Ben’s first girlfriend
Part 1: I know about your mother, and I don’t care.
Sixteen-year-old Ben lies in bed, reading a terribly boring physics textbook. Pirate is curled up next to him. He’s a good dog, steadfastly loyal to Ben despite the many deaths and resurrections he’s endured. He sleeps silently, apparently untroubled by echoes of the afterlife.
And yet Pirate, like Ben’s childhood monster pets, is not quite right. He’s not as bright-eyed as he was when Ben first brought him home, or as quick to learn. He’s also hungry all the time, and eats far more than the vet says a dog his size should. All things considered, he’s a damned fine dog.
Ben wishes he had the courage to run away. He wants to go somewhere life and death are treated with reverence, and not subject to Mother’s whims. He wants to struggle through rough and humble days like his classmates. And he wants to find his father, if he’s still alive. Every time he brings Pirate back, he has sepia-toned visions of a fair-haired, beak-nosed man in the mold of the men Mother still brings home.
He closes his physics book and sighs. Not even a tiny fragment of his soul can believe that Mother allowed his father to walk away. More likely, he disappointed her in some trivial, fatal way, and paid the ultimate price. And yet…if his father does not exist, has never existed, how is Ben still here? He shakes his head. He’s not that good at physics.
Ben opens his computer and surfs Craigslist, browsing jobs in New York City. He still misses the crowded streets and how easily he could disappear, merging into a gray, populous haze. After five minutes, he is horribly discouraged. There aren’t many legitimate employers who want inexperienced and under-aged employees.
And even if, through some unholy miracle, he found a job, where would he and Pirate live? His mother never taught him about money. He knows that she has effortless access to virtually infinite resources. But she hasn’t revealed even the smallest part of how she does it. No, she’d rather keep torturing him and Pirate.
A text appears on his phone from Pitta, their new cook. Dinner’s ready, young sir. And your mother has invited a guest.
He frowns and texts back. Tell Mother I’m going to eat in my room tonight. I’m studying for a physics exam.
This small defiance feels warm and good, like the quickening of a campfire, until he wonders how Mother is going to make him and Pirate pay.
School is an oasis for Ben, now that he’s grown tall, muscular, and handsome. The other boys look up to him, despite his quiet, aloof manner. They say he’s the strong and silent type. The girls believe romantic yearnings lurk behind his dark, green eyes. And they’re not entirely wrong.
“Hi, Ben. I miss your smile. Physics test got you down?”
Mila, yellow-haired and ruddy-cheeked, has a voice like hot soup on a cold night. Her arms and legs are long and beautifully muscled— she’s a star basketball player, almost as tall as he is — and she’s always making Ben blush.
“No,” he says, turning only a little pink. “I’ve forgotten it already.” He may not have a full portion of his mother’s unearthly gifts, but he does have an uncanny knack for schoolwork. He has to remember to make a few mistakes here and there, so the teachers don’t think he’s cheating.
She takes his arm. A bolt of lightning travels from his heart to his groin and back again. “Do you have practice today?”
“N-no,” he stammers as they pass out of the school and into the parking lot. “They’re mowing the fields.”
“Oh goody, then you can help me with my English paper.”
Ben, too focused on Mila’s cherry colored lips, struggles to remember what the paper is supposed to be about. Something about Shakespeare and summer. Maybe A Midsummer Night’s Dream? “Uh, sure. But shouldn’t we be going to the library?”
“I guess we could. But I think it would be loads more fun to go home with you.” She smiles and…oh my God, she winks.
“Look, Mila, I’m sorry. We can’t.”
There is nothing Ben wants more than to bring this lively girl home and pretend to write English essays. But he can’t. He never brings friends to his house where Mother can see them…and use them…and erase them. That’s why he regularly implies that Mother is a sloppy, angry drunk with a penchant for throwing glassware.
Most of his friends have taken the hint, but not Mila. She is bold and fearless, and likes him probably more than he deserves. He hates that her open, honest face is now shockingly blank.
She shrugs and turns away, her cheeks a deepening rose. “Can’t blame me for trying. See you around.”
Ben, filled with sadness and relief, watches her walk away
Pirate is waiting for Ben in the front lawn, holding his favorite red ball. Ben takes it, and throws it towards the path leading into the woods. This is their ritual, their sacred bond. Whenever Ben comes home, he plays ten minutes of fetch with Pirate before his does anything else.
Today, their fun has a melancholy quality. Ben imagines Mila standing beside him, laughing and enjoying the warm spring afternoon. He knows she would love Pirate — she has three black Labs at home — and he hates that she can’t come here, ever. As the dog retrieves the ball from an over-manicured flowerbed, a small, silver Prius creeps down the driveway.
Is this another one of Mother’s guests?
Icy dread flows through his veins, followed by molten rage. He is tired of being Mother’s audience. He can’t do it anymore, he just can’t. He approaches the car, determined to tell its hapless occupant to go away, when things get a million times worse.
The car door opens, and Mila’s long, shapely legs unfold onto the pavement. Her eyes are full of mirth and challenge.
“What are you doing here?”
Mila smiles, her face full of sympathy. “I know about your mother. I don’t care if she’s a mean drunk. You deserve some quality company.”
Ben shakes his head, unbelieving. “How did you get through the front gate?”
“I said I was your girlfriend.” She giggles and squeezes his arm.
No, no, no, no. “I’m sorry, Mila, but you really have to go. There are…things I can’t tell you. Bad things.”
A crease appears between Mila’s brows. Anger illuminates her eyes. Even though he’s sure he’s doing the right thing, Ben feels like the world’s biggest jerk. He’s about to apologize when Mother steps onto the porch, holding a plate of fucking fresh-baked cookies.
His mother beckons, and Mila goes to her. Ben and Pirate follow at her heels. There is mirth, and something much darker, in Mother’s eyes, too.
“Ben, I’d just love it if your girlfriend would stay for dinner.”
Catch up with Ben at four years old…
eight years old…
eleven years old…
