Benji and the Wireman

by Charlie Winters

  “You kissed,” Dad deadpanned, still typing.

  “Yes,” I blurted. “And it was really nice. I mean, Dad. I felt like my face was going to melt off. Like… he looks like—”

  “Someone stranded in the wilderness. Yeah, your mom told me. Only I’m not sure what that means. She said, ‘think Henry Cavill. Only bigger. Hairier. With brown eyes instead of blue.’ Or something. I don’t remember exactly.”

  “God, I love her,” I beamed. “She listens so well sometimes. Anyway, yeah, but that night, I basically told him that I wanted to just, you know, take things really slow. Like really take our time.”

  “Alright.” He kept typing. I mean, was he even fucking paying attention?

  “Dad. Are you even listening to me?”

  “Benji,” he said with a sigh. “This report is due at noon. You called me to talk about some guy kissing your face until it melted off. You’re lucky I let it go on this long.”

  “Fine. So I told him I wanted to take my time, so he asks me out for the next night, which would have been last night. Like on a real date, you know? Anyway, yesterday morning is when I had such a hard day with Oma. I kind of ended up canceling the date with Jesse, you know? I mean, you know how I get. I just didn’t want to show him all of—well—everything. So I just told him I needed to reschedule. He basically says he’s not really ‘feeling’ that answer or something and then like a half-hour later, he shows up at my house.”

  “Okay.” The tapping fucking continued. Oh my God, Dad.

  “So, he’s got cartons of Chinese food and he’s rented some movie that I like… and he’s got candy and he rubs my shoulders during the movie and he kisses like his lips are made from fucking lava—”

  “Language, Ben. Your mom allows that, but—”

  “Sorry. Freakin’ lava… and now… I just feel like I need to break it off with him. Because I feel like if I go much further with him, I’m probably going to fall in love with him because he’s pretty much like living in a goddamned—sorry, Dad—gosh darned romance movie and you know… now he wants to come over tonight and fix my tile in the kitchen and—”

  “Wish he’d fix my laptop,” my dad grumbled.

  “Focus!” I groaned. “We’re talking about me, Dad.”

  “Oh, I know, kid. We always talk about you.”

  I let out a laugh. “I know. I’m sorry. You want to talk about you? How’s work? How’s that report? Uncle Bob still complaining about his knee? He ever schedule that second surgery?”

  My dad groaned loudly. “So, he’s gonna fix your tile and what? You decide you need to break up with him because he’s too… handy? I don’t know what the hell is going on, kid. This is the most confusing conversation we’ve had yet. You say this Jesse treats you like you’re in a movie whereas Zach didn’t even remember when your birthday was and you want to, what? Break up with him? I’m not following.”

  “Exactly.” I let out a sigh. “You get it.”

  “You’re exhausting.”

  “I know,” I said resignedly.

  “But I love you. Tell you what, kid. Don’t break up with this Jesse guy just yet. Tiling isn’t cheap.”

  “Daaaad,” I groaned.

  “And because it sounds like you like him. Aaaand because it sounds like he likes you.”

  I shrugged, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “Mmm. Maybe.”

  “Gotta go. We’ll be down soon, alright? Give our love to Oma.”

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. “Thanks.”

  Holding my breath, I stood in the door before knocking on the frame lightly.

  “Oma?” My voice was weak, just an uttered, fractured word, but she turned in her seat by the window to look at me.

  “Benjamin,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was wondering when you were going to come.”

  I walked toward her slowly before taking a seat on the mattress and clasping her hand in mine. Her skin was a little cool, but it smelled like powder and Shalimar, reassuring me that she was back—that this wasn’t a dream.

  “I’m here.”

  She peered around me. “But where is your friend? You said he’d come with you. The last time we spoke, you said you’d bring him with you. I’d hoped it was soon. I don’t have that much get-up-and-go left in me these days, Benji. I do hope you’ll bring him soon.”

  “Who?” I lifted an eyebrow. “Jesse?”

  “Just how many boyfriends do you have?” She laughed once and followed it up with a deep wet cough. “The one who helps you with that new house of yours.”

