Tazzie, back at his side, prompted Ben to say, “If only we could trust and forgive like dogs.”
Sara rubbed the spot behind Tazzie’s ears that set her paw tapping. “It’s their nature. For them it’s easy.” Reflecting on the mean girls in school, “With a rare few exceptions, like Ellen, I’m more comfortable with men than women, but still talking about sensitive things has never been easy, even with them.”
Massaging her neck, “Probably ’cause they hurt you the most,” he felt the tautness loosen from her muscles. “You seem okay with me.”
“It’s different with you. You don’t judge me. And what you’ve already helped me through…” At a loss for words, she smiled, “I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t need to.” From the initial moment they’d made love when she exposed her vulnerability with him, to the outpouring since, something in him had been enticed to feel deeper than he’d ever gone before. The intimacy they shared invited trust. That she’d been through so much yet didn’t carry around a lot of baggage gave him confidence that displaying his vulnerabilities might not end badly. He knew what he wanted to do. What he needed to do. Ben waited a few minutes to be sure she didn’t have more she wanted to say. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” It was something he’d been thinking about all morning.
The seriousness in his tone scared her. Oh shit! What have I done? This outburst over Taz and in the car the other day. I should have shut it down! “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help…” She was apprehensive that she had turned him away. Why the hell did I let that out? I’m such an idiot!
He comprehended where she was heading. “Don’t worry about that. I’m glad you got it out.”
“Oh, good,” she exhaled relief. “Then what’d you want to say?”
Looking into her eyes, he took hold of her hand. “I want to marry you.”
What! Her skin felt loose as she sank into a whirlwind of thoughts. Why? She was caught completely off guard when Ben was so matter-of-fact—no romance, no “I love you,” no leading up to it, just a flat-out statement, not even a question. Not that it would have mattered, the button was pushed. Marriage! Her parents weren’t happy, she couldn’t get away from the bad energy she grew up in fast enough, and her own previous attempt at nuptials had ended in misery. Statistics spoke that all is not well that begins in holy matrimony. Since she first saw Ben, there was no hesitation that she wanted to be with him, the only resistance her own insecurity that the attraction that possessed her wouldn’t be reciprocated. Now with this sprung on her, still in mild shock, “What!” She nearly fell off the chair. “You’re kidding?”
“No, I’m serious.” Without getting into much detail he told her, “I’ve been thinking of my family, how distant my parents are from each other.” Breaking eye contact, “It’s just not a good scene. But never mind that. I’ve always wanted my own family. Never felt part of one until spending time with you.”
Oh no! The only other word beside marriage that got her hackles up was family! Both were allergens she could do without. Still too engrossed with her own internal dilemma of how to get off the subject and return to the bliss of falling-in-love-without-legal-commitment, she paid no mind to questioning what he meant about his upbringing. Wanting to soften the blow, “That’s so endearing, but we don’t have to get married. I’m not running away from you.” Feeling as though her brain was turning to paste, she feared they would lose the incredible happiness they shared.
When Tazzie licked Ben’s foot, he kidded, “Taz is saying yes for you.”
“She knows you’re a good guy, Ben. So do I. But come on, why are you bringing up marriage?” She shifted in the chair. “We hardly know each other and what we do know is our situation is unusual.”
“Do you love me?”
Sara hesitated. It wasn’t a question of loving him but where the answer would lead.
Ben pulled back and became quiet. Her reluctance to respond was misunderstood.
Sara’s heart sank, What the blazes am I doing? Conflicted, all she could think of was Henry and the discomfort of the failure of the first try. She vowed then, never again. Shit! Things change when you get married. It’s the kiss of death!
As his face grew darker, there was something in his hunched-over expression that got to her. Nothing was left to do but be honest and pick up the pieces, no matter where they fell. “Ben, I didn’t have good luck with marriage my first time. I just don’t see why…”
Relieved once he understood her hesitancy, “Maybe you should listen to my reasoning. Hear me out.” Taking a minute to formulate what he wanted to say, “I’ve worked hard all my life, own my own home and car, have savings in the bank, and a retirement plan with NASA. I don’t want to leave any of it to my parents, and my brother doesn’t need it. I want it to be put to good use and know you’ll do that.”
