okay till I can get around to it.”

  Sara looked over at him. “You’re sweating. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.” Swiping a hand across his brow, he knew his squeamish gut was making him perspire.

  “You don’t look okay. Are you sure you’re fine to drive?”

  “Yes,” he swallowed down the saliva accumulating in his mouth. “It’s warm today. I don’t particularly do well in this heat.”

  Catching the glare of the sun on the bumper in front of them, “It’s been hotter than average and is expected to continue for another week.” With a distinct tone of suspicion in her voice that Ben noticed, Sara said, “Well, I’m glad we’re on our way to see Zimmerman.”

  Zimmerman entered holding a syringe, “It’s nice to see you two together.” Looking at the needle, “I’m short a nurse today so let me go ahead and give you this.” Moving closer to Ben, shadows of yellow on his sclera became more apparent. “How you doing?” He swabbed him with alcohol, injected the liquid, and disposed of the needle.

  “Okay.”

  “No abdominal pain? Nausea? Vomiting? Difficulty moving your bowels? Blood in your stool? Night sweats?” Zimmerman rambled off at a rapid pace as if it was one long question specific to pancreatic cancer.

  Knowing it wouldn’t change anything were he to answer truthfully, he shook his head. Let her think what she wants to, what she needs to, for as long as I can I want to make her happy. “Nah, I’m okay. Sara’s been taking good care of me.” And he did feel better in the air-conditioned room.

  Relieved with hearing what she needed to, Sara’s stiff shoulders eased.

  Nodding approval to Ben, Zimmerman caught sight of Sara releasing her taut grip on the handle of the chair. “How’s Michael?” He shifted his line of questions into small talk. “I haven’t communicated with him in a few weeks? Candace okay? And what’s their daughter’s name?”

  “They’re doing great. Melanie.”

  “Right, she’s in college now? How are your parents, Ben?”

  “She’s at Berkeley. Haven’t been in much contact with my folks lately.”

  Ben was aware that Zimmerman knew from rooming with Michael that their dad drank, and when he was intoxicated he became belligerent. The boys avoided him, but their mom, having no escape, took to the bottle and became reclusive.

  Not expecting to hear Ben say he was out of touch with his parents piqued Sara’s curiosity. Driving up Highway 33 back to Ojai in silence, it weighed on her that there were things about him she didn’t know. Surprises and what they brought—disappointment and life changes—the holding back disturbed her. She had hoped that when he invited her to open up, he’d do the same. Now she feared it might be one-sided.

  Ben broke the silence as they passed through Mira Monte, on the outskirts of Ojai. “I have an idea,” he slowed for a red light. “Neither of us has an appointment till next Tuesday when I have to get another shot. How about we head out of town and spend a couple nights at the beach somewhere? I think the ocean air would do us both good.”

  “And Tazzie? Ellen has to work and I’ve already been away from her for…”

  “Bring her. We’ll find a dog-friendly place up the coast.”

  Sara’s concern moments before turned to anticipation, and when they arrived, Ellen commented, “You look radiant.”

  “Ben worked his magic on Rosalie. You’re not going to believe it.” She filled Ellen in on what happened, that they’d be heading out, and asked, “Where’s my girl?”

  “Out back.”

  The dog wagged ferociously, threatening to break in half as she smothered Sara with licks. “Hey my girl, we’re going on a vacation.” When Sara was at her worst, Taz was by her side in an abiding loyalty. Tazzie was always there, saying, I’m here for you for as long as these legs and body will carry me. Her heart was opening to Ben, but excluding Tazzie was out of the question. She was grateful he was willing to include the dog in their plans.

  While Ellen helped Sara get ready, Ben searched the net for dog-friendly hotels. The Sea Gypsy Motel in Pismo Beach had plenty of rooms with ocean front accommodations; he made reservations on his credit card. “We’re all set. I think you and Tazzie will like the spot I booked.” He pointed to a suitcase. “Want me to take that to the car?”

  “What about you? You don’t have any clothes with you.”

  “I have an overnight kit in the trunk. A habit just in case and,” he motioned to his feet, “these will be fine at the beach,” referring to his Teva sandals with rubber soles. “I can pick up some shorts and a t-shirt on the road. There’s shopping from here to there, isn’t there?”