  She remembered. Thank God… she remembered. She remembered me… and him. She remembered all of it.

  “He’s working, I think.” I scratched my head thoughtfully. “I mean, he’s probably getting ready to take a lunch now, but he’s working today.”

  “Maybe he can take a lunch here today.” She patted the bed. “Making an old woman’s dreams come true. Seeing her son happy for the last time.”

  What did that mean, happy for the last time?

  “Your grandson,” I reminded her. “I’m your grandson.”

  “I know that,” she snapped. She looked out of the window, the smile gone from her lips. “You should call him, Benji. He should come now.”

  There was something in the tone of her voice. I wasn’t sure what it was, but her demeanor had shifted from light to dark in a matter of a few sentences. Picking up my phone, I dialed Jesse’s number expecting to get his voicemail. Instead, he picked up almost immediately, his voice low and sultry against my ear.

  “Missed you,” he said softly.

  “Hi,” I returned. “Um… are you like… taking a lunch soon? If you’ve already taken it, that’s fine. I was just—”

  “What’s going on? You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I tried to change the cadence to my tone, to brighten it for him. “I’m fine. I’m… at Indian Villas and… my… my Oma… she wants to meet you.”

  “Like now?” he asked, clearing his throat.

  “Yeah… like… now. She said you’d make an old woman’s dreams come true.” I smiled at my Oma, reaching out to clasp her hand. She tried to smile back, but it was weak, her wrinkled lip trembling a bit. “Can you come?”

  “Yeah, Ben. Give me fifteen?”

  “Okay. You’ll have to check in up front with reception. Tell them you’re here for Anna Bowen. Someone will call me and I’ll come out, alright?” I knew my voice was shaking. I knew he could tell there was something wrong, but instead, he just said, “Alright, Ben. You good?”

  “Yeah,” I answered. “See you soon.”

  Twelve.

  Jesse

  I clasped Ben’s hand when he came close enough, but he fought to pull away immediately. He did give me a wry smile, but I could tell he wasn’t in his usual talkative mood—he was a bit like the night before, but I’d pulled him out of his funk then and my hope was that I could do the same now. He was distracted and a bit cool, hesitant to even make eye contact as he guided me toward a room at the end of the long hallway.

  A woman in her late eighties (at least) sat in a chair by the window staring out at what appeared to be a mostly-empty parking lot. Her hair was thin and wild, sort of like she’d suffered through a windstorm, only the weather had been mild that morning, and something told me they hadn’t ventured outdoors. Something told me that this was the way Oma Anna always looked—Ben had said that she was a “free spirit”—the untamed appearance fit his description somehow, but she looked drawn and tired, regardless of the bright floral sundress she wore.

  She turned toward us, a small smile reaching her lips. “Benji,” she said, pointing toward the window. “I saw a painted bunting. He landed right in front of me. Right on the ledge. Right here when you were gone. He looked right at me for just a second and then just”—she made a fluttering motion with her fingers—“flew away. He was so fast that I thought I was dreaming.”

  Ben’s mouth
opened in surprise as two fingers lifted to cover his lips. “Really? Oh my God. You know those are my favorites. I… I haven’t seen one since I moved here and—”

  “I remember the first time you saw one,” she said, her voice thin and reedy. “Grandma Nancy and I put that bird feeder in the backyard. You were maybe twenty years old, I think. You were back there listening to the radio and trying to get a tan.” She let out a laugh, but it was soon followed by a thick cough. “You couldn’t get a tan to save your life. So pale… you always burned so terribly. But one minute you were just out there on a lounger and the next minute you were screaming like you’d seen a ghost! We ran out there and you were just pointing at a painted bunting sitting at that feeder. You’d think you’d never seen a bird in your life before.”

  Ben looked timid for a moment, looking down and fingering the hem of his shorts. “Well, I’d never seen one like that before. It was so beautiful and amazing.” He turned shyly to face me. “Do you know what kind of bird we’re talking about?”

  I nodded and gave him a close-lipped smile.

