Spinning - 4. Chapter 4

Ben jumped at the unexpected tingle at his right thigh and rummaged in the pocket of his cargoes for his vibrating cell phone. Afraid to look at the number on the front display, he knew who the caller was and he just didn't have the emotional fortitude today to handle the conversation he knew was coming. Just like yesterday when his stomach was bothering him too much, and on Saturday when he had a headache. He'd take care of it soon, he promised himself, or maybe it was the caller he promised, or maybe his persistent conscience. For now, he let the slim phone slide back into his pocket and wheeled the cart of newly arrived clothing out from the back room to begin sorting. Unseen, the phone mutely and mournfully flashed out the longing hope of communication.

Missed call: Mom

The store was dead on that Thursday afternoon and Ben really needed to be doing his chemistry homework, but he knew he couldn't leave. He needed to scrape together every eight-dollar-per-hour moment he could, wring every shift possible out of the boss just to slide by for another semester's tuition bill. Unfolding a truly horrible brown plaid flannel shirt and hanging it on a cheap wire recycled hanger, he thought miserably that his chosen path of escape from the conservative parental prison of his childhood turned out to be little more than lockdown of a different variety. He came to New Hampshire to start fresh and leave his issues in Albany, but all he'd found were walls of brick and ivy instead of vinyl siding and picket fence.

A pair of size six women's capris broke his contemplation, hitting him on the side of the face with a sharp thwack. Jen giggled and wound up for another throw, this time with a pair of well-worn jeans.

"What's with you today? You look like someone poisoned your cat."

"Nothing, dear. Just not feeling well is all," he replied with an eye roll as he took the pants from his shoulder and hung them up as well. As much as he liked Jen, he couldn't get into all of this with her. It was complicated, and she would worry, and she'd try to give him advice, and all of that was just too much to deal with. He was better off just... dealing with it all on his own.

"Lonely?" she probed.

He grunted a non-committal reply. Yes, of course he was lonely. What what closeted nineteen-year-old isn't?

"Why don't you go out with Jeff? I haven't seen him around in a while, but you guys were a damn cute couple."

Ben's hands locked up as a cold fear ran up his spine and drained all of the warmth from his face. Jen knew he was gay? She knew that he'd been absolutely out of his tree over Jeff? Fuck, he thought. He was sure that he at least had some measure of deniability about them being more than just friends hanging out. But she didn't ask, somewhat unsure; she just threw it out there like it was completely obvious.

After a painfully uncomfortable silence, Ben managed to whisper a reply. "We're just friends, Jen. And we haven't spoken much lately anyway."

Jen looked at the side of Ben's head as he looked down at the clothes he was sorting, obviously not wanting to meet her eyes. She was so sure than he and Jeff had been going out. "Hey B.J., I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that you were gay or whatever. Not that there's anything wrong with it, if you were," she added lamely.

"Whatever, don't worry about it."

Ben hid for the rest of his shift as best he could. The store was completely open except for the small back storage area, and Jen was the only other employee on shift, so he couldn't avoid her totally. Either she had other things to worry about or she didn't push him to talk further; the rest of the afternoon passed in painful, slow silence.

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Angry steam would have risen from his head as he waited for an evening bus back to town, if it wasn't hot and humid already. Angry at Jen for calling him gay and angrier at himself for acting gay in the first place, he wasn't exactly sure who he was blaming but he was furious regardless. He didn't need that kind of grief; he knew his feelings, he knew what was right and what wasn't, and he'd had plenty of that particular flavor of bullshit back home. He shifted impatiently on the bench and looked around for the bus as though it might arrive to carry him away from his thoughts.

Why did she have to bring Jeff back into his head? It was hard enough keeping him out of mind even when he wasn't coming up in conversation. It was good having Jeff around, he was fun and funny once he came out of his shell. Things were going great until Jeff had to ask if... well, until things got complicated. He could feel his palms start to sweat as he thought back to that night when they were having so much fun, a perfect dinner, a beautiful walk, and then Jeff had to cross that line.

Ben felt an emptiness where Jeff used to be, but Jeff had asked him to do something he just couldn't do. He had to push him away, and his pride would never let him pull Jeff back in.

