The Nothingness of Ben

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Nothingness of Ben

Copyright © 2012 by Brad Boney

Cover Art by L.C. Chase   

http://www.lcchase.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-62380-138-0

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

November 2012

eBook edition available

eBook ISBN: 978-1-62380-139-7

Dedication

For Stephen Nowak,

wherever you are.

Chapter 1

S
EVEN
days before Christmas, Ben Walsh left his office in midtown Manhattan and began the trek across Forty-Fourth Street toward his apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. He passed the St. James Theater, where
American Idiot
opened last spring. As the crowd began to gather for Thursday evening’s performance, Ben thought about his latest dilemma.

A week before Christmas, and he still hadn’t come up with a present for David, his boyfriend of seven weeks. David was hot, fun, and got along with his friends—Ben had no complaints. So why did he draw a blank every time he tried to think of a gift for him?

Ben had stayed late at the office again. He worked for Wilson & Mead, one of the top law firms in the city. When his iPhone vibrated in his pants pocket, he took it out and looked down at the screen. It was a text from Colin. He swiped the screen and read the text.

Meeting at M & J’s place. 8p. Bring David.

Ben looked at the time. Seven thirty. He hadn’t called David yet. Even though they had spent almost every night together since Thanksgiving, Ben didn’t want to presume. With a touch to his phone, Ben called David, who picked up after a couple of rings. Ben grinned when he heard the deep bass voice.

“Hey, stud. I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ben replied, running his fingers through his dark hair while he dodged around theatergoers. “Nasty thoughts, I hope.”

“A few.”

David was thirty-eight, about ten years older than Ben, and an airline pilot. A former military man, he had an effortless masculinity that everyone, including Ben, found sexy.

“Well, we’ve been summoned to Martin and Johnny’s tonight for a Christmas thing.”

“Don’t your friends ever plan ahead?” David teased.

“No, never. Sorry about that. This is my last weekend in town before I head home. I think they want to kick it off early.”

“Home? Oh, you mean back to Texas. You’ll be here for New Year’s Eve, though, right? I want to ring in 2011 with you.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Anyway, you up for a get-together tonight?”

“Of course. Definitely, I’m up for it.”

“Great.”

David sounded like guys do when they first start dating and don’t dare say,
Look, I’m exhausted and have no patience for your friends tonight
. Ben stopped at the corner of
Eighth Avenue. Something shifted. He looked up, frantic. The traffic lights were malfunctioning.

He saw yellow followed by green.

Caution. Go.

Instead of yellow followed by red.

Caution. Stop.

Were the lights turning backward? He stepped off the curb but then pulled himself back, afraid.

“Hey, Ben, you there?”

David had asked him a question. He looked up again. The lights were functioning normally, so he crossed the street.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, got distracted by the throng of Green Day fans. What was the question?”

“Do you want to stop by here first or meet there?”

“Meet there. Colin’s text said eight and I’m going to be late as it is.”

“No problem. I’ll see you there.”

“Okay, thanks. See you in a few.”

Ben tapped the red End button on his screen and pushed the phone back into his pocket. He could feel the cold wind start to whip through the street as he got closer to the Hudson. He hunched his shoulders toward his ears in an attempt to stay warm, but it wasn’t working. He looked up and saw purple skies. Snow, maybe? He felt something shift again, the same feeling. He looked at the traffic lights when he reached
Ninth Avenue. Everything seemed normal. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He reached into his gym bag to pull out a half-empty bottle of sports drink and took a swig.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket again. Probably Colin, wondering where he was. He took it out and looked at the screen. It was a 512 number, Austin’s area code, but he didn’t recognize it. He answered immediately.

“Ben Walsh.”

He took another swig of sports drink and then returned the plastic bottle to his bag. The wind blew harder now.

“Hello, Ben. This is Father Davenport. We’ve never met, but I’m the new priest at the University Catholic Center. I’m at Seton hospital.”

Ben stood at the intersection and put his finger into his left ear so he could hear better.

