by Paige Powers
Mrs. Brindell took a couple more sips of tea, relishing the calm feeling it gave her as it slid down her throat and warmed her body. Then she placed the mug back on the table. Ben knew that she was sad because his normally anal-retentive mother failed to put the mug on a coaster. “Lots of people are coming by tomorrow,” she said. “A lot of friends are coming for support. It’s very sweet of them.”
“What about the Bluffs? Are they coming?” As he said that, Ben tried his best to look uninterested. But he couldn’t fool his mother. She gave him a knowing stare and nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “The Bluffs are coming. Even, if I’m correct, Starla. I know that’s what you’re really asking, Ben. You can’t trick a mother’s intuition. Why? You still care about her?”
Ben flushed a fiery red. “Mom!”
“Well that’s a yes,” she said, rolling her eyes a bit. The discussion reanimated her a bit, made it seem like she was getting further and further away from crying. “I think you’ll always care about her, won’t you? She was your first love. But let me tell you something, buddy boy. If you still love her, you can’t be dating that Mina girl back in New York City. You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. That isn’t how life works.”
Mrs. Brindell had never approved of Mina, not since the beginning of their relationship. The two had only come into contact one time on one of the Brindell family trips into the city. Mr. and Mrs. Brindell took Ben and Mina out for dinner to an expensive restaurant. But Mina looked down at the food, called it ‘peasant food,’ and repeatedly told Mr. and Mrs. Brindell how her parents could actually afford to eat at some of the nicer places in the city. And her parents knew famous chefs like Tom Colicchio. Ever since that day, Mrs. Brindell basically refused to acknowledge Ben’s relationship, referring to Mina only as ‘that Mina girl.’
“But Starla’s dating someone too,” Ben argued. “It’s not like we’re both still madly in love with each other. We can care about each other but that doesn’t mean we’re meant to be together.”
Mrs. Brindell guffawed. She shoved the coffee mug away from her, causing tea to splash all over the table. It spread rapidly, creating a big brown mess. “Now you listen here. I know you love Starla more than you love that Mina girl.” Seeing Ben open his mouth to say something back, his mother interrupted, “You can deny it all you want, but I know the truth. Her relationship with Blair? It’s a sham and he’s a piece of shit. Everybody in this town knows it but nobody does anything about it because Starla always begs them not to. But he hits her. He throws her around. That poor girl isn’t allowed to see anyone, do anything, or go anywhere unless Blair gives her permission. I saw her in the diner last week with a big bruise on her arm. When I asked her what happened, she said she fell. She fell? I don’t believe it for a second. I don’t like the way that boy treats her. So if you love her, you help her get out of that situation.”
The anger paralyzed him. He sunk his head into his hands as he tried to digest the information that his mother had just given to him. Starla was being beaten? Back in high school, she had been such a free spirit. In every memory he had of Starla she existed as an ethereal being, stronger and braver than anything that could possibly exist in this realm. Even looking back to when they first met, when had Starla run up and initiated conversation, she had always been an independent woman. The fact that someone was hitting her and she was letting it happen…Ben just couldn’t believe that was true.
He had the urge to stand up right then, drive to wherever Blair lived, and fight him. No real man ever put his hands on a lady like that. A real man knew how to use words and not fists. Ben was also quite upset that during their talks, Starla had not once mentioned the abuse. Although she hadn’t answered his last Facebook message, they had talked a few times before that. All she had to do was let him know what was going on. Despite everything they had been through in the past and all the angry words that were said, despite Mina and his job and his life in New York, he would have come back to save her.
It was, in that moment, that Ben realized the depth of his emotions for Starla Bluff. He might have walked away in high school but he had never truly rid himself of the love he had for her. Sure, he loved Mina. But he didn’t love her in the same way. Starla was his everything. She was the one he was meant to be with. Although it was absolutely tragic that his grandfather had passed away, Ben felt that he had been brought back to Bellen for a reason. That reason was so he could end up with Starla. It was a divine intervention of sorts.