On hearing the get-my-affairs-in-order comment, her stomach rose to her throat. She regretted letting her mind run rampant without any attempt to understand. “Don’t talk like that. You’re in the study. I don’t need you to do that for me. How about we just let things be and see what happens?”
“Sara, I don’t know how long I have.”
“Nobody does.”
“Sara, I want to do this for you. I need to do this for myself. What you’ve done for me,” he stopped to gain composure, “has changed everything. Since getting my diagnosis, I’ve thought of little else other than my having cancer. Then you came along, and I’m not living under this big black hopeless cloud anymore. You did that.” He paused, looking deep into her eyes. “In the brief time we’ve been together, you’ve taught me what it is to trust and this is my heart saying thank you, I want to share my life with you, and I love you. I love you, Sara.”
“What about Tazzie?” she joked to release the resistance that she had not yet worked through.
“Of course, Tazzie. I know you’re a package deal. But joking aside for a minute, I’m serious about this.”
Sara stared out the door to the ocean beyond, the ebbing and flowing, whooshing sounds of waves crashing on the shore, and people walking on the beach. Watching the curl and color of the water change and break into ribbons of rainbows on the wet sand, “How about,” she said, “I heat up that coffee that’s turned cold? After we have it, let’s go for a walk. We’re not going to do any marrying this weekend, which will give me time to think about what you’ve said.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ben and Sara, with Tazzie in tow taking her time to sniff every possible thing she could, made it a slow stroll along the beach. Glad that the discussion about marriage was shelved, Sara had time to let her head clear enough to listen to her heart.
The creek entered the ocean and sand dunes stretched into a row of eucalyptus trees. “Wow, so many butterflies.” Tugging on her leash, Tazzie nosedived into a group of succulent plants. “Doggie perfume,” laughed Sara.
“There must be hundreds of them.” Ben’s eyes followed a huge golden-winged monarch gliding with ease. “It’s pretty romantic here.” He kissed Sara’s neck.
“Hmm,” she groaned, “keep it up and we’ll need to head back to the room.” It felt good to be in his arms, have his lips press on her skin, melt into fluidity with him in motions that brought pleasure. It’s never been like this before and I don’t want it to end. Echoing comparisons with earlier relationships, Sara thought of the years she had learned to fill herself up with attention from men. Driven by an obsession not to experience the pain of her mother’s rejection, she’d lost herself in sexual liaisons, one after the other, until her marriage to Henry. When he left, she fell in and out of one meaningless fling after another. Up till intimacy with Ben, sex was a substitute for abandonment—her mother emotionally, and her father physically by drowning himself in work. Being with Ben is so different. Another flash of murky image rose before her, a fat hand on a baby, a sickening touch, inching upward. The man’s face was a blur. Moving through like a storm cloud, it was gone.
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Ben, lifting his lips from Sara’s neck, “The doggie perfume got to me.”
“Very cute, Ben.” She handed the leash to him, “Here, you take her.”
Pointing to the pier, Ben said, “Let’s check it out.” At the very end where waves rolled by the pilings and sea otters played, he watched the boats cruise by. “It’s perfect weather for boating.”
“Sure is.”
Tazzie circled, indicating she needed to do her stuff.
“Ben, would you mind taking her? I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes. It was a lot of commotion this morning and I’m a little sore.”
Lingering at the waterfront, she watched him walk away and it hit her, Why am I waffling? We both have cancer, for God’s sake! What if… No, don’t go there. She couldn’t keep the thoughts from daylight. What if he doesn’t make it? What if I don’t? Sick inside, torn over what to do, she needed the space to look at why she was so resistant to his proposal. I’m stuck! Shit! A while passed preoccupied by the angst of indecision, the tenuousness of having cancer, and dreading it could all slip away.