  “So you know, then.” Ben turned toward his grandmother. “Oma, this is my friend, Jesse.”

  She cleared her throat and then patted the side of the bed. “Come closer. Don’t be shy.”

  I sat in the spot she gestured to and held out my hand for her to take. She wrapped her frail fingers around it and gave it a small shake. “I’m Jesse Solomon,” I told her. “I’m a friend of your grandson’s.”

  Oma Anna smiled and turned her attention to Ben for a moment. “A friend, he says.” She glanced back at me. “Is that right?”

  I was thankful for my beard which surely hid the blush that reddened my cheeks. “Yeah, well, we’re friends. I do, uh, like him… though… a lot… ma’am.”

  “He likes you too,” she replied. “But here’s a burning question for you—one that could make or break this whole thing. Do you like the Drag Race, Jesse?”

  I smiled at her in confusion and turned my head to Ben whose eye roll was in full swing.

  “Oh, Jesus, Oma,” he scoffed.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I asked.

  “The. RuPaul’s. Drag. Race.” She enunciated each word slowly as if I was a little more challenged than the average guy, but I smiled back at her before answering.

  “Oh my God, Oma, it’s not The RuPaul’s Drag Race. It’s just… ugh… never mind.” Ben turned his attention to me. “Just answer her. If not, she’ll keep asking. She’s not one to let things go.”

  “Um,” I said, careful of the answer I was about to give, “I’ve seen it. I haven’t seen all of the seasons or anything, but I’ve seen parts of maybe two seasons?” I sucked in a breath and waited to either be kicked out of the room or—

  “Which ones?” Ben asked, leaning in closer.

  “Um… I think four and five?”

  Ben tapped his chin. “Season four, huh? Definitely acceptable.”

  Oma spoke, her eyes glued to mine. “Benji always said that Sharon was his favorite. Of all of the queens from every season—even the All-Stars—he always said Sharon was life!” She did the laugh-cough thing again before turning to Ben. “Isn’t that what you always said? Sharon is life?”

  “Oh my God,” Ben grumbled under his breath. “You’re so embarrassing right now.”

  “He got me hooked on that show. Did you know that I thought that Michelle Visage was a man?” she said, her mouth opening in surprise. “That’s true, right, Benji? You tell him. I thought that Michelle was a man and that she was like a Mama Ru too, you know?”

  Ben groaned again. “Holyfuggingshit, Oma.”

  “Oh, shut up, Benjamin. This is my story. Anyway, I asked him, ‘when did that Michelle go from being a boy to a girl?’ He says, ‘what are you talking about? What Michelle?’ I say, ‘Michelle Visage.’ He says, ‘she’s not a boy, Oma.’ Well, I have to say, I was shocked, but I always did think that her makeup and breasts were pretty good, you know?”

  I stared at her, much like I stared at Ben every time he finished one of his Ben-like monologues. “Um, yeah… well, I guess that would be confusing.”

  “She has that beautiful black hair,” she said quietly. “Like my Nancy. Have you ever seen my Nancy?”

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Benjamin’s never shown you any photographs of his other grandma?”

  I quickly looked over at Ben, a semi-solemn look painted on those beautiful lips. “Um, no. I’ve… he’s never shown me photos of anyone. I’ve never seen any of his family.”

  Oma turned in her seat as if looking for something. “Benji, where’s that book you show me all the time? The white one?”

  Ben shrugged. “I don’t know, Oma. You want to do this right now?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. Her tone changed a moment later as she reached out to rub his hand. “I’m sorry. Yes. Please? Can you please show it to me? I want to see her, okay? I need to see her… please. Please… please… plea—”

  “Yeah, Oma.” Ben quickly attempted to soothe his grandmother, stroking his hand down her sun-weathered face. “Yeah, I’ll get it, okay?”

  A few seconds later, Ben helped his Oma onto the mattress and then sat in between us with a large white album in his lap. I ran my fingers over his spine softly and he closed his eyes for just a moment before he cracked the first page.