  “This is too damn good to be true.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Ellen answered, “There
’s great shopping in Santa Barbara.”

  Looking in the mirror on the wall in the bedroom, “Too expensive,” Sara brushed her hair.

  “I don’t mind. Something convenient to get to and we’ll be good to go.”

  “You’re so easy going, Ben.” Ellen smiled at Sara and gave her a look that indicated she was thinking more than she was saying.

  “What?” asked Sara.

  “Nothing, it’s nothing,” laughed Ellen.

  “Come on,” prodded Sara.

  “I was just thinking about the way you look at each other. It’s obvious you two have a special connection.”

  Sara blushed.

  “Okay, enough from me,” said Ellen. “Have a great time, guys. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “You going to stay here while we’re gone? You don’t have to.” Sara petted Tazzie. “No furry friend to feed, and you’re working.”

  “I’m here. Too lazy to pack up, shop for food, my fridge is empty.” Ellen giggled, “Yours is full.” Walking them to the door, she joked, “I’ll bill you for my gas to work.”

  At a Gap store in Santa Barbara, Ben purchased a couple of pairs of khaki Bermuda shorts and t-shirts. From Lazy Acres market, they left with two bags of organic food.

  As they pulled up to the motel, the fresh salt air sent Taz circling and whining to be let out. Ben checked in, unpacked the car, and helped them into the room, where Sara put away the food. “That was so nice of you to get a studio with a kitchen.”

  “Hey, we don’t have to leave the room. Eat, watch the ocean, and make love.”

  Sliding glass doors opened to a comfortable patio overlooking the smooth rolling motion of the water. Sitting out on the deck, soaking in the remaining late afternoon sun, Sara took in the expanse of sand and pebbles that led to waves breaking into froth. Listening to the sea’s splashing rhythm and the melody of children playing, “I’m so happy.”

  “So happy.” He emphasized so. “How do you define and measure happiness?”

  “Good question. I don’t know that you can quantify it and how can a word ever touch on something so elusive and subjective?” A hodgepodge of thoughts came forth. “Objects are easier to label than emotions.” She heard the words coming out of her mouth, and saw some of her old conditioning arising—a carryover from the ideas of the Descartes movement—concerning thought and its lack of application when it merely points to a thing and is just a representation. “I just ran a bunch of mental jumble in my head and have come to the conclusion that none of it is important, except,” she got up and leaned over him, her lips on his, “this,” she laughed. “Call it what you want, measure it how you can, who cares—all I know is I never want this feeling to end.”

  Absorbing the warmth from her kiss, the rhetorical question dissolved. Now he wasn’t bothered about what tomorrow might bring or what had transpired before. The only thing that mattered to him was that he was exactly where he wanted to be, sitting beside a woman he knew he could not improve on. I could live like this, moment to moment, and take what comes without trying to control it. He relaxed into the realization that he was okay, no matter his fate. It filled him with a deep sense of connectedness with life that calmed the lingering nausea in his belly. Ben gave Sara a knowing smile.

  “Twenty-five cents for your thoughts.”

  “You’ve updated that idiom to include inflation,” he laughed.

  Their laughter and chatting continued as the sun drifted below the horizon’s curvature into the mysterious space that separates earth from sky.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Waking to the fresh ocean air and sounds of the tide coming in, Sara beside him and Taz at their feet gave Ben a sense of belonging. It was how he imagined it should feel with family, unlike the hyper-alert style from the unpredictable environment he’d grown up in that made him feel abandoned and inadequate. Years of wanting approval from his father, striving to do his best in school, Boy Scouts, doing chores around the house were received with silence or resentment that he didn’t live up to his dad’s standards. One kind word, one mention of support, a simple That’s my boy would have meant the world to Ben but instead he heard, “It’s not good enough,” and “You’re not good enough!” Worse than the critical words were the fits of anger sounded in drunken rage. He never understood why his father took to the bottle; it’d happened a couple of years after he married Ben’s mother, before the boys were born.

  The unmet love he’d held inside wanted to reach out and find fulfillment, but it had been dashed too many times in the past, leaving him reticent to open—until Sara. Something about being with her was different, and safe. What the source of the heightened emotion was—whether it was the cancer, a view of death never this macroscopic before, or that he was unabashedly falling for her—didn’t matter. With Sara he knew he was home, what he’d yearned for all his life.