The noise from a kid rollerblading caught her attention. She watched his swift movement in and out of people walking along the pier, gliding with ease, allowing nothing to stop his forward motion. Observing him, she saw something about herself that surprised her. I always give to others what they want but am I really giving what’s important? A flashback of crying when she was a baby sent a frost through her, and she wondered, Is there a connection with the dreams and my resistance to completely giving myself to a man?
Now, open and raw, she knew it was Ben’s love that gave her what mattered. He’s accepted me unconditionally, my wounds inside and out. Everything about me, as is. He gave me what I needed more than anything else, what no one’s ever been able to do. Awe moved through her, pulsing into her cells. He helped me to find myself and to be okay to just be me. Feeling his attention on her, she turned to see Ben with Taz at the other end of the quay. Doubt about marriage resurfaced but with a lot less sting. Do I make this leap of faith?
Ben was at a grassy area waiting for Tazzie when he looked back down the long pier to catch a glimpse of Sara standing alone. He knew she’d stayed there to get her wits about her, to sort out in her mind what she wanted to do. That also gave him time to look at his own motives. I want to do it for you played in his head. It’s important to me. I don’t want my money to go to waste, my entire life, and then he saw yes, he wanted to do it for her, but what he really needed and had craved was to belong. I need to be important enough to you. Is what we have sacred enough that you’ll commit to me in marriage? Will you claim me, Sara? Will you? While we still have time?
Strolling up Pomeroy Street while window-shopping, they came to a funky hippie jazz house that served lattes and cappuccinos. Situated outside were a few circular arts and crafts painted tables reminiscent of the sixties. “My favorite kind of place.” Noticing a bowl for dogs to drink from, “Tazzie, water,” Sara commanded.
Taz slurped as Sara perused the menu written in chalk on a board outside the entrance. Pointing inside, beyond a small stage with set of drums, “Look, Ben,” she motioned to paintings on the wall with a sign indicating they were from local artists. “Reminds me of Ojai.”
The delight she expressed over the simplest things was infectious. Appreciating the positive effect she continued to have on him, You’re very easy to please. So spontaneous.
“I want a latte.”
“You want more caffeine?”
“Decaf. But right now I don’t ever want to go to sleep. Don’t want to miss a thing.” She broke out in an Aerosmith’s song. “I could stay awake just to hear you breathing, watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you’re far away and dreaming.” Drawing a crowd brought her to an end.
Clapping, cheering, and “Don’t stop” erupted.
“Take a bow,” laughed Ben.
In good form, she curtsied, as Tazzie tried to grab her own attention.
“Okay, you sang for it. I’ll get you that decaf latte,” he smiled. “And one for me.”
“Really? You want another cup of coffee?”
Relieved that he wasn’t plagued with the nausea that had increased in the last couple of days, “I think I’ll be okay, and if not,” he lowered his voice, “there’s always the pot.”
While Ben was ordering, Sara reflected on his marriage proposal. Surprisingly calm inside, an intuitive place spoke to her. Henry was history and she didn’t want her mother’s bitterness or the nightmares she’d had to hold her hostage from another committed relationship. Realizing that things are never what you think they’ll be brought the crystal-clear awareness that the problem wasn’t with marrying Ben, but rather the trauma living inside her. With him or not, married or maintaining the status quo, the bad past experiences could surface at any time and reactivate. She saw that the mind doesn’t differentiate what’s long gone from the reality of the present, and that triggered incidents seem as if they are happening now. It was then she understood that her pondering, with its limitations and blocks, could never comprehend what her heart already knew. What we have comes once in a lifetime.
Tiny insignificant lingering doubts about commitment, the voices of ghosts haunting and asphyxiating, were all but gone as Sara looked through the door to see Ben in the line to purchase coffee. She watched him inch forward, the way his legs carried him confidently, how relaxed he was, and the comfortable ease in which he held his hands. It was these hands, his touch on her scarred chest, his believing in the trust they were developing, how he made love to her in and out of bed, clothed and naked, that taught her that sex doesn’t equate with real love. The kind she’d always dreamed of—intimate satisfaction, feeling whole, and the complete giving of oneself—was what she had with Ben. For the first time in her life, Sara knew what it was like to be loved, and to love in return. Coming from a grounded place, her decision was made.
