Chapter 12 Ben
It was three weeks into the New Year. Ella should be here soon. We didn’t have plans to hang out, but she called earlier and said she had a surprise for me.
My phone rang from my back pocket. I pulled it out, expecting to see her name on the caller ID. Instead, I was met with Brian’s. Shit. I’d completely forgotten about today’s therapy session.
I picked up. “Hey, man. Ella is about to stop by, so I may have to cut this a little short.”
“That’s fine,” Brian said. “We can make up the time another day, if you need.”
“Thanks.”
“It sounds like you and Ella have become fast friends. I think every time we’ve spoken lately, you’ve mentioned plans with her.”
“I’ve been flirting with her,” I said.
“Okay,” he responded, with almost no inflection, so I couldn’t tell if he approved of this development or not.
“I don’t really think it is okay, though,” I told him.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t think I’m in a good place for a relationship right now.”
“You’ve made an incredible amount of progress in the past several months. In my professional opinion, there’s nothing to recommend you not becoming romantically involved with someone.”
“But I still haven’t dealt with this CTE thing.”
“In what way are you hoping to deal with it, Ben? The advanced tests we’ve spoken about?”
“Yes. And the reality that my brain is pretty much a ticking time bomb.”
“If you want to schedule the tests, you should,” Brian said.
“I think it would be good for you to know definitively if there are signs, and if so, how advanced they are. And I think we need to find another way for you to talk about your brain. Bomb isn’t exactly the best imagery or the healthiest metaphor.
It’s not like CTE is going to suddenly explode without warning and shred through all of your synapses in a single day.
There will be signs. Early symptoms. Most likely you’ll have time to adjust to each one as they manifest.”
“Most likely,” I said. “But not guaranteed.”
“No, not guaranteed. Just like it’s not guaranteed that you even have CTE. Can I be perfectly frank with you?”
“Always.”
“If I were going through what you are, I’d be scared out of my fucking mind.
It’s okay to be scared, Ben. No one expects you to just – poof!
– get over it. In fact, it’s okay to be scared about this for years.
Because it’s a scary thing you’re facing.
We’ve talked a lot about emotions, about listening to them and giving in to them, and I know that’s been an adjustment for you.
You’re going to have to work overtime to accept your fear here. ”
He wasn’t kidding. I’d read a book a while back that opened my eyes to the small, hard cage of masculinity I’d been raised in.
Men don’t cry. Men don’t get sappy. Men don’t approach a person who hurt them and try to work it out civilly.
Anger, violence, lust, these things are okay though, because “boys will be boys”.
Was it any wonder that after years of bottling everything else up, when men were pushed too far, or felt powerless, or felt like they’d been wronged in some way – real or imagined – they got so angry that they snapped? Violently?
I never realized how much shit I’d kept inside until my first few sessions with Brian, when it had all poured out of me the second another man told me it was okay to be upset.
I rubbed a hand over my face. “Brian, how can I move on with the threat of CTE hanging over my head? How can I ask someone else to take that on?”
“Who’s to say you have to move on?” he asked.
“Like I said, it’s perfectly healthy to continue to be scared about this, whether you have CTE or not.
It would be less healthy to let that fear dictate every decision in your life.
Some, yes, sure. Like maybe you don’t start jumping out of planes just for the thrill of feeling alive, or pick up a hobby that might lead to more brain trauma.
But making decisions for a potential partner, or before symptoms manifest, maybe not.
And who’s to say that anything becomes romantic with Ella? She might not feel that way about you.”
The man made a good point. “You’re right. She’s been nothing but friendly toward me.”
“I sense another but here,” Brian said.
“But every now and then, I catch a blush on her cheeks. Or a look on her face.”
“And you assume they’re of a romantic nature?”
I thought back to two days ago, when we’d set up the dining room furniture.
At one point I’d picked up the end of the table and swiveled it around into place, having to strain beneath its weight.
