9. Benji #2
I stripped out of my dirty work clothes and put on a pair of red shorts.
They had a big hole on the left side, but who cared?
They were still good enough for home. It was so hot in my room that I didn’t bother with a shirt.
I cracked the window, careful that the fly screen stayed down, sank into the squeaking armchair, and dug into the food.
Five minutes later, the plate was wiped clean, but I was still hungry.
I licked the last bits of sauce from the rim, but even my favorite dish couldn’t stop my thoughts from circling around everything that had happened today.
With a sigh, I set the plate on the floor with a soft clank of metal against pottery and pulled out my smartphone, ignoring the little cracks in the upper right corner.
No new messages. I would’ve expected something from Gordy, but he was probably still fed up, too.
I shot him a text:
Hey man.
Are you still up?
Today was weird.
The screen showed that my messages were delivered, but not read. Even after a minute, nothing.
If I could have, I would have texted Sam too, checked in to see if everything had worked out.
Since I couldn’t, thanks to not having his number, I did the next best thing: I opened Insta and searched his name.
To my surprise, I didn’t even need to scroll.
The very first profile had his full name and a photo that was clearly him, grinning at the camera, in his high school graduation gown, holding up his diploma.
What shocked me a little was that his profile was public. Everyone I knew kept theirs private. Not him, though. If I were in his shoes with all those rumors floating around about me, I wouldn't have made that choice.
I scrolled through his pictures. Most of them were what you’d expect—shots with his mom, moody shots of Red Creek and its surrounding nature, a black cat, a few graduation photos, none of which showed any other graduates.
Only one picture hit me out of the cold: Sam with a blond guy about our age with an earring, both sticking their tongues out to the camera, their heads pressed together.
I lingered on that one. It had five likes and a comment that just said ‘gay,’ to which Sam had replied, ‘I’m indeed happy. Thank you for noticing that.’
Was this his boyfriend? It sure looked like it. I mean, I didn’t have pictures like that of Gordy and me. Must be nice. If being in love with a dude made you smile that wide, maybe I should give it a try, too. Because certainly no girl had ever pulled that grin out of me.
I scrolled back up, hovering over the follow button. Why was I so damn nervous about pushing it? Sam likely wouldn’t care; on the contrary, probably. And I couldn’t give less of a fuck what anybody else thought. But still. Somehow, pressing the button felt like it would mean something, wouldn’t it?
“Ugh, fuck it,” I groaned and clicked—right as a rumbling from the hallway made me look up. A groan, like it came straight out of a zombie movie, floated through the gap under my door. Then— bang —something crashed hard against it, shaking the whole frame.
“Shit,” my father whispered on the other side.
I jumped up and carefully opened the door to see what was going on.
Dad—now wearing nothing but wrinkled boxer shorts and a white undershirt stained with something unidentifiable—lay on the floor, his back wedged against the opposite wall, his feet pushing my door fully open. He looked up and, when he noticed me standing there, frowned.
“Look who’s home,” he slurred. “It’s my son, my hard-working, grown-up son who doesn’t even bother to call when he’s coming home late.” He tried to push himself up, but his arms buckled, not lifting his ass even an inch off the ground.
The smell of booze and cigarettes wafted over to me. I wanted to slam the door right back in his face—anything to make him stop saying shit like that. Hearing you’re always the problem, over and over, wears you down. But I couldn’t just leave him there, no matter how much I wanted to.
I crouched, grabbed his arm, and lifted it to wrap it around my shoulder, but he yanked it away.
“I don’t need your help. I can —” He pushed against the floor, his arms shaking before they gave out completely, sending him slipping and knocking his head against the wall. The bump made me wince, but he just let out a soft, almost childish giggle. “Oh, look at that. Maybe I can’t .”
I slid my hands behind his back to help him at least sit upright. The stench of his breath made me hold mine.
“How much did you have tonight?” I asked.
“I didn’t drink.”
“And I’m next in line to be president.”
“Only one beer. That’s the truth.”
I pulled his left arm around my shoulder, wrapped my arm around his back, and heaved him upward. If he had followed my lead even a little, we might’ve managed, but it was like he’d already decided the floor was where he belonged.
