Part Three - Ben’s Story
Carrington House
Searcy, Arkansas
Ben and Ella were in the backyard with Lizzy and Lola. Ben was pushing them on the swings of their playset. Truthfully, the girls had outgrown the structure but still enjoyed swinging, especially when they had their big brother to push them. Ella sat in an Adirondack chair watching.
Harvey Cox came outside looking for Poppy. Walking up to Ben, he stuck out his hand and said, "You must be Ben. I am Harvey Cox. I am writing an article on your family."
Ben shook the reporter's hand and said, "Nice to meet you. Dad said you were here talking with Aunt Taylor. She just left if you were looking for her."
"No, I think I have everything I need from her now. I would like to speak with your mom. Do you know where she is?" replied the reporter.
"She and Dad had to run to Des Arc to Guess and Company. I think they plan to run by Dale’s and hit the Black Friday deals.
Ella and I offered to stay with the girls while they were gone.
I don’t think they thought you would finish with Aunt Taylor so quickly.
I can call them if you need me to. They should be back shortly. "
Nodding, the reporter asked, "That is not necessary. I can wait. Any chance you and I could visit for a few minutes until they get back?"
Ben had known this was coming. His dad had prepared him that he would need to answer a few questions.
Ben did not like talking to reporters. He sometimes thought he had PTSD from having to deal with them as a child.
But he promised his dad he would speak with Harvey. Now seemed as good a time as any.
Looking over at Ella, he asked, "You're good to watch the girls while Mr. Cox and I talk?"
"Please call me Harvey. I know that calling me Mr. Cox means your parents raised you right, but it makes me feel old.”
Nodding, Ben amended, "While Harvey and I talk?"
Standing up and hugging Ben, Ella said, "Of course."
By this point, Lizzy and Lola had abandoned the swings and were currently racing each other around the yard, laughing, screeching, and being very loud.
Yelling, "Girls, chill!" Ben gave Ella a look. "You sure? They can be a handful."
Giving him a smirk, Ella replied, "Six younger siblings, remember? I got this. We will be fine."
Giving her a quick peck on the lips, Ben said, "Okay, well, if you're sure, let's give it a go, sir." Looking back at Ella as he and the reporter headed back into the house, Ben said, "We won't be long. Have one of the girls come and get me if you need me."
"We'll be fine. No worries," Ella called back.
Harvey followed Ben into the house. Ben entered the kitchen, where he grabbed a couple of bottles of water. He handed one to Harvey before heading back to his dad's office.
Settling into the library chairs on each side of the fireplace, Harvey took a long sip of his water. Swallowing, he sat down his water bottle and picked up his handheld recorder. Showing it to Ben, he asked, "You good for me to record this?"
Nodding, Ben replied, "Sure, man, but I must tell you that I am not sure how much I can tell you.
This whole deal is my mom's and Aunt Taylor's deal.
Most people would probably think we were one screwed-up family, and in some ways, I guess we are.
But I feel fortunate to be in this family.
My parents have always worked hard to protect me and ensure I knew I was loved and wanted. "
"You are very lucky. A lot of kids don't get that."
Nodding, Ben agreed, "Yes, I am blessed. So what exactly is it that you want to know?"
The reporter was fascinated by the well-mannered young man's accent. It was a combination of New York Bronx meets Southern gentleman. His voice carried a certain roughness that had been softened with the infusion of a Southern drawl. It was an interesting mix.
As a man who made his living asking people questions and getting to hear many different accents, he wondered which side of his voice would be more dominant if he were angry or a little drunk.
In his experience, it was in those moments that one's actual voice came out.
He considered asking Ben if they could exchange the water for something stronger to see if he could get his true self to emerge.
Deciding against that, he decided to get him talking and see if he could bring out his natural voice that way.
"Tell me about growing up in New York. It had to be very different from your life here in Arkansas," said Harvey.
"You have no idea," replied Ben. "I lived in New York until I was almost eleven.
Then, we moved here. It was like moving to another world, not just another state.
I was not prepared for how different my life was about to become.
Before we moved here, I had visited once.
But, during that visit, we mainly stayed home and just hung out together.
