5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Mind Is A Prison by Alec Benjamin
Dr. Conrad re-enters the room with more paperwork and waivers for us all to sign. I’m not really sure what the waivers are good for. I can’t sue anyone if I die time traveling to the Titanic, but I sign it anyway. I’m in a daze over what I’ve agreed to do. Everything is moving in a whirlwind. Did I seriously just say I’d go? Holy shit, I did. I know I’ve made the right decision, but I still can’t believe I actually agreed to it. This is risky, maybe even morally gray. But I can’t let this chance fall into the hands of anyone who wouldn’t honor and respect it. What if someone else attempted to alter history for their own personal gain? At least I just want to listen and learn.
He starts by laying out a schedule for us. We’ll spend the next month preparing and studying before we travel. Dr. Conrad has created an Edwardian 101 curriculum to prepare us. He gives us a schedule of times we need to meet. We will learn all we can to fit into 1912 customs smoothly and without suspicion. Ben minored in theater while at university, so I have a feeling he will adapt easily. I know the history of the period well. But the idea of performing like a proper lady terrifies me.
There are four cardboard boxes neatly stacked on a table. Dr. Conrad distributes them to the four of us as Dr. McCoy begins instruction. “Take these home with you and begin studying. In the box you’ll find books and newspaper articles on national and global events in 1912. There are books on proper etiquette and language of the time and popular culture. Sarah and Alice, there is additional information in your boxes on the fashion of the period and the responsibilities and interests of women.”
Once we all have our boxes in hand, Dr. Conrad motions to dismiss us. “Okay team, as you can see on your schedules, we’re going to be meeting daily. I know this is a lot to learn in a short amount of time, but I know you can do it. I must emphasize the importance of keeping this information confidential.”
As we turn to leave the room, Dr. Conrad calls back to us, “Oh, and guys? Thank you again, truly. We are so grateful to all of you. See you tomorrow.”
My hands clutch the box's corners. I hold it close to my chest. Ben uses his to hit the elevator button. Sarah and Eric go back down the hall to their offices, giving Ben and I the chance to speak privately on our way out.
As we stand in the elevator, Ben finally breaks the silence between us. “So, that was wild, huh? Titanic! Can you fucking believe it?” His blue eyes are alive with excitement.
“Stop.” I interrupt him and point around the elevator. “Cameras. Wait till we’re outside.” I don’t know who is watching, and I don’t want to take any risks.
We make our way out into the lobby and through the front doors. The courtyard around Dr. Conrad’s building is still. The only sound is the light tapping of water in the fountain. In the distance, I can see the fluorescent lights of the Glasner Student Union building. I’m glad we’re walking in the dark. In the daylight, two employees with cardboard boxes would look like they’ve just been sacked. Instead, we’re just hiding secret materials for a time travel expedition to the Titanic. Totally normal.
Ben and I walk toward the Union. It is on our route to the walking path off campus toward my house. It’s 9:30 p.m. on a Friday night, and the center of campus is wide awake. As we pass the Union and several residential dorms, I can hear the sounds of students laughing and the low steady bass beat of loud music. No doubt they’re all getting ready to go out. This place will be a zoo soon as they all convene outside to go to the neighborhood bars and clubs. I don’t miss those days at all. I’m already in bed by the time the students are just beginning to go out.
We step off campus and onto Commonwealth Avenue. This is normally where Ben and I split on our commutes home in the afternoon, but he stops and grabs my arm.
“You’re not walking alone. It’s dark,” he says.
Ben knows I’m used to the walk back to my house; it’s only a few streets away. I can walk it in twenty minutes if I really rush it, though I never actually walk home in the dark. If I’m on campus late, I know ahead of time and drive myself to work or call an Uber home. He’s protective, as always, but I have a feeling he wants to talk about the events of the evening. And truthfully, I do too. I’m not too proud or independent to admit that walking alone in the dark back to my house makes me uncomfortable.
“You know, I think I’ve got a bottle of wine at home calling our names," I say with a smile. “Do you want to just stay over tonight?”
Ben sleeps at my place more often than he sleeps in his own apartment. We joke that he’s my ghost roommate with how often he’s here and how much of his stuff he leaves behind. Ben lives across the Charles River in a modern high-rise loft in Cambridge. His apartment is concrete and minimalist, not by choice. He doesn't spend enough time there to decorate it. I tell him all the time he could save so much money on rent if he just moved into my house. I’ve got plenty of room, and it feels like he lives there already. It’s become a serious discussion we’ve kicked back and forth, and it seems pretty likely to happen once his lease is up. It just makes no sense for him to keep the apartment. He stays at my place multiple times a week, especially after Bruins games.
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” he quickly says with a cheeky smile. As protective as he can be, I know his offer to walk me home was because he wanted to talk. I can see it in his face when he needs more than he’s saying he does. It is easier to recognize in others than it is in me.