“Come on, Dad,” I said softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I can’t, my son. I’m giving it my everything, but I can’t. My legs... they don’t...” His eyes fluttered shut, then blinked back open.
“It’s just a few feet. I’ll help you, but you have to try, too. Only one step with your right foot forward.”
“Oh, my son. If you were only such a good boy all the time.” He set his eyes on me, barely able to keep them open, giving them an almost loving glimmer—but I knew better. That was nothing but a drunken ruse, quickly exposed when his head flopped into his neck. “I’m thirs—,” Dad coughed, “—ty.”
“Dad, you can’t stay on the floor forever. You have to work tomorrow.” I gritted my teeth, pulling on him with everything I had, and this time he put his right foot forward. He didn’t stand yet, but at least he was kneeling now.
“Come on, one more,” I said, tugging on him again.
He groaned but obeyed. He put his left foot forward, and with that, I finally managed to haul him up. He clung to me like I was the last sturdy thing in the world, his feet wobbling worse than Mom’s after a doctor's appointment.
“This is not going to work,” Dad coughed, clearing his throat.
“It already is. A few more steps, and you’re in your bed.”
I took a step forward. Waited. And after five seconds, he followed. Slowly and clumsily, we made our way down the hall toward the master bedroom.
When we reached the closed door, I laid my left hand on the knob and paused.
“We need to stay quiet now, okay?” I whispered. “Mom’s already sleeping.”
“I am that. Quiet,” Dad said, loud as a tractor, before dropping to a whisper, repeating himself. “ Quiet. Shh .”
I waited, giving him a second to get all the drunken words out, before I turned the knob.
Only the faint light from my room lit the way. The king-sized bed on the far wall was barely visible, thanks to closed blinds that didn’t let the tiniest beam from the streetlight through. I took another step. So did Dad—slamming his right shoulder into the door frame.
“Ouch,” he gasped, but, as if he had a brief moment of clarity, bit his lip to silence himself and shuffled forward on his own. One, two, three steps, and we stood next to the frame. Dad let himself collapse onto the mattress, making the bed shake like a trampoline under his weight.
I searched for Mom, who lay on the other side of the mattress, motionless, her back to us, seemingly undisturbed by our ruckus.
“Thank you, my son,” Dad whispered, sprawling on the bed like a flipped-over turtle.
“Go to sleep,” I whispered, turning toward the door.
“I know I don’t say it much,” Dad mumbled, making me pause in the doorway, “but I do love you, my son. You are my son, after all. If only you wouldn’t make me hate you so much so often.”
The words drifted through the room before snoring took over.
I stood there for a second, watching them both sleep. I wish I could say it was the first time he’d said something like that, but it wasn’t. Just like we’d argue about the car keys in the morning, this scene—this version of him—was as routine as breathing.
Silently, I pulled their door shut behind me and made my way down the hallway, only now noticing the TV still flickering alone in the living room.
The western movie had been replaced by a woman in a bikini fighting her way through the jungle, and I didn’t want to know what was going on.
My eyes darted around for the remote, but it wasn’t on the coffee table, the side table next to the door, or the couch.
Misplacing things really was Dad’s special talent—driving everyone nuts in the process.
I climbed onto the couch, slid my hands between the cushions, and found the remote buried in the deepest corner.
I pressed the red button, and finally, darkness settled over the room, the TV’s afterglow the only thing I could see, until the creak of a door forced my eyes to adjust faster.
I jumped toward the hallway, sticking my head around the corner just as the ceiling light came on.
Mom stood there in her white nightgown, her left hand on the wall like it was a cane.
“I was awake before you guys came in,” she said, lifting her hands as if she knew that I was about to apologize for the noise.
I rushed over, reaching my hand out to steady her, but she shook her head.
“And unlike your father, I’m perfectly capable of walking myself.
” She shuffled past me, and I followed her into the kitchen, watching her grab a glass from the cupboard above the sink and fill it with tap water.
“As you can see, I was just a bit thirsty.”
She downed the glass in one go and refilled it. I leaned against the wall on the far side of the kitchen, next to the table, tucking my hands behind my back. She was in that familiar mode of pretending that everything was fine, and it made me stay, to make sure she’d made it back to bed okay.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that I’d be late today,” I muttered.
