In Her Eyes (10 page)

Casey looked around. Between each row of corn was a patch of pumpkins. It looked like little orange balls scattered among a forest of corn.

Ben handed Casey the pumpkin and she held it in front of her like she was holding a tiny person in her hand. Emma would love this, she thought.

Casey sat the pumpkin back down. “This is so cool, but what’s with all the paths cut into the corn? Is that normal?”

Ben laughed. “No, it’s not normal. At least I don’t think. I used to love to run through the corn fields each spring. First thing after school I’d come out here. I kind of started damaging some of the pumpkins and corn, and then one day I got a little scraped up. I thought they were going to make me stop, but instead Diane had Jim cut out paths that I could run around.”

Ben stood up and brushed off his knees. “It might sound funny, but I love this place.”

Casey smiled. She loved that he took her here. She reached out and grabbed his hand as they continued walking. “What do you love so much about running?” she asked.

“I didn’t have a lot of constants growing up,” he said. “Everything changed every time I moved to a different foster home. It almost felt like starting over each time.”

Casey looked up at Ben as they walked and she could see him searching for the right words.

Ben motioned to the path they were walking down. “But for a while, I had this makeshift track. I could run here after school. I could run here in the rain. When the stalks were tall in the spring I could run here, and when they were dead and gone in the fall, I could run here. Whether I had a bad day or a good day, or whether it was hot or cold, it didn’t matter. This track was here.”

Ben’s voice softened. “I know this dirt-filled track better than I know most people. I know it takes me 697 steps at a good mile pace. I know there are twenty-three left turns and only nine right turns if I run it counterclockwise. I know where the corn grows faster each year because the soil is a little better, and where the pumpkins are a little bigger. This corn-field track became my constant. And when I run it’s like nothing else exists.”

Ben kicked at a small stone in front of him and then he looked down at Casey with a light smile. “Of course, it also helped that I was faster than most everyone too.”

“Have you ever lost a race?” Casey asked.

“I didn’t really start running competitively until high school, and, yeah, early on I lost a lot. Mainly because I had no clue how to run a race.”

“How is it different than running out here?” Casey said.

“The biggest thing for me was learning when to run against the other runners, and when to run against myself.”

“What’s the difference?”

They took a slight left that led down a diagonal path that was narrower than the previous ones.

“You really want to know this? I feel like I’m boring you with all this running stuff.”

“No, I like it,” Casey said. “I mean, I love to run too, but the way you talk about it makes it seem so different.”

“Okay, well, when I first started running, I would kind of just run as fast as I could for as long as I could. This is what my coach referred to as running against yourself.”

“And that’s bad?” Casey said.

“Well, most of the time, yes. When you just run all out, it’s called front running. It’s not that front running is bad necessarily. It just takes a lot more effort. Mainly because you’re the one cutting through the wind, which allows the other runners to draft off you. They can essentially just hang back, conserve energy, and out sprint you at the end. They call that dropping the hammer or the kick.”

“So you were a front runner?”

“I was.”

“But you changed?” Casey said, completely intrigued.

“I did.”

Casey grinned “And now you drop the hammer?”

“I do.”

“So basically, I’m now a running expert?”

“I would have to say so,” Ben said laughing.

They walked down the path for several more minutes, taking two more left turns several hundred feet apart. The sun had risen enough to cast a shadow of corn stalks that danced with theirs as they walked.

Ben turned right and slowed down. There was a large square opening in front of them, a little bit bigger than a bedroom. Every side except for where they were standing was a giant wall of corn, and in the middle was a blue and white cooler, the familiar words
Coleman
engraved on the side.

Ben walked over to the cooler and picked up the cream vanilla blanket that was folded neatly on top. He unfolded it and fanned it over the grassy opening, sat down and opened up the cooler.

Casey was still standing there watching when he pulled out two small mason jars, two spoons, and two bottles of water. She sat down, crossed her legs out in front of her and leaned over on her right elbow. She was thinking back on her life. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been on a real picnic,” she said.

