Ben easily climbed the few steps to the entry walk of his mother’s apartment building— the building that almost had a view of the river— and let himself into the entry hall with its pale blue walls and blue-black indoor-outdoor carpet. He considered unlocking her actual apartment also, but had a vague notion that she would consider that a violation. He hadn’t seen her in more than a year; the last time he visited was to inform her of a rent increase and to complain about paying it. (His sense of responsibility did not include sparing her feelings.) Their agreement was that he would pay the rent and she would pay everything else from her divorce settlement and very soon, Social Security. Ben could have rung the bell, but knocked loudly instead.
He tried to review why he was here, and realized that the only reason was to tell Edna Stillman face-to-face that her adopted son had survived a mini-stroke and was doing well. But from what Orville had told him, his mother hadn’t been the least interested in his brush with death a couple of months ago. She was in his will; all would stay the same. Why should she care? She never had, he imagined sourly. Well, maybe she'd be interested in the news that he and Orville now had one full-time employee. She had always enjoyed business details like that; they weren't personal.
She was taking so long coming to the door that he was about to leave, but then, there she was, in a matching pink negligee and robe, furry slippers on her feet. “Oh, it’s YOU,” she said, motioning him inside. “I was taking a siesta.”
The TV was on, but not very loudly. Pillows were piled on the couch. A cigarette was burning away in the ashtray on the coffee table next to an empty glass. It was very warm in the room. “Ma, what do you do all day?" Ben asked, trying to hide his distaste. It wasn’t his concern, and yet who she was now was not so different from who she’d been when he was a child, and that brought back--he wouldn’t call them memories--they weren’t worthy of the name.
"I study the passing parade, I suppose," his mother said.
"Ma, I was in the hospital for a mini-stroke. But it wasn't serious. I found out..."
“Ben, dear, you don't need to go into it. I have a friend at the hospital, so I know what happened. She keeps me informed. I guess you’ll be trying to lose weight now? You tried before and never could. You always liked to stay inside and read or look things up on the computer. You didn’t have good habits,” Edna said, picking up the cigarette from the ashtray.
“It has nothing to do with my weight,” Ben said, irritated, but he eased himself into the only armchair in the room. “Did you know that I have a hole in my heart? It’s a birth defect. I suppose you didn’t know about it. If I ever have a real stroke it would make it potentially more serious.”
His mother shook her head and smirked. “They told us at the agency that you were in perfect health, Benjamin,” she said, not intrigued by his heart problem. “You were the most charming, attractive little boy.”
“I guess Dad thought so,” Ben said, and stared at Edna’s sharp, still-pretty features, wondering if she had forgotten, maybe hoping that she had. But he saw from her fleeting frown that she hadn’t; she just didn’t want to bring it up. It had taken her years to divorce his father, simply because he hadn’t abused HER. She couldn’t see past her long-ago-surgically-improved nose. This was why he never visited; they couldn’t talk.
“Sam Stillman always made a good living,” his mother said. “He always provided. You wouldn’t have your business now if he and his brothers hadn’t helped you out.”
“Oh, I know, Ma. I know.” He should not have come; every time he saw her he felt the wrath rise in him. That was not good for his condition, if it was even a condition. Physically, he felt fine. But there was a new bitterness, deep down, every day. He had become more aware of it since the hospital stay. One of the things he had started thinking about was his continued living alone; maybe that wasn’t something to boast about anymore. But he wasn’t easy to live with, and he didn’t trust anyone, and he had his interests.
“Can I get you a drink, honey?” His mother rarely offered refreshments.
“Some fruit juice?” Ben suggested. He figured she’d put a splash of gin in it whether he asked or not. When he was a child, Ben had thought her glamorous. She had not been affectionate, but she had followed his school doings, and praised his good grades. There was one thing that she was determined not to notice though, and that was when Sam Stillman would invite him into the “den” and lock the door. From age 6 to 10, Ben was his adopted father’s cuddly toy. When he tried to remember exactly what his father had done during these “play” sessions, he could not. He only remembered feeling uncomfortable, alone, and trapped.
It wasn’t until he came across something about sexual abuse of boys on a news website on the brand-new computer at school that he understood what had been happening to him. He told one of his teachers, Ms. Peary, referring to the website. Ms. Peary had immediately turned the computer (the school's first) off and said something about limiting access. But Ms. Peary must have told his mother, because his father stopped paying him that kind of attention. Not a word was said about it, and Ben worried for almost another year that he’d be led into the den again and wouldn’t be able to refuse.
Still, Ben’s teen years, when he first met Orville and other friends, had been the best. And when he wanted to start a business for himself, Sam Stillman did help. Several times.
