Ben
Singleton sat idly in his car, only yards away from his home. So far, the only
elements of his plan that he had managed to execute were packing a bag, walking
out the door and driving away. And yet, Ben couldn’t even bring himself to
drive to the end of his street, especially when a torrent broke loose in his
mind. Almost as if by instinct, he pulled over and parked just a few houses
down.
He didn’t want to leave, but he also
felt like if he didn’t he would lose his mind, maybe even take it out on those
he loved, all of whom were conveniently out of the house: his wife at work and
his daughter and young son at school. In any case the leaving wasn’t meant to
be permanent—it was only going to be for a little while; some time away to
decompress and think. His parents had a cabin in the mountains about an hour
away. It was secluded, out of the way—the perfect place to hide out and let go
of a few things that had been mounting on a mental and emotional level.
It was at the thought of hiding that
Ben hit the brakes, literally. The idea of hiding implied that he was running
away, which Ben wasn’t trying to do, or at least that’s what he told himself.
Aside from his slipping away in a clandestine fashion he had every intention of
letting his family know where he was and when he would be back, even though he
had no real definitive date on the latter. He just needed time—time to himself
and time to breathe. Everyone needs that every now and then right? There wasn’t
any harm in escaping when things get a little too intense.
There it was again—another word that
implied too much in the negative.
“Damn it!” Ben said aloud, cursing
the thought as though he had shot himself in the foot. He wasn’t even having a
conversation with a real live person wherein he might have to correct, explain
or brush over his words. Instead he was having a silent argument with himself,
a mental point and counterpoint.
You
said escape…
“Yeah, but I didn’t literally mean
escape…”
So
what did you mean?
Ben had to pause for that one, which
he knew was fruitless since the imaginary counterpoint had the same access to
his thoughts as he did.
“I just…I just need to get away.”
How
is that different from escaping?
Ben swore again, this time using a
more unprintable word, and one that he’d never use in front of his kids. Mr.
Counterpoint ignored that and continued with his inquiry.
Are
things really that bad?
Ben groaned. “Yes…I mean no…I mean…I
suppose things aren’t that bad.”
So…why
leave?
“Because…” Ben began, but then
faltered a little. “…because things are just too complicated alright?! I can
feel it everywhere, it’s so…”
Intense?
“Yes—exactly.”
Alright.
So again—why leave?
Ben slammed his hand on the steering
wheel, almost honking the horn. “Because! I just need time!”
Time
for what?
“To breathe,” Ben sighed. “I feel
like I’m suffocating.”
You
can’t breathe around your family?
Ben froze once the word family sounded in his brain, resonating
in the recesses of his conscience. As he had stated to his imaginary
counterpart, things weren’t bad…per
say.
However, Ben couldn’t say they were
good either.
The atmosphere had been changing
over the last few months, slowly becoming thicker in tension, choking the joy
and lightness that had once been standard. Ben wasn’t sure what had brought it
on, but he supposed it was when finances became tighter than usual. It was
something that happens to everyone, but for some reason it became an impossible
hurdle for Ben. Amy, his wife, was gracious, understanding and seemingly
without worry, which at first came as a relief to Ben. Knowing that Amy wasn’t
stressed gave him less reason to feel the pressure, making him feel that he
could breathe easier.
Sadly, it didn’t last long.
The financial burdens mounted—if it
wasn’t one thing it was another. Amy was content to drive an older car while
Ben owned a newer one with possibly one too many unnecessary features. But it
wasn’t long before Amy’s vehicle decided to give up on life in one form or
another (the first being a leaking radiator, the other being a fried cylinder
head). Then it was suddenly discovered after a visit to the dentist that their
oldest, Felicity needed braces; costs kept rising, Ben began working longer
hours.
First it was just a means to an end,
then it became necessity—then it practically became obsession. Even when their
financial woes died down, Ben felt the compulsive drive to be at work more in
order to “provide” for his family.
The less he was at home, the more it
wore on Amy and the kids—that’s when the fighting started.
On the outside it didn’t appear as
fighting, but the discussions were heated. The more Ben tried to explain that
he needed to work more in order to “get things back on track,” the more
irritated Amy got; the more irritated Amy got, the angrier it made Ben. Amy
worked full time as well, and she was more than willing to pick up the slack,
but the truth was Ben didn’t need to work that much anymore in order to cover
bills and other necessities. Weeks of bickering finally brought Ben to this
realization and reluctantly, he went back to normal working hours.
Adjusting back to a normal schedule
proved to be more of a challenge than Ben anticipated. Although he wouldn’t
admit it to himself, working the insane hours had become normal and
comfortable; being at home on the evenings and during the weekends became odd
and uncomfortable. In twisted flip, Ben began craving the more controlled
environment of his workspace, the demands of home giving him anxiety the likes
of which he couldn’t remember having. Between the polar opposite sides of the
spectrum that were his twelve-year-old daughter and eight-year-old son, Ben
found himself wanting to run and hide when his children wanted his attention
for anything more than a simple question or request, which was odd. From the
day they were born Ben could remember being devoted to his kids to the point of
feeling like being away from them too long was a necessary evil he was forced
to endure. Now the thought of more than basic interaction made him flush with
anxiety and short tempered. Where he had once been long suffering and
understanding with his children Ben, at times, found them insufferable and
irritating. He was curt with both Felicity and his son Grant, sometimes
snapping at them for no reason. Amy took notice and gently confronted her
husband to no avail. Ben slowly started to allow himself to work longer hours
again in order to avoid being at home. Once Amy realized what he was doing the
fighting began again.