Footsteps on cement, the aroma coming from the café, a smooth fresh breeze from the sea, and a mountain of other microscopic sensory happenings sang to her as Ben approached with two steaming cups. Inhaling the latte, “Oh, that smells so good.” She watched him drink his and pointed at the mustache of milk across his upper lip. “You look like one of those commercials.”
“Think I should grow a real one?”
“Nope.” She spooned froth from her drink. “Ben.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes.” With flushed cheeks and eyes aglow, her huge exquisite smile repeated, “Yes.”
“Yes, I should grow one?”
“No.”
“Then, yes what?”
A sip of latte and, “I will marry you.”
Jokingly, he replied, “What, the latte did the trick?” Inside, he felt like a warm day after a long hard winter when snow begins to melt and birds take to exhilarated flight. Her “yes” filled him with an awesome overwhelming joy, like the sensations of hearing Sibelius’ The Swan of Tuonela. Had he not experienced it first-hand, the magic they were together, he would never have believed it possible.
“That and a couple other things,” she laughed. “Seriously, I’m very happy about it. And since Palo Alto is not too far, why not head up there and I can meet your folks?”
Overshadowing what he’d experienced just moments earlier, the question pierced him. As long as he was away from his parents, particularly his dad, and kept his focus on other things, he was okay. “No.” The mere idea of interjecting them into what he had with Sara sent repulsion through him. “No!”
Sara was surprised by his shift. “Want to talk about it?”
Ben’s torso tightened. “Some things just aren’t worth talking about.”
She waited for him to say something.
After a long pause, staring blankly into space, he turned back to face her, “It’s not a good idea.”
Seeing a deep sorrow in his eyes, the sadness he kept well hidden, “Want to tell me why?”
Knowing it wa
s not healthy, yet afraid of getting lost in all the stress kept at bay, he remained quiet. He had never opened up about it to anyone; it was nothing he even contemplated. Now with Sara, he felt differently. They sat there for a long time and finished their drinks without saying another word, until he broke the silence. “Let’s go for a walk down to the beach.” Once away from crowded places, he disclosed, “They are serious alcoholics. My father is very abusive.”
“Oh, Ben,” she sighed.
Introspectively, he continued, “I grew up with shouting, swearing, denigrating, slapping, belt beatings and poundings by him.” A cold tremor ran through Ben’s body. “He’d come at me with his bulging, bloodshot rheumy eyes, and burst tiny red vessels around his cheeks, from too much sauce.”
“Ben, you’re shaking,” she moved closer to him. “I had no idea.”
His heart sped up as his vision became blurry. “There were so many evenings he’d go missing. My mother was frantic with worry. We’d get phone calls in the middle of the night to come get him from the local bar.” He told her of the embarrassment of having a father who was labeled a lush and a worthless drunk by his peers, his Stanford buddies. Word got around to Ben from his friends. “That humiliation was far worse than the physical beatings.” It was the scarring he carried around, from a father who never showed love or respect and was socially shameful. “Mom couldn’t stand up to him and became a boozer as well. She never leaves the house.”
Heartsick from hearing that, “I’m so sorry.” She felt for him, but couldn’t help asking, “Wouldn’t it hurt them to not know?”
He tightened his hand into a ball of hatred. “No!”
The abruptness jolted her. “Ben, listen to me, please. We don’t know why he is the way he is. Alcoholism is so complicated.” Wanting to make some sense for him, “Just a visit, perhaps even closure. If you don’t make the effort, you may live to regret it.”
“That’s the whole point, Sara. I’m not going to live.” Wanting to hit something, to strike out to relieve his frustration, he pounded the sand. “The fucking stress with my father probably predisposed me to this damn cancer!”
His Name was Ben Page 13