— Macoff
He tried to review why he was here, and realized that the only reason was to tell Edna Stillman face-to-face that her adopted son had survived a mini-stroke and was doing well. But from what Orville had told him, his mother hadn’t been the least interested in his brush with death a couple of months ago. She was in his will; all would stay the same. Why should she care? She never had, he imagined sourly. Well, maybe she'd be interested in the news that he and Orville now had one full-time employee. She had always enjoyed business details like that; they weren't personal.
She was taking so long coming to the door that he was about to leave, but then, there she was, in a matching pink negligee and robe, furry slippers on her feet. “Oh, it’s YOU,” she said, motioning him inside. “I was taking a siesta.”
The TV was on, but not very loudly. Pillows were piled on the couch. A cigarette was burning away in the ashtray on the coffee table next to an empty glass. It was very warm in the room. “Ma, what do you do all day?" Ben asked, trying to hide his distaste. It wasn’t his concern, and yet who she was now was not so different from who she’d been when he was a child, and that brought back--he wouldn’t call them memories--they weren’t worthy of the name.
"I study the passing parade, I suppose," his mother said.
"Ma, I was in the hospital for a mini-stroke. But it wasn't serious. I found out..."
“Ben, dear, you don't need to go into it. I have a friend at the hospital, so I know what happened. She keeps me informed. I guess you’ll be trying to lose weight now? You tried before and never could. You always liked to stay inside and read or look things up on the computer. You didn’t have good habits,” Edna said, picking up the cigarette from the ashtray.
“It has nothing to do with my weight,” Ben said, irritated, but he eased himself into the only armchair in the room. “Did you know that I have a hole in my heart? It’s a birth defect. I suppose you didn’t know about it. If I ever have a real stroke it would make it potentially more serious.”
His mother shook her head and smirked. “They told us at the agency that you were in perfect health, Benjamin,” she said, not intrigued by his heart problem. “You were the most charming, attractive little boy.”
“I guess Dad thought so,” Ben said, and stared at Edna’s sharp, still-pretty features, wondering if she had forgotten, maybe hoping that she had. But he saw from her fleeting frown that she hadn’t; she just didn’t want to bring it up. It had taken her years to divorce his father, simply because he hadn’t abused HER. She couldn’t see past her long-ago-surgically-improved nose. This was why he never visited; they couldn’t talk.
“Sam Stillman always made a good living,” his mother said. “He always provided. You wouldn’t have your business now if he and his brothers hadn’t helped you out.”
“Oh, I know, Ma. I know.” He should not have come; every time he saw her he felt the wrath rise in him. That was not good for his condition, if it was even a condition. Physically, he felt fine. But there was a new bitterness, deep down, every day. He had become more aware of it since the hospital stay. One of the things he had started thinking about was his continued living alone; maybe that wasn’t something to boast about anymore. But he wasn’t easy to live with, and he didn’t trust anyone, and he had his interests.
“Can I get you a drink, honey?” His mother rarely offered refreshments.
“Some fruit juice?” Ben suggested. He figured she’d put a splash of gin in it whether he asked or not. When he was a child, Ben had thought her glamorous. She had not been affectionate, but she had followed his school doings, and praised his good grades. There was one thing that she was determined not to notice though, and that was when Sam Stillman would invite him into the “den” and lock the door. From age 6 to 10, Ben was his adopted father’s cuddly toy. When he tried to remember exactly what his father had done during these “play” sessions, he could not. He only remembered feeling uncomfortable, alone, and trapped.
It wasn’t until he came across something about sexual abuse of boys on a news website on the brand-new computer at school that he understood what had been happening to him. He told one of his teachers, Ms. Peary, referring to the website. Ms. Peary had immediately turned the computer (the school's first) off and said something about limiting access. But Ms. Peary must have told his mother, because his father stopped paying him that kind of attention. Not a word was said about it, and Ben worried for almost another year that he’d be led into the den again and wouldn’t be able to refuse.
Still, Ben’s teen years, when he first met Orville and other friends, had been the best. And when he wanted to start a business for himself, Sam Stillman did help. Several times.
— Macoff
oh gosh. ickiness abounds - - in my poem, in Davis' story, now here for Ben. Sorrows. Sorrows. But also couched in such cognizant-of-intricacies way here. Brava. Alas, I fear mightily that "he had his interests" points to still more ickiness.
ReplyDeleteBen is into American history. That is his interest. Perhaps he doesn't read enough "woke" stuff, though.
DeleteInteresting developments and, yes, ickiness and the complication from Sam's providing help to Ben's business.
ReplyDeleteThe lawyer in me is wondering two things: 1. Will anyone raise the issue Edna's friend's likely violation of HIPAA protections, and 2. Did Ms. Peary violate the laws on mandatory reporting of child abuse? Yes, late in the day about the child abuse I know.