Contemplation

The year after Ben Stillman’s father ceased his pursuit of sexual activities with his adopted son, one of Ben’s classmates began flirting with him. Martha was one of the smarter 8th-grade girls; she was also sporty, a member of the unofficial school volleyball team that had so many participants they were able to divide up and play each other. It was a co-ed activity supported by the junior high faculty, and Ben attempted to participate, but didn’t have the knack. He was easily distracted from the action and would forget to pass the ball to someone closer to the net.

He was taller and stronger than he’d been the year before, but still a sweet, handsome, dark-haired boy. He was becoming obsessed with American history, particularly the Civil War era. Martha did not think that was strange, so for a while they studied together at the public library or goofed around in the park with the Confederate soldier statue, sometimes playing at criticizing and reprimanding the silent metal figure. They were not believers in The Lost Cause. But one spring twilight when Martha tried to initiate a kiss, Ben withdrew. Her wholesome freckled face, her curly brown hair, her fresh lemony smell, her musical voice, her compact, earthy body, smaller than his— all were enticing, and at the same time, frightening.

Memories of sensations and emotions he’d felt with his father were both nostalgia-inducing and repulsive for him. Sam Stillman was now behaving as if he were a normal parent, and this seemed crazy to Ben. Those things had happened between them. It hadn’t been a dream. Whenever he took a break from his compulsive reading in those years, Ben felt heavy with lost time and darkness and questions. His mother hadn't seemed to notice, though she gave him everything she thought he wanted, including his favorite meals: lasagna, shrimp tempura, and chicken stuffed with ham and cheese. Not that Edna Stillman made these dishes herself; she had them delivered from various restaurants. Because he was tired much of the time, she also took Ben to a doctor who pronounced that he might or might not have a thyroid condition. There was no follow-up. The actual hole in Ben’s heart that had been discovered a couple of months ago went undetected.

When Ben was 16 and first met Orville, they both were big fellows. Orville had the greater height and carried his weight differently. One thing Ben appreciated about his friend and future business partner from the start was Orville’s refusal to join the high school football team, even when proselytized by the coach. As Ben and Martha had laughed at the Confederate soldier, he and Orville laughed at the jocks. The laughter of outcasts has little effect on the prevailing culture, but occasionally attracts attention. More than one young woman gravitated toward the duo because of their irreverent attitude and intellectual challenges to teachers, classroom confrontations that were gossiped about. Ben had overcome his fears long enough to date one of them.

And then there was the legend of Ted Campion, Orville’s older brother. Both Ben and Orville had waved rainbow flags at Ted’s graduation; after that they were on their own as activists. Ben found a book called "The Debt: What America Owes To Blacks," by Randall Robinson, and began preaching about it to anyone who would listen. Orville was into McCoy Tyner and Joe Zawinul, and played the piano in the music room at school when no one was occupying it, imagining that he was preaching also in his way.

And now, Ben and Orville were mired in running a business. Sometimes it felt that way, thought Ben. Business was all he did, interrupted only by mini-strokes and Mrs. Johnson. There had to be something else. But the situation with the solar panels and the accident and Edwina’s desire for the spotlight— that was TOO MUCH else. And what about Kendall Huggins? Poor kid. The Campions didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him, although Kendall was apparently staying there now.

What if? Ben wondered. What if? Kendall would be starting at the high school in the fall, and here Ben was, living alone in a house bigger than he needed, three blocks from the school. He could be a foster parent, a guardian, something. He sensed that the boy was intelligent, if a bit feral. Did he like Kendall? Did Kendall like him? Did it matter? He had experienced a surge of responsibility when he encountered the orphaned teen at the press conference. Kendall needed a home.

— Macoff