This time it was Mrs. Brindell who reached out to comfort her son. She intertwined their fingers and squeezed. “Go to bed and think about everything, Ben. I know it’s a lot to take in. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay? I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom,” he said. He stood up from the table and walked upstairs to his childhood room, where he slept.
He was standing in a graveyard in the dead of the night, nothing to illuminate his world but the subdued glint of the full moon in the sky. There was a mild, cool wind smelling of peat and moist earth. In front of him sat a crumbling gravestone, the name hidden by a tangle of wild vines. Something otherworldly drew him to the gravestone. He bent down and began to pull away at the vines, feeling them snap in his palms.
As the green strings fell away, he half-expected to see his grandfather’s name carved into the broken stone. In the end, everything was fleeting – life, love, material objects. He could feel words underneath his fingertips. But when he pulled the last of the vines away, leaving them strewn on the dirt around the grave, the name on the stone read: Starla Bluff, 1989-2014.
His blood ran cold. He stood up and began to back away from the grave. It couldn’t be right. Someone must have made a mistake. Starla was still alive. She worked at the diner. She was going to be at his grandfather’s funeral.
Something bumped into him from behind, something solid. He assumed it was a tree but when he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with Starla. She was pale white like the snow they used to play in. But bruises ran up and down her arms. She was a masterpiece of pain, painted in scum green and lavender and mustard yellow. She wore two black eyes and peered out from behind them like a raccoon. A single trickle of blood ran out of her nose.
“Ben,” she said, her voice cracking, “why didn’t you help me? I’ve been waiting for you for eight years. I thought you’d come back for me.”
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t even open his mouth. She stepped forward and pressed her body against his, forcing his arms around her. She was so cold. “I loved you, Ben, and you let me down,” she whispered. “I was waiting to give you what you wanted. I’m sorry I never could.”
Then she began to disappear into the night, fading from his grasp, leaving only wisps of smoke behind. He tried to hold on, tried to reach out and grab her, but she was gone before he knew it. “I loved you too,” he screamed into the night, hearing only his own voice echo back at him. “I still do. You were everything I wanted. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
When he woke up he was in his bed, his comforter twisted around his sweat-soaked body. He looked at the clock and it was almost time to get up for the funeral. Even so, he stayed in bed for ten more minutes trying to regulate his breathing. He knew now what he had to do.
The funeral itself was well-done. The room was full of lilies and carnations in light pink, a contrast to the stark and bleak blackness of the mourners. A large photograph of Cole Brindell was propped at the front of the room. Mr. and Mrs. Brindell sat in the front row with Cole’s wife, Lola, in the middle of them. All three were in tears, the ruins of an entire box of Kleenex tissues laid to waste on their laps and on the floor in front of them. Ben sat in the next row, his short speech paper folded up in his hands. The rest of the room was full of people both familiar and unfamiliar. Many elderly individuals sat towards the front of the room, heads bowed. Neighbors and friends sat towards the back, wanting to give the family room.
Ben was hyper-aware of the very s
econd Starla walked in, flanked by Blair. Her, Blair, and her parents crowded into the back row. Ben turned around to wave but thought otherwise when he felt the intense stare directed towards him by Blair. He didn’t want to start problems, not during his grandfather’s funeral, so he turned around to face the front of the room. Talking to Starla could wait until later.
The service was sweet and sad, with people standing up and sharing their greatest memories about the illustrious Cole Brindell. Friends stood up and spoke about childhood shenanigans, how Cole once rescued a kitten from the local creek and hid it in his bedroom until his parents agreed to let him keep it. Mrs. Brindell stood up and tearfully talked about Cole’s relentless optimism and how he was like the father she never had.
Then it was Ben’s turn. He stood up and unfolded the paper, feeling the weight of the sea of eyes watching him. He cleared his throat once, then again.