“You’re a grown man. You don’t have to report everything you do to me,” she said with a smile.
I smiled back, but it faded almost instantly, replaced by me scratching the back of my head.
I didn’t really believe her statement was true.
Most people still treated me like I was still that bratty kid who liked to stir the pot.
And after what I’d done to Sam, I wasn’t so sure if they were that far off.
“I’m here to listen, though,” she added, setting her glass down beside the sink.
She pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down, observing me.
Her head tilted, her left eye giving that soft wink she used whenever she was ready to hear a secret and keep it safe forever.
“I’ve known you for over twenty-two years now, Benji.
I can still tell when something’s not right. ”
I shoved my hands further behind my back, leaned my head against the wall, and stared at the ceiling.
My mind raced. The more people who knew the truth about the prank, the more likely it was for this house of cards to collapse.
But if that secret was safe with anyone, it had to be her. She wouldn’t judge. She would help.
“Mom,” I murmured, my voice dry as sandpaper. “Am I a bad person?”
Her eyes narrowed. “If it’s about your father?—”
“It’s not that,” I cut in quickly, but then faltered. What if this changed how she saw me? No one else’s opinion mattered, but hers did. The corners of her mouth lifted in the softest way, and she nodded, encouraging me on.
“I did something,” I forced out. “Something I shouldn’t have.”
Her gaze stayed steady.
“It wasn’t illegal,” I rushed on. “No one got hurt, except maybe some feelings. But I feel terrible, and I hate myself for it.”
She took a breath, her brows knitting together as she folded her hands in her lap.
“I want you to remember this, Benji,” she said, her gaze holding mine.
“I will always love you, no matter what. You’re human.
Humans make mistakes. But as long as you acknowledge them, try to make amends, and learn from them, it’s okay.
You don’t need to hate yourself. But even if you do—” her voice softened. “—I never will.”
My eyes stung, threatening tears. I nodded, swallowing hard, but no matter how much I wished they would come, the tears stayed away.
Her chair scratched over the linoleum floor as she stood up and pulled me into a hug.
My chest shook, but my hands stayed pinned behind my back.
I didn’t deserve her embrace, but I let her hold me anyway.
Only when my breathing slowed did she pull back.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Always.” She smiled. “Now... do you want to tell me what happened?”
Of course, I wanted to. I still hesitated—not because I didn’t trust her, but because I had no idea where to start.
She sat down again and tugged out a second chair, gesturing for me to join her. I did, and the moment my ass hit the seat, the words just poured out: the prank, my stupid reasoning, how everything blew up in my face, and the regret eating me alive.
“I wish I could just come clean,” I finished my story. “But I’m not sure telling Sam the truth is the right thing. I think it would crush him.”
Mom had listened without flinching, like none of this surprised her.
“I think you’re right with that. If he truly never had anyone stand by his side, then finding out now would probably destroy him.”
“So... what would you do if you were in my situation?” I asked, even though I couldn’t picture her making a mistake this stupid in the first place.
“Good question.” She sat there, her head turning in every possible direction as if she walked through a mental maze of solutions, trying to pick out the best one.
“What if...” She raised her eyebrows high, accentuating the wrinkles on her forehead.
“You invite him over for dinner? Everyone loves a good meal. It’d give you both a chance to get to know each other better.
And who knows? Maybe in an honest moment, you could tell him the truth without risking hurting him. ”
“You know my cooking skills?—”
“Oh, no,” she laughed. “ You wouldn’t be cooking.
I would. You could even tell him I insisted on having him over after he helped you find the necklace.
” She grinned. “And from everything I’ve heard about Sam, he'll probably impress your father. Sounds like killing two birds with one stone to me.” She chuckled at her own sneaky idea. “Would you like that?”
I leaned back, caught off guard by how reasonable it sounded. Honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe the only way to overcome the prejudices that had landed me in this situation was to get to know him better. My chest tightened, but I nodded.
“It’s settled then. Let me know what day works for both of you. If you find out what he likes to eat, I can make it.”
We locked eyes for a moment, something unspoken passing between us. We were in this together now. And for the first time all day, I felt like I could finally breathe, like I had a real shot at making this right.