“Ben, there’s been an accident.”

“What kind of accident?”

“It’s your parents. They were coming home on the interstate and got hit by an eighteen… Ben, there’s no way to make this any easier. The doctors did everything they could but… it was too much. They didn’t make it, Ben. I’m so sorry, but your parents have passed. You should catch the next flight home. Your brothers need you.”

The sounds of the city receded into a cavernous silence. Ben glanced up. The lights were going backward again. He heard a voice in his head, his father’s voice, singing a song from when he was a little boy. Was it the Eagles? He was pretty sure it was the Eagles. “New York Minute.” That was the name of the song.

Blood rushed to Ben’s face and he had difficulty breathing. He could feel the earth inch forward even as he stood attached to the sidewalk. At some point he would know what to do, who to call, and where to go. Or maybe he would wake up and find that Father Davenport was just part of a really bad dream. A snowflake fell and landed on his nose. Soon the one flake turned into three, then ten, then ten thousand, until a blizzard of white engulfed him, chilling him to the bone. Through the swirl, Ben heard the disembodied voice of Father Davenport blasting its way through the tiny speaker of his phone.

“Are you there, Ben? Can you hear me? Ben? Ben?”

Chapter 2

A
T
THE
funeral mass two days later, Ben sat with his three brothers in the front pew of the church his parents attended every Sunday. He hadn’t been to church in years. He couldn’t put up with the anti-gay bullshit that came bundled with Catholicism, not to mention his healthy skepticism about the whole God thing in general. When he agreed to stay in Austin for college (as if he had a choice), leaving the church was one of the two major concessions he had wrung out of his parents. The other was that he would move out of the house and into the garage apartment in the backyard, which up until then had been rented out to a series of University of Texas grad students.

Ben glanced over at his brothers. He couldn’t help but admire the consistency of his parents’ gene pool. All four of them had the same dark hair, black eyes, and fair complexion as their father. They all had the same square-jawed good looks. People constantly commented on their resemblance to each other, even though Ben was ten years older than Quentin, the next in line at sixteen, followed by fourteen-year-old Jason, and Cade, the youngest at twelve. As he looked at them, Ben couldn’t help but notice that Quentin needed a haircut, Jason had grown about three inches since last Christmas, and Cade kept turning around and looking in the pews behind them.

“Sit still,” Ben scolded.

Quentin glared at Ben. “Leave him be. He’s probably looking for Travis.”

“Who’s Travis?”

Quentin answered with a scowl.

Growing up, Ben had regarded his brothers as little annoyances. He had been an only child for ten years and liked it that way. Besides, he was already in high school when Quentin started kindergarten and Cade still wore diapers. As a result, the three of them were as thick as thieves, and Ben… well, he played the absent older brother very well. Travis must be a classmate or something.

After the funeral mass, the service moved to the cemetery. Ben and his brothers rode in a large black limo furnished by the funeral home. He’d had very little to do with it since his mother’s sister, Julie, had made all the arrangements. At the cemetery, his parents’ coffins were set up side by side over the plot they had bought years ago. Ben looked out over the huge crowd. His father was a legendary English professor at UT. The students adored William Walsh and they came out in droves, as did the faculty, English department staff, plus all of his mother’s family and friends. At least three-hundred people had attended the mass and half of those came out to the cemetery. Glancing over the mourning faces, Ben noticed a man about his age standing at the back, his shock of red hair setting him apart from the sea of black suits and dresses.

Cade moved from side to side, restless. Suddenly, he tried to pull his hand away from Quentin, who didn’t let go. Ben looked over and saw Jason and Quentin looking at each other as if they were communicating telepathically. Jason nodded silently and looked over at the redheaded young man. Quentin followed his gaze and his face softened in understanding, letting go of Cade’s hand at the same time. Cade walked away to the other side of the coffins, toward the redhead. Father Davenport continued to recite his prayers, tossing around the clanking gold contraption that held the incense and sprinkling holy water onto the coffins.