“The world lost an amazing man today,” Ben began. He felt the corners of his eyes growing hot but tried to remain stoic and strong in the wake of all that was occurring. “My Grandpa Cole had one of the biggest hearts among anybody I’ve ever known. I remember when I was little and he used to scold me for being mean to other kids on the playground. He always said that the only supports we have in this world are from the people around us. It’s something that has stuck with me since.”
“He was a man who would do anything for the people that he loved, at any cost. I remember when Grandma Lola wanted to take a trip to Niagara Falls but she was worried about the money. Grandpa Cole told her not to worry about it. He worked extra hours, he did little side jobs for people around the neighborhood, and he made enough money to take Grandma away for a weekend. He taught me that love has no boundaries and that I should live every day to the fullest. From now on, this is what I intend to do. My amazing grandfather inspired me, and still does, to go out and chase my dreams. And for that, I’ll be forever grateful.”
With a brief nod and a sniffle, Ben folded the paper back up and sank into his seat. No words would ever be enough to describe his Grandpa Cole and what he had meant to Ben, but at least he had tried. He spent the rest of the service trying to keep in the tears.
The repast was held in a small room on the opposite side of the church. Although the mood was still somber, everyone was trying to put on a smile and celebrate the great life that Cole had. There were baskets of warm muffins, platters with bagels and cream cheese, soup, and a multitude of bottles of juice and alcohol. Ben opted for a blueberry muffin and a large cup of wine. His grandfather was never a big drinker but for some reason it just seemed right.
He saw Mr. and Mrs. Bluff walk in. They stopped to talk to his parents. Starla followed behind meekly. Blair was nowhere in sight. Ben figured that Blair was probably using the restroom so it would be his only real chance to get in a conversation with Starla. He made a beeline for her, careful not to splash any wine on the floor.
“Hey,” he said as he approached. He noted the way Starla’s eyes widened but couldn’t tell if it was a positive or negative thing. “Long time, no talk, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said mildly. “It’s been a while.”
“You never answered my Facebook message the other day.”
Starla’s eyes flitted back and forth across the room as if assessing potential threats, when in reality she was just trying to make sure Blair didn’t see the exchange. As far as she knew, he was still using the restroom or smoking a cigarette or whatever he had snuck away to do. “I’ve just been busy. You know how it is, I’m sure.”
“I do.” Ben nodded. Standing in front of her now he realized how much he had missed her gorgeous smile, and that dimple in her cheek. He wanted to touch her but knew that it wouldn’t be possible. It would cause all sorts of unnecessary drama. “I don’t know, though. I’ve just been thinking about you a lot lately.”
“Well,” interjected an incensed voice, “maybe you should find something else to think about. Don’t you have some floozy socialite girlfriend that you can fuck around with instead of thinking about my girl?”
A calloused hand slid over Starla’s next, stopping only for a brief squeeze, before settling onto her shoulder. Blair appeared, his puffy face twisted in frustration.
“Don’t be so worried, Blair,” Ben said. “I was just catching up with an old friend.”
“And you’ll be catching up with my fist if you don’t back up and walk away right now,” Blair answered. His hand tightened on Starla’s shoulder, making her wince. “We’re leaving now. Have a nice life.”
Without so much as a goodbye to anybody else, Blair ripped Starla backwards and out of the room. Once again, Ben felt himself filling with rage at the idea that someone he cared about was being treated like that. Blair was scum, worse than gum trapped on the bottom of a shoe. This situation was going to have to change and it was going to have to change fast.
Ben chugged his cup of wine, refilled it, and chugged again. He felt a slow buzz roll through his body, relaxing his tense muscles. The alcohol greased the cogs in his head and set some plans in motion. He wasn’t going to claim to be Superman but he could be some sort of superhero.
He noticed a familiar redhead picking through the muffins, lifting them up with her big fake fingernails and examining them. He weaved through the crowd and tapped her on the back. When she turned and saw him, her eyes filled with pity.
“I’m so sorry about your grandfather,” Katie said. “Your speech was beautiful though, Ben. You have a way with words.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” Ben nervously fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt to the point where some strings came loose in the buttonholes. “I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”
“Anything!” Katie stared at him in earnest.