  A flow of air from Sara’s parted lips grazed his cheeks, returning him to the sensual presence of their bodies. Embracing the tranquility of Sara in repose, You gave me renewed purpose, meaning to my very existence that I had lost with the futility expressed by the Stanford Tumor Board, and I want to make you happy for the rest of our time together.

  Once dressed, Ben was out on the patio with Tazzie, while Sara prepared coffee and breakfast, when something caught the dog’s attention and she took off like the wind. “Tazzie!” Fumbling to catch her, Ben’s foot caught in a pocket of sand, throwing him off balance. He hit the ground calling, “Tazzie!”

  Hearing the commotion, Sara panicked and ran as fast as her aching body would carry her after her dog chasing a small poodle headed for the highway. “Tazzie,” her voice cracked, “come back here!” A searing pain throbbed in her ribs as her legs barely kept pace, until Taz stopped. Grabbing the collar, she dragged her to the room, “No! Not okay!” The bang of the slamming glass door sent Tazzie cowering off to hide in the bathroom. “What got into you?” She tightened the ace wrap around her ribs to lessen the burning sensation, wishing it would also hold in the pressure building inside her.

  Ben came in, unhurt, and apologized.

  “Not your fault. She’s never done that before.” Still red in the face, trying to catch her breath, “I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to her.”

  “She’s okay now.” Assessing where his knees had hit the grit, he wiped away some loose granules and sat down. “It’s over. The other dog’s okay.”

  The disabling tsunami of anger turned to grief. A magnet of fear, envisioning the worst-case scenario brought forth tears that Sara could no longer contain.

  “What’s going on?” Ben puzzled.

  Like descending a mountain on skis, picking up speed, she could not stop the eruption blasting out of her. “I don’t know what I’d do,” she gasped, “if I lost her.”

  Ben motioned to the chair next to his. “Sara, come here.”

  Slumping down beside him, the heavens opened and out it poured, it being a story about a traumatic incident she’d had as a teenager in middle school after her brother’s arrest, after the hoopla eventually fizzled out. She had made a new friend, a boy named Greg, who’d invited her to a party where some popular kids would be. But that night Sara overheard the laughter and the mumbled, “Crazy house.” The kids were making fun of her. On that dark, cold night she’d run home alone and refused to go to school for a week. To assuage the pain his daughter was going through, her father adopted a golden cocker spaniel from the Humane Society. The dog became her constant companion, her salvation. She had not been without one since. Dog after dog, loss upon loss, their lives too short-lived, deeply mourned, they were her children. She hated the goodbyes—they were never easy.

  “I just remembered I had nightmares for weeks of people gossiping that I was crazy. I’d wake up with no comfort except for Lucky.” Sara’s sobbing eased. “For years she was my only friend.”

  “Your dog’s name was Lucky?”

  “Yes, she was so cute, Ben. I think the first t
ime I can really recollect being happy was with Lucky.”

  “That’s why you named her that?”

  “Actually, she came with the name and we kept it.”

  He reached a hand to her smiling lips. “You feel better?”

  “Yes.” She wiped her cheeks. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks? What’d I do?”

  “For letting me vent. Not many times in my life I’ve been able to do that. And I’m usually uncomfortable opening up.”

  “What about Ellen?”

  “Yes, of course, although that’s different.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s a woman.” Sara laughed. “But I don’t always have her when I’m in a funk, and by the time she’s off work or we do connect, it’s passed.”

  “You do move through things well.”

  “Yeah,” her bloodshot eyes brightened. “One thing I’ve learned is if I wait long enough everything changes.”

  Ben noticed her focus shift inward. “Something else?”

  “I don’t know,” she wavered.

  “Go ahead, tell me.”

  “The consequence of pouting and crying is that it only makes things worse. Ultimately, what good does it do? It took some learning and hard lessons for me to see that what I do that negatively impacts others also ends up hurting me. Besides, I think it’s my basic personality to let things go. My dad’s like that. I’m fortunate in that respect.” She became introspective. “My mother, on the other hand, can’t let go of her bitterness. Maybe seeing it in her has been an antidote for me. I don’t want to be like that.”