The straw that would break Ben’s
back was the less than subtle ultimatum issued by Amy one afternoon following a
hellish day at work:
“We need to get counseling…”
Whatever else Amy might have said,
Ben didn’t hear, if only for the fact that his wife actually had the gall to
suggest (or outright insist on) counseling. Ben secretly despised the idea, quite
possibly because he always assumed that anyone with the level of problems
required for marital or family counseling probably didn’t have what it took to
manage their lives to begin with. It was a cruel and audacious judgment, which
is why he never voiced it before, but now Ben had half a mind to let every
single one of those judgments bubble up to the surface. Amazingly, he managed
to keep them from doing so, and instead flatly refused altogether.
“I’ve already made an appointment,”
Amy stated. “First for you and me, then us and the kids together.”
Ben’s face turned beet red. He
couldn’t keep his reservations back any longer. “Are you kidding me?! Who in
the hell do you think you are just setting this crap up without even seeing if
I was willing?!”
Amy fought the urge to yell back,
her voice shaky but firm, “I’m your wife, that’s who I know I am. And I didn’t run anything by you because I knew you
would shut it down before I even got off the blocks. We are doing this Ben—we need this.”
Ben could feel his pulse firing
hard, a maddening pressure building in his skull, unable to wrap his mind
around what he was being told. His fist shot fast and hard into the wall to his
right, the adrenaline surging through him numbing any pain he might have felt.
The sizeable concave dent startled Amy, and for a moment she felt afraid. Ben
didn’t advance, but his eyes looked threatening.
“I am not going to some crackpot
counselor and letting them tell me how to be a husband and father, and damn you
for thinking I would need one. I thought you had more faith in me than that.”
Amy could feel the sting of Ben’s
words in her blood, their venom rushing straight to her heart. She vacillated
between anger and hurt, still unsure of where she stood once she finally spoke.
“I do have faith in you Ben, but even the strongest of faith gets shaken
sometimes. And the coldness you bring home with you every day now has left us
all shaking for a while now.”
Ben’s desire to let his anger
smolder some more was derailed by Amy’s words. Coldness? How could she say
that? Ben had been called many things, but never even in his worst moments had
he been referred to as being cold, especially by his wife and children. His
initial anger boiled beneath his now cooling exterior, the rage in his face
replaced by confusion with a pang of heartache trailing behind. Ben took a step
back, and felt the heat in his blood cool, as if the coldness finally was
making itself known. Shaking his head, he turned and walked away, at first
slowly, then quickly grabbing his keys and leaving without another word.
That had been yesterday. After a
night walking on eggshells and a sleepless night in the guestroom, Ben decided
that he needed to be away from everything. For how long, well, he’d figure that
out when he was ready to figure that out. Once the house was quiet, he quickly
packed a bag and took his wife’s clunky vehicle (at the very least he could
leave her a dependable car) and left, hoping that the weight on his shoulders
would drop away the further he drove.
And here he was, unmoving, not even
half a block away from his own home.
The argument with his own psyche had
led Ben back through the last few months, and what had felt like a simple
decision—get out of dodge and decompress—had now become a tug of war fraught
with indecision. Examining the past had brought him no more clarity than he
thought he had, save for one inescapable truth:
All strain upon his family—other
than financial—had been brought on by none other than himself.
Much like the revelation of his
apparent coldness from Amy, Ben could feel his normally warm exterior cool to a
frigid temperature, sending a shiver up his spine and making his breath quiver.
His teeth clenched involuntarily, his jawline going rigid as the memory of the
past six months replayed, but faster this time, with his every step being
highlighted as the original roots of the discord that was to follow: becoming a
workaholic, distancing himself, disconnecting, etc. Whatever pressure he felt
beyond their initial woes was something he created himself, the means no longer
relevant to the need, especially when the need was for Ben to step back into
his rightful place at home, as a devoted husband and father; providing their
truest needs in the form of love and affection, encouragement and support. The
revelation that the last half a year may have been one largely of waste was a
stark one, and Ben leaned into the steering wheel of his wife’s car, back
hunched in defeat. Tears pooled in his eyes no matter how hard he fought them,
determinedly springing from them as if to remind Ben to feel, especially since
he had neglected to do so for so long.
Denial threatened to creep in, and
Ben was almost willing to let it happen. He had allowed it to devour him for
months, but now it hurt too much to let it continue. Inhaling deep, Ben
breathed out everything with a shudder, letting it all go, hoping that nothing
of that same denial was left once he inhaled again. Shame lingered over the
release of his pride, but thankfully didn’t linger for long. While Ben still
felt like he’d had enough, it wasn’t the same as when he walked out the door
that morning—he’d had enough of the cold, and he was ready to step back into
the warm space he’d once occupied with his family.
Ben reached over to the passenger
seat and grabbed his phone, at first eager to call his wife and just hear her
voice, but then suddenly fearful. They hadn’t spoken since the night before,
and Ben wasn’t sure that Amy would want to talk to him. It only took a couple seconds
of deliberation for him to be willing to chance it.
The phone barely rang twice. “Ben?”
Amy responded.
“I’ll do it Amy,” Ben said.
A pause. “Do what?”
“Go with you,” he replied hoarsely,
emotion thick in his throat. “To counseling. I don’t want you all to be shaken
on account of me.”
Another pause, but Ben could sense
the relief on the other end. “Okay sweetheart. We’ll talk about it more when I
get home—I love you.”
Ben smiled, then felt it twist under
a crumpling lip. “I…I love you too.”
After hanging up the phone, Ben
closed his eyes and breathed deep again. On a whim, he said a brief prayer,
something he never did, but couldn’t resist the urge to do.
“God, if You would, help me be the
man I was, only better.”
The drive back home was short, just
like his absence. And yet Ben was never more glad to be home.
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