So, with wine in his veins and passion in his heart, he leaned in close to his new accomplice and whispered to her how he planned to save Starla Bluff.
Chapter Seven:
2014 – Starla and Ben
All of her emotions were making her nauseous. Fear, anticipation, excitement, happiness, confusion…all of them coursed through her, mingling together to create the sensation of ten thousand butterflies fluttering in her stomach. More than once she had considered slipping into a bush on the side of the road and vomiting. But in the end, she didn’t want the acrid stench of her worry to attach to her skin. That would be incredibly unappealing.
In her hands she held nothing but her phone. Her house key was tucked into her front pocket. When she left the house, she wanted to bring as little as possible. She figured that the more she brought with her, the harder it would be to sneak out and not wake Blair up as she left. Too many keys jingled, books smacked together. Her phone and house key would knock against any bottles she tried to bring, filling the house with a sound similar to jingle bells. It was safer to have nothing.
Quietly she snuck through the streets, although it was late and there was nobody out to see her. Sometimes she worried that Blair had spies hidden throughout the neighborhood, people who would call and tell him when they saw Starla exhibiting any form of agency. Secrets like this could ruin her. She had no doubt that if Blair found out what she was doing he would put her straight into the hospital. In her head, she knew that the ideas of him having spies were silly. But after years of abuse – acknowledged or otherwise – those were the thoughts that erected themselves firmly in her brain.
She couldn’t believe that she was actually going to see Ben in the park. Half of her still thought it was a joke. After all this time, why would Ben want to see her? It had been a long eight years but her heart still stung with the ache of rejection when she thought back to junior prom, how cold and alone she had been when Ben had walked away.
When Katie brought up the potential meeting in the restaurant, Starla had laughed it off. It took the deadly serious look on Katie’s face to convince Starla that this was an actual plan, that she and Ben would actually be reunited. They were, as Katie explained it, going
to drink a cheap bottle of wine and catch up on life. Should anything happen or should Blair find out that Starla left the house in the middle of the night, Katie promised to cover for her.
The walk to the park was relatively quick. When she arrived, Starla stood at the entrance of the footpath, wrapping her coat around her. It was fairly chilly outside. She didn’t know much about the night except that she was to meet Ben there at eleven p.m., and as it was about that time, she figured there was nothing to do but wait.
She didn’t have to wait long, though. Moments after her arrival she heard a smattering of footsteps as Ben jogged up. His brown hair was tousled and his blue eyes were sparkling. Starla could tell that even through the shadows.
“So here we are,” she said breathlessly. Starla stepped forward, tentative, drawing their bodies closer together. Ben closed the gap and his arms engulfed her. It felt right. It felt like exactly where they were supposed to be.
Ben’s chest rose and fell rapidly. His head dropped down, his lips dangerously close to her skin. The electricity between them was palpable, crackling like lightning. “So here we are,” he repeated. He pursed his lips and planted them firmly on her ear.
Then there were no more words. There was nothing left to say. There was just the feeling of lips against lips, the neediness of it after being apart for so long. Hands roamed previously familiar territory, feeling new bumps and dips and grooves. Clothes began falling off, dotting the ground with fabric.
There were no words, but there were eight years worth of sighs and moans, eight years worth of little gasps of pleasure that disappeared into the soft blanket of obscurity draped over the park that night. It wasn’t sex but rather the hokey and sentimental ‘making love’ that occurred on the spongy grass that night.
Afterwards they dressed quickly, both undeniably happy about what had happened but also strangely self-conscious in each other’s presence. Ben picked up the bottle of wine from where he had left it and the two secret lovers trounced off to a wide expanse of grass on which they could sit and drink. Ben sat on his jacket. Starla chose to sit straight on the ground, just like she had the night after their prom. They opened the bottle of wine. It was an inexpensive bottle of Moscato, the kind with the top that twists off. They took turns swigging the wine, savoring the sweetness and then the burn.
