Long Way to Go

It felt really bad for him to leave like this. It felt even worse the second time. He had said he would ride with me, didn't he? He had even backtracked his westward route to stay with me. So where had he gone, and why? I was certain he had liked the sex as much as me, or at least he hadn't disliked it. I had been nice to him, or at least I hadn't been rude. I felt like he had rejected me, dumped me. I could hardly expect him to stay forever, but I at least expected a goodbye before he went.

With a heavy heart, I started my way out of town. I didn't mind being alone, but suddenly alone felt more alone than it had only a few days before.

My eyes kept sweeping the shoulder of the road, searching, and I kept pulling my focus back on the road. Soon I'd be moving on to the interstate where stopping wasn't allowed. Hitchhikers had to find their rides before that. I longed and dreaded to see the ramp come up.

No way. Yes way! My heart jumped when I saw a figure walking slowly along the road the same direction I was going. I had half a second of furious fight with my pride, lost miserably or maybe won gloriously, signaled to stop and started to slow down. I passed him, my stopping distance from even low velocity long, then waited. I didn't want to look in the mirror to see if he was approaching me or if he had turned the other way when he saw me stopping. I had my hands on the wheel and hung my head, my heart thumping in my ears.

I was upset. I was angry with him and with myself. Mom always said anger wasn't a real emotion, that it was just hiding something underneath, but I had no fucking idea what that might be. I thought I should drive away before he got to the door, and then I thought what it would feel like if he never came to the door.

Benjamin came to the door. He opened it and looked at me from under his hair. He looked so small, standing beside the truck, looking up at me. Like a fucking five-year-old.

"Are you coming in or not?" I asked grumpily. He did, and the second he pulled the door shut I took off, not waiting for him to sit or get his seatbelt on. I kept my eyes on the road and my mouth shut. A truck stop I usually stopped was coming up in three hours, and I was prepared to be quiet all the way if necessary. I supposed Ben was too. He never initiated conversations anyway.

Gradually, my anger faded, and after an hour I found myself glancing at him. Ben looked miserable, the way he was slumped down and staring at his hands. I still didn't have a clue what to say.

After an hour and a half, I couldn't take it anymore. I got off the interstate, up a ramp and into a parking lot of an unmanned gas station. It would be a pain in the ass to turn the truck around in there, but that couldn't be helped. At least there were no other cars. Silence filled the cab of the truck when I shut off the engine. I turned to look at Ben. He was still staring at his hands.

"Benjamin?" I said softly. He glanced at me then back at his hands. "Why do you keep leaving?"

Something passed over his face. "You don't want to have me near you."

"Don't you think I should be the one to decide that? Don't you want to be near me? It's up to you if you leave, of course, but I'd appreciate it if you told me first."

He clenched his jaw so hard I expected his teeth to shatter.

"You don't understand," he hissed through his teeth. "I'm not...it won't...I'm..."

I didn't let him off the hook that time. His eyes darted from his hands to the window then to me and back again. He looked like a rabbit ready to flee from a fox.

"I won't hold up," he whispered. "I'm hearing them again."

"Voices?" I asked.

He nodded, and I've never seen anyone look quite so miserable before or after. Or quite so terrified.

"Do you think it's because of the pause you had with your medication, or something else?" I asked.

He looked at me, surprised like he didn't expect this level of engagement. Maybe he didn't. I didn't know how often he had discussed his mental problems with anyone before, or what kind of conversations they'd been, but based on his reaction I had a guess.

"Look, Benjamin," I said. "My cousin is schizophrenic. So whether you've got that or something else I know something about how it goes down. Or I don't know, but what I'm trying to say is that I'm not afraid of your condition."

He stared at me, full on stare with wide eyes now. His eyes were very dark and very large and strangely glossy. I looked back, and the rest of my anger faded away.

"So, how long did you go without the other medicine?" I said. "Maybe it'll help in a bit if you just keep taking it again. Or do you think you need some medical assistance?"

He shrugged, then his shoulders trembled. After a moment I realized he was trying not to cry.