The way she’d looked me over, the intensity in her gaze, followed by a quick turn away, but not quick enough for me to miss the way her cheeks colored…
“I think they might be,” I told Brian.
“And how do you feel about her?”
“I…I’m still trying to figure that out. She’s beautiful.
In a deceptively innocent, wide-eyed kind of way that pairs hilariously with her wicked sense of humor.
The other day I turned my TV on after she left and Benny and the Jets just started pouring out of it. I laughed for five minutes straight.”
“I’m missing the joke.”
“My mom called me Benny on the phone and Ella heard it. Ever since, she’s been slipping that song into my life. Last week she locked me out of my phone after trying to hack into it with the intention of changing my ringtone to it.”
“So, she’s beautiful and she makes you laugh. What else?”
I felt like he was herding me toward something, but I agreed that I needed to figure this thing out between me and Ella, so I decided to play along. “In between the laughter, we keep having these really deep, serious discussions.”
“About what?”
“Politics, race, sexuality, religion, the military-industrial complex. You name it, we talk about it.”
“Your fear of CTE? Your depression and anxiety?”
The urge to squirm became overwhelming. While I welcomed Brian’s directness, one of the unintended consequences of it was the discomfort of being forced to look long and hard at my behavior. “Uh…no. Not that.”
“Why not?”
“It goes back to not wanting to get involved with someone while CTE is hanging over my head. She’s like this bright light of positivity in my life right now, and I don’t want to do anything to snuff it out.”
“Has Ella brought CTE up with you? Or Zach?”
Hearing my brother’s name was like a punch to the gut. Still. Every time. It took me a minute to recover before responding. “No. She’s been incredibly respectful of my privacy.”
“And you don’t think that she’s kept quiet because she’s worked at least some of what you’re going through out for herself? It wouldn’t be difficult to find evidence online and make assumptions from there. The only way to make sure that she hasn’t made the wrong ones is to tell her yourself.”
Well, shit. I hadn’t thought about that. But still… “I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Brian.”
“Has Ella told you a lot about herself?”
I paused, not liking this change of direction. “She has.”
“To summarize, you don’t want to get involved with her romantically, because you don’t think it would be fair to her.
You don’t want to be upfront with her about CTE and depression, because you want to keep her humor and lightness in your life.
So instead, you’re keeping her in a limbo where she continuously puts herself out there and you hold everything about yourself back.
In short, you’re making all her decisions for her. Tell me, does that seem fair, Ben?”
I exhaled heavily. “No. It makes me sound like a selfish asshole. Goddamn, Brian. You ever think you should have been a prosecutor instead of a therapist?”
“You’ve always wanted me to be honest with you,” he said.
“To ask you to examine your own behavior. That’s all I’m doing right now.
Trust me, I get it. It sucks. My husband just did this to me last night, because I haven’t been doing my part around the house or with the kids, and he’s had to pick up the slack.
Look, I’m not telling you to unload everything on Ella when she shows up on your doorstep today, but I think that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to let her in a little.
And to let yourself admit that you might be flirting with her because you’re interested in her in a romantic way. ”
“And you’re sure I can’t blame that interest on the dosage drop?” I asked, grasping at straws.
“I’m sure.”
“I need time to think about everything.”
“Totally understandable. Don’t rush yourself, Ben. Take all the time you need with this. But a little advice?”
“Shoot.”
“If you want to flirt with Ella, flirt with Ella. As long as she’s receptive, of course.”
We hung up a few minutes later, with plans to talk again in a couple of days.
Now was one of those times I wished I could pop open a beer and stare into the fire for a little while, letting my mind go blank.
Or jump on the treadmill for an hour. I glanced at the clock.
No time. It was three. Ella should have been here by now.
Needing to do something, I paced to the front door, slipped my boots and jacket on, shoved my hair under a hat, and headed out to shovel the walkway. Sure, I’d shoveled it earlier this morning, but we had a flurry a few hours ago, and there was a light dusting over it. Didn’t want Ella to slip.