He fished his cell out of his pants pocket to check the time, but the screen was blank. He flipped it open and remembered that he had switched it off earlier at work so it wouldn't haunt him for the remainder of the shift. He pressed and held the red PWR key and nearly hurled the device into the passing traffic when it immediately squealed at him to check his voice mail.

Just leave me alone, Mom, he said in his mind. You don't even want to talk to me, not really. You just can't stand that I'm NOT talking to you, and you can't help but imagine that there's something you don't know and you can't control. Worst of all, maybe I'll end up some tragic embarrassment to you if you lose your grip on me.

He wanted to hurl the taunting little plastic demon into the bushes, but he couldn't afford to replace it. Defeated, dejected, he deposited it back into his pocket and stepped forward to meet the bus that was rounding the corner.

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He was tired, worn, and stressed and it was coming through clear as day in his riding. A month or two ago, he was a solid, if not exceptional rider that could hold his own in the pack but now, even on solo training rides, Ben struggled. Every mile was a chore and every hill was a battle, and the fight was waged more in his mind than in his legs as he fought the feelings of frustration and the urge to give up.

Ben jumped as his cell phone vibrated again. He fumbled awkwardly to pull the device from his rear jersey pocked as he maneuvered his bike one-handed to the side of the road and un-clipped from his pedals. He looked at the screen, hoping it was Health Services calling back with his test results, but again the screen flashed "Mom". Sighing uncomfortably, he started to put the phone back into his pocket.

"Maybe you should answer that," said a calm voice behind him. He turned as Josh slowed and stopped a few feet away. He didn't know Josh was riding behind him; he thought he was alone. He wasn't surprised either; Josh was a powerful rider and could easily have caught up to him quickly and without difficulty, before Ben even knew he was there.

Now on the fourth or fifth ring, the phone persistently demanded attention, as though wordlessly scolding him and pressing him to answer. He looked down at the phone uncomfortably, then up at Josh, then down at the phone again, torn.

"It sure looks like you should answer that, anyway."

Ben slumped his shoulders, tired, but not from climbing the rolling hills around him. He swung his leg over the bike, laid it gently on the wide sandy shoulder of the road, and leaned his back against a convenient maple tree. Exhaling, he let his legs go limp and slid down until his lycra-clad backside rested on the ground. The rough bark pulled at his jersey, tugging it up and exposing some bare skin. He ignored the scratches.

Josh smirked, leaned his bike on the tree behind Ben, and sat down next to him. "I'm doing too much of this lately," he said cryptically.

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it. Who was on the phone, and what's bothering you?"

"Look man, I appreciate the thought, but I really don't want to talk about it." Ben looked ill; cross-legged and bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees, he looked like he might retch. He still cradled his phone loosely in his left hand.

"Mmmhmm. That's fine, I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle. I'm sure it's something you've been dealing with a while, and you've gotten this far, so no big deal, right?" He paused for a moment. "I needed to break for a few minutes anyway, though, so I'll just hang with you here."

They sat on the edge of the road, one in relaxed control and the other in mute, confused despair. Josh waited patiently as cars flowed past, one or two every minute on the quiet back-country road, the rising and falling rush of air as each one approached and departed calming him like surf breaking on sandy shore. As he breathed and listened and relaxed, he saw a similar change in Ben as the sound soothed him as well. Finally, Ben tried again.

"How's Jeff doing? Seen him lately?" he asked.

Ben's eyes flashed up at the name, and though his brow crinkled in an unreadable expression, his face quickly smoothed. "Dunno," he mumbled, "I haven't talked to him in a while."

Strike one, thought Josh. Let's try something else.

"You going home for break?" he asked. This time, Ben looked up, then down at his left hand where his phone dangled, and then back down again. Bingo.

"Avoiding the 'rents is never a good sign, man. What's up there? A little tension back home?" Josh probed gently, knowing that, despite his knack for getting people to talk to him, he was walking on unsteady ground for Ben and he would spook easily. Ben only shrugged, his head once again hung low.

"Afraid to tell them you're gay?" he guessed.

Ben shot Josh a look so venomous it could have dropped an elephant. "I'm NOT GAY!" he declared. He puffed up and looked as though he was preparing for an argument, but then his face fell again and the fire faded from his eyes. He looked down again, defeated.