Once we moved here and I started attending school, my life changed in a million ways. Ways I could never have predicted."
"Before we get into that, tell me what your life was like in New York."
"New York. Well, it was the typical life of a big-city kid.
We lived in a brownstone apartment in Red Hook.
It belonged to my dad. I mean, the guy I thought was my dad until I found out about Bennett, my real dad.
His name was Thomas Thompson. He was an artist who married my mom because she was pregnant with me. "
"I have heard of him. He made a big splash in the abstract art world in the late 1990s. He died really young, didn't he?"
"Wow. I am shocked. Most people have never heard of him. How did you find out about him?"
"I took an art appreciation class at UALR, and he was one of the artists we studied. My professor knew him and really thought a lot of him."
"Yes, he was an amazing artist. Many of his pieces still hang in several museums. I also have several pieces my mom has stored for me. Whenever I settle down, I will get them."
"Lucky you. They are worth a mint."
"Yeah, but it is not about the money. Not anymore. Thanks to both of my dads, I am pretty set financially, but I don't like talking about it."
"Understood." Shifting gears, Harvey asked, "Do you have any memories of Thompson? You had to be very young when he passed."
"I was six when we lost him. I have wonderful memories of him.
He always smelled of turpentine and had paint stains on his fingers.
He had a huge roar of a laugh. I remember loving being with him and Uncle Jack.
They were always together. All of us lived together in that tiny apartment.
We must have been cramped, but I don't remember it that way.
I remember lots of laughter and family dinners. Or at least until Dad got sick."
"He died of a long-term illness, right?"
"Yes, he fought it for years. I don't remember knowing he was sick or anything until the end. I remember when they brought in a hospital bed. It seemed like it went fast after that. Mom and Uncle Jack took turns taking care of him. He died three days before his fortieth birthday."
"That must have been a really sad time for you."
"Yes, it was. I remember Mom spending hours comforting Uncle Jack. He took Dad's death really hard. Mom did, too, but it was different."
"So the three of you continued to live together in the apartment for the next few years?"
"Yes, Uncle Jack, Mom and I continued as a small family until Uncle Jack met Uncle Jorge. They fell in love and had a massive wedding in Boston. I got to be a ring bearer. I thought I was so cool. All dressed up in my first tux.
"After that, Uncle Jack moved in with Uncle Jorge. The apartment was always Mom's. Dad, Tommy left it to her. From then on, it was just the two of us until my real dad, Bennett, showed up."
"Did you always know your dad was gay and not truly your dad?"
"Gay, yes. It is no big deal when you are raised with all the love I was given.
It was just my normal. As far as the fact that a gay man might not be my dad never occurred to me.
I was too young to question it all. It was not until later that I realized he wasn't my biological dad.
But, make no mistake, Tommy Thompson was a great dad.
So was Uncle Jack. Again, I have been blessed to have so many people who have loved and cared for me.
In fact, part of the reason I went to California for school was that Uncle Jack and Uncle Jorge lived nearby.
They moved there in 2011. I love running over for a family meal or doing my laundry. How lucky am I to have that."
"Okay, so tell me a little about your life after your dad passed."
"Well, I was your typical eleven-year-old boy. Other than video games. Mom absolutely forbade them. I used to sneak to my friends' houses to play with them."
"Weren't you a chess champion at a very early age? That is hardly typical."
"Well, it was for me. I went to a private school, and all my friends played chess.
We also started learning foreign languages.
I studied French and Spanish. I also took cello lessons.
The one thing I refused to do was take art lessons.
Art was so much of my life; I could not stand being surrounded by it at school. "
"Chess, cello, and foreign languages? That is all not typical for a young man."
"Was for me."
"So, of all your interests, what was your favorite?"
"That is easy, baseball."
"Baseball? How did you get into that?"
"Well, when I was ten, my buddy Joseph and his dad, Mr. Brad, moved into the apartment next to us. His mom had lost her mind and took off with a rocker. Mr. Brad spent hours playing catch out front of our complex. He was trying to make up for the mom leaving. Well, one day, as I was coming home from a cello lesson, I discovered my throwing arm.”