"Hey," I said gently and touched his cheek. He flinched then looked down. He felt warm to the touch, warmer than he should be. I touched his neck and his forehead, and I was willing to bet a moderate sum of money he was running a fever.

"Hey, you," I said again, with more emphasis. He looked at me and I nodded towards the back of the cabin. "Come to the back for a sec, will ya?"

He moved over and sat on the bed. I followed, and he didn't resist when I pulled him into my arms. He let me hold him, then hugged me back—a little at first, then with growing force as he lost his struggle and let the tears come.

"Hush, kiddo," I murmured into his hair. "I know."

He didn't cry for long. I got the impression it didn't help him much, and he seemed embarrassed. I held him to my chest, and rocked him a little, searching for words. I've never been good at speeches, especially when I don't know what I want to say in the first place.

Eventually, I settled on practicalities. "Do you wanna sleep for a while?" I asked. "I think you're coming down with a fever."

He didn't respond, but didn't protest when I laid him down on the bed and tucked him in. From my small fridge I got him a bottle of water. I wanted to say he would be alright, but I didn't have it in me. He probably wouldn't, with his problems and no money, hitchhiking across the country. So I just kissed his forehead, went back to the front and started the truck.

For the next few hours, Benjamin slept while I drove. I was so deep in thought I drove past my designated truck stop, and I didn't even notice until fifty miles later.

I was in murky waters with Benjamin, and I had no idea what to do. I wasn't going to kick him out, especially if he was getting sick. All that hitchhiking in the rain couldn't have been good, and maybe the flu contributed to his condition.

What about his voices? Should I hide all the sharp objects in the cabin? For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to be afraid of him, though I realized if he got psychotic I probably should be. Based on Ollie, I knew if he kept taking his medication he would probably be okay, or at least that was what I hoped. I needed to call Mom, ask her for advice.

I didn't stop until I had to pee so bad it felt like I was going to burst. Benjamin didn't wake up when I stopped, nor when I came back to the truck.

Houston to Colorado Springs was too far to drive in the working hours allowed for one day, not to mention the time I had spent fetching the cargo, so that night was spent at a truck stop. Even when I parked, Ben still didn't wake up.

I went to the diner, ordered, then called Mom.

"Hi, Mom," I said and turned the fork over on its axis on the napkin.

"Hi, Baby," she said. "What's up with the mystery man?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you wouldn't call me if there wasn't some kind of trouble."

"Not fair, Mom. I do call you."

"No you don't. I call you every day but you never call your poor old mom! But it's alright, you're my baby boy after all, and I need to keep an eye on you. So tell me, what's up with your good-looking hitchhiking ax murderer? What was his name again?"

"Benjamin," I said, mightily annoyed at her. "And he's not an ax murderer."

"He's still with you though?"

"Yes, but he's back at the truck, sleeping. He has the flu or something. But Mom, why I really called is I need your advice."

I didn't let her interrupt, out of fear that she would annoy me so much I couldn't get to the end. I described Benjamin, his medication and how he left me once for the fear of me being homophobic and a second time for the fear of... what, exactly? My reaction to his mental problems or was it his mental problems themselves?

By the time I had stumbled through all of it I didn't even remember what I had wanted to ask in the first place. My food came, and I ordered a burrito to go in case Ben would have some appetite later. I started picking on the potatoes as I listened to my mom.

"Well," said Mom, "maybe you don't need to do anything right now. It sounds like he's not going to run away again, being sick like that. So, what else can you do besides keep him with you? If he gets really sick you need to take him to the ER. And if he's still with you when you get to Vegas, you take him home, right? Just see what happens. You don't need to solve everything."

Maybe she was right. At least she had a point in saying my options for action were limited. It was just my nature to overthink things. I washed up and went back to the truck. It would've been a perfect night to take my walk, but I wanted to get back to Ben.