"Hey, look. I'm sorry I was so blunt with you, and it's not really right for me to just 'out' you like that but jeez, Ben, you have to let that shit out. Yeah, I guess you need to find your own time to be open about it, but I could see from a long way away that it's not just a secret for you, not now. It's like a cancer, chewing you up from the inside. And," he paused, and continued quietly, "it's starting to hurt others, too."

Ben, who had looked up to meet his eyes briefly, now blushed shamefully and looked away, knowing Josh was referring to Jeff.

"You should also know that I don't give a fuck who you love, man. It's none of my business, and it's not like you get to 'pick' anyway. Maybe you get to choose your label - or choose no label at all - but that's about it." He rested a big hand on Ben's sweaty shoulder. "This stays between you and me. Don't worry."

"I..." Ben stammered. He breathed deep, and tried again. "I can't be... you know... my family, my friends, the team would all..."

Josh stared at him, incredulous. "Shit, son. You're so far back in that closet you can't see yourself in all that dark. I've SEEN you with Jeff. I've watched you watch other people. Your eyes are on all the guys, not the girls. I get that maybe you're not ready to tell the world, but what's so hard to grip about the fact that you're into guys?"

Silence.

"Start somewhere, man. It's just you and me here, and I'm not going to judge."

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Fifteen-year-old Ben had been talking to his school counselor, Grace, for weeks about coming out to his parents. She didn't suggest it, but she did support it, after Ben had decided it was something he needed to do. He insisted that while he was very unsure how they would react, they had always taught him that honesty was always right, and that to be happy, you had to find your own path in life. That gave both of them hope that everything would turn out just fine. She had little to offer aside from a good ear, encouraging words, and a PFLAG pamphlet in case his parents needed some extra support. Ben was nervous and unsure, but confident that he'd get through it.

Now, Ben stood in the hallway outside of his bedroom on the second floor of his home. He fought to summon the courage to walk downstairs and have that frightening conversation with his parents, a conversation that most gay teens fear. Oblivious to Ben's struggle, his parents sat talking in the living room, well out of earshot of each other.

"I couldn't believe the trash that was coming out of his mouth, I swear. I mean, I never knew James was such a bigot!" Frank sat in his overstuffed easy chair, recalling the bizarre conversation he overheard earlier that day, at work in the office. His wife Sarah sat a few feet away, at one end of the sofa.

"I've never met anyone that asked for a gay child," he went on, "but to say such things after finding out? It's downright hateful, and I could never understand that."

Young Ben took the steps down to the first floor slowly, but with grim purpose. He could hear his mom and dad talking, but he couldn't yet make out what they were saying.

Back in the living room, Sarah asked her husband exactly what his coworker had been saying in the cafeteria earlier that day.

Frank's mouth curled into a grimace as though the very words tasted of bitter poison. "No son of mine will ever be a faggot, some fucking little queer, and if he couldn't figure that out on his own, I'd beat the gay right out of him!"

Facing the television and deep in their own conversation, they never saw their young son standing half in the shadows through the doorway behind them, didn't hear the almost silent gasp of shock as he caught the hateful speech from his father's lips, and couldn't know to explain that Ben had only heard part of that conversation. With gritted teeth, a horrified Ben backed deeper into the dark hallway, away from the doorway he'd been about to step through. The PFLAG pamphlet crumpled in his clutching grasp, and he nearly tripped several times on the stairs and fumbled for the bathroom light switch as he struggled to see through his welling eyes.

The light didn't help his blurred sight, but he followed the long line of the vanity top by touch to where he knew the toilet sat. He lifted the lid and leaned forward, retching slightly, but nothing came out. He looked down at the paper in his closed fist at the information he thought might make the conversation easier, and with bitter anger, tore it in half.

Rip, rip, rip. He tore small pieces off the edge and dropped them one at a time into the toilet bowl. They fell like the real tears that only brimmed in his eyes, but wouldn't quite come. Rip and drop, rip and drop, each scrap like a dream of a warm day in the sun instead of a cold day in a dark closet. In the end, the soggy paper wasn't recognizable as its former self.