Ben smiled. “Are you hungry? I’ve got homemade parfaits, with yogurt, granola, blueberries, and strawberries.”

Casey was hungry. Actually she was starving. She looked down at the jars with their little silver metal lids. There was just one problem, she was allergic to strawberries.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked.

“Promise not to hate me?”

Ben laughed. “That is ominous, but I promise.”

“I’m allergic to strawberries,” she said.

Ben sat up on his knees and put both glasses back in the cooler. He turned towards Casey. “I’m pretty sure it was someone in the Navy Seals that coined the term ‘two is one, and one is none.’ I always liked that motto. But I figured if having a Plan B is good, then having a Plan C, D, must be twice as good, right?”

Casey nodded, though wasn’t quite following.

Ben pulled out a plate of something concealed by aluminum foil. He uncovered the plate slightly, “For Plan B we have pumpkin chocolate chip muffins, courtesy of Aunt Diane.”

Casey thought it was cute and endearing every time he called her ‘Aunt Diane.’

Ben reached back in the cooler and pulled out another plate covered in tin foil. “For Plan C we have fruit kabobs.” He looked down at them, “Though you may have to pull the strawberries off.”

“And last, but not least, and also my personal favorite: monkey balls!”

Casey laughed. “Please tell me you did not just say monkey balls.”

Ben looked at her wide-eyed. “Oh my gosh. Have you never had a monkey ball?”

“That might officially be the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Ben looked around at the corn and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen. We have before us a monkey ball newcomer.”

“Are they really called monkey balls?”

“Uh yes, and they are amazingly delicious.”

Casey reached out to lift the tin foil on the plate covering the monkey balls, but Ben pulled them out of her reach.

“Woah there, tenderfoot,” Ben said.

“The monkey ball experience is not something to be rushed. This is a day that you will cherish for the rest of your life.”

Casey bit her bottom lip trying not to laugh, because Ben’s expression was completely serious.

“First, do you have any other food allergies that I need to know of?”

“Avocado for sure, and I was warned to avoid papaya and chestnut, but I’ve never had those.”

Ben breathed out an audible sigh and looked up towards the clouds. “The monkey ball gods shine down on us this day.”

“C’mon, nothing named monkey balls can be that good?”

“Close your eyes,” Ben said.

Casey sat up on her knees and closed her eyes. “You promise this isn’t some weird food thing, right?” She heard the metallic crinkle of the tin foil, and felt the blanket below her shift as Ben moved closer.

“No peaking,” Ben said as she opened her right eye for just a second. “Okay, on the count of three I’m going to place the monkey ball against your lips to take a bite.”

Casey nodded.

“Okay, one…two…three.”

Ben pressed it against her lips and Casey bit into the little ball of dough that was baked with ground cinnamon, melted butter, and sugar. She opened her eyes and looked at Ben while she finished chewing.

“Well?” he said.

“Oh. My. Gosh. It was like eating a little bit of heaven.”

Ben laughed as he sat the plate down in front of her. “I told you!”

Casey picked up another. It kind of looked like a cinnamon sugar donut hole, but tasted richer. “How have I not heard of these?”

“There’s actually one more thing,” Ben said.

Casey finished chewing her second one, little pieces of cinnamon and sugar sticking to her lips. “What’s that?”

“Now, I didn’t make this up. I’m just reciting to you the monkey ball rules. It clearly states that a first time monkey ballee, must award the monkey baller with a kiss on the cheek.”

Casey smiled and squinted her eyes playfully. “Is that so?”

“I’m just telling you exactly like I was told so many years ago.”

Casey wiped the crumbs from her fingers and leaned over towards Ben so that she was on all fours, just a few inches from his lips. She arched her back just barely as she looked at him. “You wouldn’t lie to an innocent girl just to get a kiss would you?”

“Never,” Ben said, almost in a whisper.

Casey moved closer to his lips and at the last second turned to the left slightly and pressed her lips against his right cheek.