I wrestle my phone out of my coat pocket. “I’ll order Ray’s so it’s there when we get home.” Ray’s is local to my neighborhood and, in my opinion, the best pizza in Boston.
Ben and I stay up all night talking about what we’ve agreed to. Neither of us can fully believe what has transpired, and talking about it almost feels like a fantastical hypothetical situation. I walk him through a history of the ship, from the route of the voyage to a rough timeline of events during the sinking. I am curled up in my armchair with my legs hanging off the side while Ben sprawls out on my sofa. I admit I enjoy getting to show off how much I know, especially considering the number of speeches he’s given me about minute-by-minute details of every war known to man.
Ben gets up and heads toward the kitchen. As he opens our third bottle of Merlot, he finally asks the question I’ve been waiting for all night. “Al, I've gotta ask. Why did you agree to this? This is an enormous leap of faith into the unknown.” He grips the corkscrew firmly and twists it with ease. “It’s so unlike you.”
Ben walks over and pours more wine into my glass. He stumbles back to his spot on the sofa, placing the bottle on the coffee table between us. I’m curious if he purposely asked this question after some alcohol, hoping I would be more honest with a little liquid help.
“You answered your own question,” I reply. “It’s so unlike me. I hate that phrase. All of this is unlike me. I don’t take risks; I do what’s safe and expected. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve done the safe thing all my life, and where has it gotten me? Alone.”
Ben leans forward on the sofa, his tone turning serious. “You have me though, Ali. You’ll always have me.”
I meet his gaze; his eyes are sympathetic. “I know that. And I love you for that. But you know what I mean.”
Ben smiles and sips his wine. He knows what he means to me, but I could do better at expressing it. I’ve spent a long time with my head down, focused on school, and Dad, then work. I’ve never made time for anything else. I’ve dated, sure. Tried to at least. But nothing concrete. Nothing that ever made me feel like more than just myself. I want more. I want someone that makes me feel like more. Being alone started as a choice. I wanted to focus on my career. But I’ve dug myself into that hole so deep it’s hard to pull myself out. The walls around me are just too high to climb. I’ve used so much energy trying to be strong that I haven’t left room for anything else.
The most stable relationship I’ve ever had is my friendship with Ben. He sees me, flaws and all, and doesn't want to change me. He’s the one person I never feel like I disappoint. I begin to wonder why someone as incredible as him is alone too.
“Ben, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Why do you never talk about Ryan?”
“Well, why do you never talk about your mom?” He sounds defensive, like I’ve struck a nerve.
“Hmm. Fair enough.” He’s got me on that one. “I guess I find it difficult to acknowledge the pain.”
“I get it.” His expression softens. “What did you want to ask?”
“You speak about him so fondly. And I know you’ve dated a lot here in Boston, but nothing with any permanence. I guess I’m just curious why you guys split?” Every time the subject comes up, Ben goes quiet. He says it just didn’t work out, or that they wanted different things. I don’t know if he’s protecting Ryan or himself. But I have to imagine that whatever happened between them causes his lack of commitment now. He goes on dates, but never more than three with the same person.
Ben exhales deeply. I think the alcohol is making him feel more honest too. “Ryan’s a couple of years older than me, which was fine for a while. But eventually it became pretty clear to me that we were on different paths. He wanted to settle down, get married, start a family, that whole deal. I thought I wanted those things too, but he was just a few steps ahead of me. I was just starting on my doctorate. I asked to table the discussion until I finished. He waited patiently and asked again, and I kept pushing it off. I really wanted to establish myself in a steady position first. Ryan got frustrated and, in hindsight, I don’t blame him. He wanted things I wasn’t ready for. We had this big argument about it. He gave me a hard deadline, a ‘get your shit together or I’m out’ kind of ultimatum. And that's when I realized why I’d been pushing things off.”
“Why?”
Ben sighs. “I don’t want kids. I blurted it out in an argument, at first out of anger, but once the words left my body, I felt fifty pounds lighter. Like the truth had been weighing me down. Deep down, I always knew that I didn't want children, but I felt ashamed to admit it. I mean, who doesn’t want kids?” I look at him and smirk with a raised eyebrow, clearly reminding him of my mother. “I thought maybe, over time, I’d change my mind, you know? But I kept finding any reason to push off the discussion again. And eventually I realized it wasn’t fair to keep making him wait. I didn’t want to steal any more time from him. I couldn’t ask him to sacrifice more than he had. So, I made the tough decision to end things.”
“Oh, Ben. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you.”
“It really was. I love Ryan, and I think a part of me always will. But he shouldn’t have to give up his dreams just because I don’t share them. And neither should I. My dreams are different, but they’re just as important as his. In the end, I loved him enough to let him go.”