Benjamin was sleeping, but stirred when I sat beside him. He was hot and weak—no energy left in him. He drank what I gave him and ate a few bites of the burrito. I asked if he needed to take more of his medicine, but he didn't, and after using the toilet he went back to bed. I pulled off his jeans, but he was so cold I didn't have the heart to get him to remove his hoodie. I stacked every blanket I had over him and settled beside him.

The bed was wide enough for us both, but we gravitated closer together. Ben didn't seem to move, but he kept pressing closer to me. I didn't intend to crowd him, but ended up spooning him and holding him to me. He was hot and there was a strange but adorable contradiction between his thick hoodie and below that his skimpy legs with only the boxer shorts on. I must've felt cold against him, but he snuggled to me anyway.

He did something to me. I couldn't fool myself into thinking I didn't have feelings for him. Holding him felt so important, and something warm and insistent flickered inside when I thought about him. He hadn't given me much to hold on to, but whatever he said, I kept playing around and around in my head. He wasn't exactly my type, not that I admitted having a type. I knew hardly anything about him, and maybe that was the reason. His silence made him mysterious, and my mind just couldn't stop circling the riddle he posed.

I couldn't think of a realistic scenario for us to be together. My heart ached when I imagined the day he would leave and I would never see him again. It had been just over two days since I picked him up. It was difficult to understand how much he had affected me in such a little time.

I held his hot body against mine and felt his heart fluttering in his narrow chest. It was no use pretending otherwise: I had a crush on the kid.

-#-#-#-#-#-

In the morning, Ben was still sick. I helped him to take his medicine and asked what he wanted for breakfast. He said he didn't have appetite but ate the omelet I brought him from the diner. I didn't have to wait long before I could start driving, and as much as I wanted to spend the day just taking care of him, I just tucked him in and started towards Colorado Springs.

It was a busy day. I waited for the unloading and reloading, dealt with paperwork, and completed route planning. When I stopped for the night, I was exhausted. It was good that I had the break coming on. I had been on the road for what felt like forever, and I felt the pull of home.

Mom called while I was having dinner. We chatted for a while but I didn't want to go into any specifics about anything today. I just wanted to get back to the truck and sleep.

I bought tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich to go, and spent the next half an hour trying to convince Ben to eat them. He tried, but he had no appetite whatsoever, so there was quite a lot left over. I half-forced him to take some painkillers. After his fever came down a notch, he was sweaty and annoyed, but hungry enough to finish his food.

I wet the corner of a towel from the water bottle and wiped his sweaty forehead.

"It'll get better," I promised. "You just need to rest."

"Why are you so nice to me?" he asked, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes. "You want a blowjob?"

"No," I said, almost offended. "You're sick, I couldn't."

He just shrugged.

"You don't need to repay me," I said and wiped his face again. "Just sleep. You'll be okay."

"What about tomorrow?" he asked. "We're going to Vegas tomorrow? Or the day after?"

"Tomorrow," I agreed. I had talked about this with my mom, but now, with Ben, I felt shy. "I was thinking you could come home with me. Until you feel better, at least."

He just looked at me, so pale, so serious.

"I can't just throw you out on the street," I said and met his eyes. "And I like you. I'm gonna have two weeks off, so that should give you plenty of time to get better. I'm guessing no one is waiting for you anywhere? And that you have no specific place to go."

He nodded and kept his eyes on me. I took his narrow, hot face in my hands and bowed down to kiss his forehead.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll help you if you let me. At least with this."

He pulled me closer and while he said nothing, I took it to mean "thank you".

-#-#-#-#-#-

We arrived in Las Vegas in the late afternoon. It took a while to unload and handle the paperwork of the cargo and driving logs and additional bureaucracy. To wrap it up, I cleaned the cabin, ditched the garbage, loaded my personal things to my car, and emptied the fridge. Ben was a bit perkier but by no means lively, and I almost carried him down from the cabin. He walked to my car himself, but he was sweating and pale when we got there.

"Are you alright?" I asked, worried. "Think we should go to the hospital or something?"

He shook his head. "Nah, it's just the flu."