Hardening his heart, he willed his eyes to dry as though he could stubbornly think the tears back in. He looked back toward the hallway, through the open door; he knew his parents would never hear him over the television, especially not on another floor and on the opposite end of the house but he refused to let them hear his weakness. He reached for the handle, and shut his parents out, closing this door to his heart with a vow to keep it locked forever.

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"So you ever talk to them about it, after that?" Josh asked. "If they really were the reasonable folks you say they were, pushing 'truth', something doesn't quite add up to me. Aside from a serious case of denial about your sexuality, you don't exactly seem like the product of a hateful family."

"No, never. What would I even say?†He looked to Josh for an answer but he only shrugged silently.

“I guess plenty of people think about coming out to their families, wondering what the reaction will be. For me, I never had to wonder - it was pretty clear-cut." Ben fidgeted, moving his hands from his knees to his lap, and then intertwined his fingers and rested his forearms on his thighs. He knew he was safe with Josh but talking about being gay, and his parents, it all felt unnatural.

"I don't know, exactly," Josh admitted, "but somewhere there has to be a choice to make or an assumption to challenge that will move this situation forward and get you somewhere. Seems pretty obvious to me that the place you're in now isn't a healthy one."

"Yeah, well, I don't see a lot of choices here. I can choose to have my parents hate me openly or love me as long as they don't know. If I leave it alone, at least I have that," said Ben, with more than a taste of bitterness.

"Leave it alone, hmm?" Josh waited, as if giving Ben a moment's rest. He knew he needed to press him on this, but he also knew Ben wouldn't like it very much. "Then what about Jeff?"

Ben was silent. He wanted to stop thinking about Jeff entirely, but between Jen, and Josh, and the voices in his head, that was scream-inducingly impossible. The time he'd spent with Jeff had been so easy, almost effortless. He was angry at Jeff for poking that dagger through his armor, and he was angry at himself for pushing Jeff away like a coward. In the end, it didn't matter; he'd cut Jeff off for his own good. He'd done it out of...

Love.

At that thought, a familiar rush of panic rose out of nowhere to chill Ben's nerves from his toes to his fingertips, and a familiar defense kicked in. Stow the feelings. Deny everything. "Jeff? What about him?" Ben asked blandly.

Josh's eyes narrowed, but then relaxed again. "You find a guy, a friend maybe; you lure him out of his shell using that charm that only the real Ben - not that mask of yours - possesses, because with him, there are no expectations or consequences. It's great, it's perfect, until it comes to be the time when you have to open the shell around your heart, too, just like you got him to do but you can't, because you're not even honest with yourself about how you feel. So you run, or you lie, or you lock the real Ben back inside that shell, and Jeff's left there standing all alone."

"But I..." Ben began, but Josh cut him off.

"There's a responsibility there, man. You can't just tug someone around by their strings and then leave them dangling with their feet off the ground. Not just because you're too afraid to do what you know is right, for the both of you." Josh said this gently, but firmly, meeting Ben's eyes squarely.

His words didn't cut as angry words do, but he spoke bluntly and with force and his accusation was clear. Ben's eyes grew wide for a few heartbeats, and then his features - his lips and eyes mostly - seemed to quiver a bit. He hung his head low, and Josh couldn't tell if it was in shame, or to hide tears.

"I'll tell him the truth," said Ben. "I guess I owe him that much."

"Good start, but where does that leave you two? Don't you owe it to yourself, and to him, to at least try to accept who you are?" asked Josh.

Ben sat quietly for a long time. Not simply sitting, nor afraid to answer the question. To Josh, it appeared that Ben was thinking through the tangled fabric of possibilities and implications, following them to their knotted ends. Oblivious to the time, unworried by Josh's firm challenge, for the first time in four years Ben was thinking about his parents and the universal question of hope, "what if?"

Could he tell his mom and dad the truth, ignoring how sure he was in his heart that they wouldn't accept him? Josh was right – he wasn't the product of a hateful family, and until that night four years ago, he had never even thought about how it would feel to not be loved unquestioningly. But that just made his situation more confusing and more frightening. What would they want him to do? How could they tell him one day to tell the truth, or to respect people and their opinions, but not be there for him when he needed to tell the truth? Where was their respect? He believed the messages they had taught, even if they conflicted with what his dad said that bleak night... and maybe that was the key. His parents didn't push rules onto him; they taught him lessons so he would be prepared to make his own choices. If they spoke the truth to him then, they would have to respect him, if not love him, now.