“And that’s why you moved to Boston?”
“Yeah, I felt like I needed a clean break. I knew if I stayed near him in California, I’d cave in just to keep him, and that’s not doing any service to either of us or to a child. So I decided to get as far away as possible and start over. Plus, my mom didn’t take the breakup well, and I needed to get away from all the fallout.”
“Oh?”
“She’s never cared that I liked men; in fact, she’s always accepted me and advocated for me. And she loved Ryan; they got along great. But I know she wanted grandkids, and I think she assumed that even though my partner would differ from that of my brothers, that my life would unfold the same way. She belongs to that generation that believes you go to college, get married, and have kids in that order or else you’re doing life wrong. My brothers all got married and had kids and followed that perfect step-by-step program. And then there’s Ben, still doing things differently. I always felt like I failed her.”
“But there’s no singular way to get through life perfectly. There is no step-by-step program.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, you know how we met up at the Sox game over the summer?”
“Wait, what?” Ben shakes his head, confused.
“No, no. Stick with me on this. You live in Cambridge. I live in Beacon Hill. We took different routes, but we both ended up at Fenway. Do you get me now?”
“Leave it to you to use a ridiculous sports metaphor to comfort me, Al.”
“Hey! Don’t knock my metaphors. They always work!” I laugh. “What I mean is, just because your path is different doesn’t mean it’s the wrong one.”
“I just feel so selfish for choosing myself.”
"Ben, I come from a mother who didn't want me. I know what it’s like to be an accident, an inconvenience. It is not selfish to decide you don’t want children and to stick to that. In fact, I actually find it selfless.” Ben looks at me with a surprised expression. “No, really. I think it is selfless to make that choice, to know you don’t want children, or can’t give them what they need. I think it’s brave.” I know I’m projecting my trauma here, and I don’t regret my existence at all, but I can’t help but wonder how things would have been different for my parents if my mother had been allowed to make her own choices.
“Alright,” Ben pivots the conversation. “Well, while we’re at this, I have a question too.”
“Oh boy,” I laugh. It’s my turn in the hot seat now. “Shoot.”
“Since we’re talking about relationships, I’ve been wondering. Why don’t you ever date? I’ve tried setting you up so many times; you either find a reason not to go at all or you scare them off on the date. I don’t get it. You’re smart, kind, funny, incredibly beautiful…”
“Oh, stop.” I blush. I pretend to fan myself. Deflective humor is often a coping mechanism for me. I hate receiving compliments. I never know how to accept them.
“No, you are! Come on, even I can see that. I can appreciate beauty; I just don’t want to hop into bed with you," Ben laughs. “Hell, I’d marry you for your carbonara alone. But Ali, seriously, you’re a catch. And it seems so weird to me how indifferent you are to even the idea of a relationship.”
I shake my head. “I’m not indifferent.”
“Ali…” Ben tilts his head, as if he doesn’t believe me.
“I’m not,” I say firmly. “It’s just hard. It’s my fault, and believe me, I know that. I’ve spent a long time toughening up to protect myself, but all I’ve really done is push people away. I have two simultaneous and contradictory fears: letting people in and being alone.”
“Do you know why?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I laugh. “I pay my therapist a lot of money to explain that one to me. I guess I’m afraid of getting hurt again. If I let someone in, they could leave me. I want love, but I can’t quite figure out how to accept it.”
I wasn’t expecting to be so honest tonight. But I’m sure the wine has helped those feelings bubble up. It is true, though; I don’t want to be alone. I want to find someone I could share my life with. Life is about who you tell your stories to. In the darkest, coldest night, who keeps your flame going?
Ben lies on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “You know what, Al? One day you’ll meet someone worth letting your guard down for.”
I chuckle. “If you say so.”
“I promise you, you will. Probably when you least expect it.”
“How will I know?” Maybe that’s a silly or na?ve question, but I’m curious. I’ve never been in such a situation before; I don’t know if I would recognize it.
“It’s hard to explain. But when you look at them, like really look at them, time just stops. Nothing else matters besides you and them, and being with them, or even just being near them. Your head hands over the reins to your heart. Every part of you that didn’t make sense before will suddenly seem balanced.”
“Christ, Ben. You make it sound transformative.”
“It is.”
“And was that Ryan? For you?”
“It was.”
“Doesn’t that make you sad, though? That it’s over?”
“No.” His voice softens.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got hope left that it will happen again someday.”
I smile to myself. “I think it will, too.”
“You know what, Al?” His voice is veering into slurs, the wine finally making him drowsy. “I know you’ll find it, what you’re looking for.” Ben closes his eyes and settles himself further into the sofa.
I turn my head and watch him drift to sleep. I look at the ceiling for a while. I count the details in the pattern before finally letting myself fall asleep.