“Now if there are no other rules, please pass me another monkey ball.”

Both Casey and Ben laughed as they sat there enjoying the rest of a slow Saturday morning.

26

He Knows

April 10, 2015

Casey was unusually quiet most of the drive home. The image of Ben running through the half grown corn fields as a kid was repeating over and over in her head. He seemed so passionate about running; it had been such an impactful part of his life. And yet she couldn’t help but think his story seemed lonely.

Ben reached across the seat, and the touch of his hand startled her. He went to pull it back, but she took his hand and held it close to her. She ran her fingers over the back of his hand, and traced softly up and down each of the metacarpal bones. It made her think of an anatomy mnemonic for the carpal bones that seemed to fit her and Ben’s story perfectly: She Looks Too Pretty, Try To Catch Her.
Did he catch me?

Ben let go of her hand as he pulled into the driveway. He put the truck in park and turned towards her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Yes, I have a daughter and I’m afraid to tell you because you won’t like me, which actually makes no sense because if you don’t like me because of my daughter then I don’t want to be anywhere near you to begin with. Aghh!

Casey didn’t know what to say, so she just said it. “I have a daughter.” She didn’t even look at him as she said it. Instead she sat there like she’d just thrown a grenade and was taking cover, minus the whole part about sticking your fingers in your ears and curling up into a little ball. Though both of those things were sounding like decent options.

“I know,” Ben said.

Casey immediately turned towards him in shock. Like maybe he didn’t hear her, or maybe the grenade just hadn’t gone off yet. So, she threw it again.

“I think you might have misheard me. I have a daughter.” This time she drew out the word “daughter” like she was talking to a child.

Ben laughed. “I knoooowwww,” he said, mocking her.

“I don’t get it. How can you know? And why didn’t you tell me you knew? And why did you go out with me if you knew? How can you possibly know?”

Ben was laughing as he listened to Casey. He unbuckled his seat belt and shifted his weight so he was leaning over his right leg, closer to her. “Come here,” he said.

Casey scooted over a bit and sat there, still waiting for the answers to her questions.

“First I’m going to kiss you, because you look unbelievably cute all worked up.”

His lips were already pressing into hers before she could protest to being “all worked up.” His right hand lightly touched the bottom of her chin as he held the kiss for several seconds.

“I’m not worked up,” she lied the moment his lips left hers. “But I really do have a daughter.”

Ben held her gaze as he spoke. “When I got here this morning, I noticed the tricycle at the side of the house.” Ben tilted his head in the direction where the bike was still lying in the grass.

“That could have been the neighbors, though, or…”

“Or maybe you just like to cruise around town on your cute little pink tricycle?”

Casey squinted her eyes at him. “Ha. Ha. So, you figured from the bike I had a daughter.”

“Well, it is pink with nice bright pink streamers, so I kind of ruled out son.”

“Maybe I was just babysitting for someone and they left it here by accident?”

“Honestly that just doesn’t seem probable. But, that wasn’t what gave it away.”

Casey tried to think about what he might have seen in the house, but nothing came to mind. Most of the pictures of her and Emma were in the hallway to her room, and there were a few things in the kitchen. She had also cleaned up the living room and her room and knew there weren’t any toys or anything lying around. But none of that mattered anyways because he never even went inside. “Then what was it?”

“The egg.”

“The egg?” Casey said, trying to figure out what he was talking about.
Crap, the Easter egg. The one Emma painted a few weeks ago at school was still sitting on the table…by the front door.

“So, a painted egg and a tricycle and you figured I had a daughter?”

“That and you’re different.”

“I’m different? How am I different?

“If I tell you that now, then what will we have to talk about at dinner on Monday?”

“And what makes you think I’ll go out with you again?” Casey said, fighting back a smile.

Ben didn’t take his eyes off of her as he asked, “Will you go to dinner with me Monday night? I promise no strawberries.”

Casey thought about it for a second, even though she already knew her answer. She opened the passenger side door. “Will you walk me to the door?”