  “So,” he said quietly, “this is my Oma and my grandpa on their wedding day. His name was Carl. I, um… I never met him. He died when my mom was, what, Oma?”

  “Six,” she responded matter-of-factly. “Carl was very handsome, but very stubborn and he never listened when the doctor said that he needed to lay off the drinking. Ended up killing him.” She tapped his photo. “Car accident. Died instantly. Luckily, he didn’t hit anyone else. We lived out in the middle of nowhere just outside of Topeka. Hit a pole barn. Left me all alone with a six-year old just because he was too proud to admit when he’d had too much.”

  I leaned across Ben to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bowen.”

  “Anna,” she corrected. “Or Oma.” She tapped on the next photo. “This is my Bridgette. That’s Benji’s mom. She was maybe fifteen in that photo, I think.”

  Bridgette was the spitting-image of Ben in that photo, a gorgeous blonde with ice-blue eyes. Her hair was even short like Ben’s, styled in a pixie cut, her mega-watt smile on full display. I couldn’t get over the similarities; it was like looking at Ben with a full face of makeup.

  “Wow,” I breathed. “She’s…”

  “My doppelganger, I know,” Ben said with a sigh. “Everyone says so. Basically, my mom is me in drag.”

  “Yeah, I… she’s… she looks just… it’s crazy.”

  “I know. Weird, right? The worst part is, she’s always worn her hair short, so it’s totally awkward when we go places because people make such a big deal about us looking so much alike. It’s pretty embarrassing. It might not be if it was my dad, but I mean, yeah, she’s a woman.” Ben stared down at the photo, his finger absentmindedly trailing over the edge.

  I rubbed my hand over his spine again and leaned into his ear. “Hey. You’re perfect.”

  Ben smiled and sniffed out a small laugh before turning to the next page. “Ugh, here’s me, but you can’t even look because it’s totally embarrassing and I can’t even believe that she has this in there. Oma, is this why you wanted to get this out? So that I would have my final date with Jesse and that would be it?” He turned the page again before I started to wrestle the book away from him.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Now I have to know.”

  “Oh my God, Jesse, no! It’s the worst! It’s—”

  “Show the man,” Oma interrupted. “No one cares. You are thirty years old now.”

  “Thirty-five,” Ben hissed. “Does no one in this family even give a shit about me? You don’t even know how old I am?”

  “You’re lucky I know who you are,” she teased. “I know I’m having what they call a goo
d day, Benji, but that could be over in an hour, so you should revel in it. Now, show him the goddamned picture.”

  Ben sighed and turned the page back one. “Fine. But I swear to God, if he leaves over this, I’m going to put a curse on you.”

  “Big threats from such a small man,” she taunted.

  “Jesus,” Ben returned, opening his mouth in feigned shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my sweet grandmother?”

  Oma Anna pointed down at a photo. It was of Ben, maybe ten years old, wearing a black unitard cut off at the sleeves and knees alike. It appeared to have shiny stripes across the chest, but they weren’t exactly perfect, as if drawn there… maybe painted? His arms were lifted and he was dropped to the floor in a perfect split.

  “Um,” I said, scratching my beard. “So—”

  “Oh, fuck you both,” Ben said, snatching the book from us. “You know, trying to reenact that video was hard and mom wouldn’t buy me a proper leotard from the dance studio, so I had to make do.”

  “What… is this… exactly?”

  Ben sighed and gave me an exaggerated eye roll. “Blowin’ Kisses in the Wind,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I asked again. I’d heard him the first time, but I just needed to hear it one… more… time.

  “Oh my God, Jesse. It was Blowin’ Kisses in the Wind, okay? It was a stupid talent thing at school and my mom videotaped it because I think she never wanted me to get laid into adulthood or something… and there are fifteen-hundred photos of this like, God, everywhere and now you’ve seen it and now it’s done, okay? I was trying to reenact the video and of course I couldn’t wear Paula’s outfit, so I wore the male dancer’s getup, but he was just… ugh. He had this complex neckline and the stitching and we didn’t have time for all of that, so I had to make do.”

  I pointed to the shiny stripes. “What are those?”