Finally, Ben looked up with an oddly mixed expression of uncertainty, anticipation, and resolve.

"I have to talk to them," he stated simply. "I think what you didn't say was that until I do, I'm not doing anything about the problem, just the symptoms. I guess it's time I live my life, not live the life I think someone else wants me to live."

Josh gave Ben a genuinely admiring look and placed a strong, reassuring hand on Ben's slumped shoulder. Ben seemed to sit up a bit, as if strengthened by the touch. "I think you're right, but you'll have to decide that on your own. I'm just here to lend an ear or a shoulder from time to time. Let me know if you want to talk more, okay? Like I said, no judgment. We have to look out for our teammates, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," replied Ben, with a weak smile.

At that moment, Ben's phone, which he'd been gripping tightly during his storytelling and fidgeting with while talking to Josh afterwards, started to hum and flash insistently. He cursed his mother's name in a most unseemly fashion for not giving him a few hours' peace, but then remembered that he still hadn't called her back yet and she was probably getting pretty worried. He looked down at the phone and actually considered answering, but then saw that it wasn't his mother calling after all - it was an unknown number. He let it go to voice mail, and checked his messages a moment later when his phone chirped for attention once more. Josh waited patiently, wondering why he didn't either answer the phone when it rang, using it for it's designed purpose, or simply leave it at home if it caused him so much distress.

The color drained from Ben's face as an urgent and firm voice spoke in his ear.

"Benjamin, this is Doctor Davis at Health Services. Your cholesterol screening came back fine, but something else came up in the routine blood work. We need you to come back in immediately for further testing. Please call us if you have any questions, but it's urgent that you come back in right away. Thank you."

Josh noticed right away. "You okay?"

Ben didn't answer right away. "I, uh... I gotta go. I'll call you later." He stepped into the left-side pedal, swung his right leg over, and flew back in the direction of campus.

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Jeff walked slowly down the sterile-smelling hall of the Student Health Services building, the damp soles of his sneakers echoing his distaste of hospitals and clinics with minute squeaking chirps of protest. This place wasn't cozy, or welcoming, or in any way soothing to people who needed to walk through these corridors and he wondered why anyone designing this space would have chosen materials and colors diametrically opposed to such comfort, that which would have benefitted anxious visitors the most.

Mark, the nametag-equipped nurse behind the counter, slid an acrylic clipboard across the laminate top with a mumble about filling out both sides. Jeff sat a few feet away in the "waiting room" - really more of an alcove with six chairs arranged in an L formation - while he wrote more longhand on one sheet of paper than he had all last semester. Jeff couldn't help but wonder, with twelve thousand paying students, each of whom need to have health insurance on record with the school to attend, why the computer system behind Mark The Male Nurse couldn't supply his personal information and print it out. He shook out the writer's cramp and shook off his bitter musings, and handed the form back across the counter.

"We're a bit understaffed today, just me and the Doc, so take a seat. We're running behind, but it's a slow day so you won't need to wait long."

Ten minutes later, the doctor emerged from a room down the hall, walked to the desk, and whispered a few words to the nurse before swapping one patient chart for another and heading back to the exam rooms. The nurse looked over at Jeff before instructing him to head down to Room 3, where the doctor would meet him in a few minutes.

With a sigh, he shuffled in the same direction that the doctor had headed a few moments before. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be examined, he didn't want to have to pay for any prescriptions, and he didn't want to be taking any drugs. He couldn't think of any place he'd less like to be, or really how this situation could be any less pleasant.

He turned the knob for Room 3 and shouldered the heavy door open and stopped for a shocked, awkward moment when he saw another patient occupying the room already, stripped and draped loosely in a Johnny, facing away from the door. Embarrassed, he muttered and apology and started to back out of the room as the figure turned, expecting the doctor.

It was Ben, and he was crying, and his eyes grew wide in recognition.

"Don't make me wait alone, please?" he begged, in a shaking voice.