Mom was sitting on my porch, waiting for us. Should've guessed. Curious old bat. She got up when I helped Ben out of the car, although with her, it was sometimes hard to tell; she had gotten almost as wide as she was tall with her old age. She smiled from ear to ear, her face a web of wrinkles, when I walked up to her with my arm around Ben to support him.

"Benjamin, this is my mom, Rhonda," I said. "Mom, this is Ben."

My mom drew Ben in for the kind of jiggly, smothering hug she gives. For all I can tell she never let go. It was instant affection. Ben, who I had anticipated to be reserved and uncomfortable for the attention, was anything but. He melted into her embrace, and it went on for a very, very long time. It was all I could do not to have my mouth gape open.

"Well then," I said. "I'll carry the things inside."

I walked to the car and back, gathering Ben's things and my own. Only towards the end of my second round trip, Mom released Ben.

"He's cute, but he stinks," she said to me, still smiling. "I think you should wash him while I make supper."

"I don't have anything," I said. "I thought I'd order in."

She pointed to the basket on the porch. I should've guessed she'd bring something.

"Thanks, Mom," I said and bowed down to give her a quick hug and kiss her temple. "You're the best."

"I know, I know," she said smugly as she climbed the stairs and took the basket. "It's hard being perfect, but someone's gotta do it."

I chortled and helped Ben inside.

My house wasn't large. One bedroom, kitchen that combined with the living room, and a bathroom. I didn't need much all by myself. I helped Ben to the bedroom, and he undressed himself while I did the same. It was true—he stank. He was sweaty and grimy, and I didn't even want to guess how long he had spent in those same clothes. Well, except for the hoodie which he probably stole the other day.

He was so weak that for once I regretted not having a bathtub. When I tilted his head not to get it into his eyes when I was rinsing, there was water running down his cheeks. I thought I hadn't been careful enough, but then it occurred to me they could be tears. I lathered him up as fast and gently as I could, rinsed it off, wrapped him in a towel, and left him to wander off to the bedroom while I washed myself. When I got out, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, the towel over his shoulders and around him like a cape.

"I... I don't have any clean clothes," he said.

"Here, take these," I said and pulled a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts from my drawer and tossed them to him. They were too big, but he would have to manage. I was about to leave the room when he stopped me.

"Wait, can I also have pants?" he asked.

"Are you cold?" I asked and turned back to the closet to rummage around for a pair of sweatpants, trying to guess which would be smallest.

"No, but...your mom's here," he said.

"Oh, right," I said and smiled. "Sorry, didn't think it through."

Mom was heating up soup, and I sat Ben on the sofa while I went to help. I have cooked with her so very many times in my life that we settled into a routine like a well-oiled machine. She was humming while she worked, and I provided harmonies. Occasionally, it got to be too much and she laughed heartily.

Ben ate eagerly but kept peeking at Mom from under his hair. She smiled at him every time she noticed. There was a spark in Ben—he was the liveliest I had ever seen him and I looked from one to the other curiously.

After I had cleaned the table, Mom ushered me out to go grocery shopping, promising to look after Ben in the meantime. She was not to be argued with when she got that mood, so I obeyed. I had forgotten to ask Ben what he liked to eat, so I just bought this and that, hoping something would be to his liking. So far he hadn't complained about any food offered to him, so I wasn't too concerned.

When I got back an hour later, Ben was sleeping. Mom asked me to walk her back to her place after I'd put the groceries away.

"I talked with your street urchin," she said.

"Oh? He talks to you? Because I know exactly nothing about him."

"Well, have you asked?" Mom was smirking, and I could tell she knew Ben didn't answer when I asked.

"Duh," I said. "So what did he tell you?"

"His mom died four years ago. That's when his problems started... with his mind. Dad was never in the picture, so he's lived with his grandmother ever since. And then, five months ago, she died. So he's just been roaming around ever since."

"Oh," I said. "That's. Something."

"Yes, that's something." Mom rolled her eyes at my expressiveness. "The poor boy needs a mom so bad."

"So what... you're gonna adopt him?" I was a little offended he had confided in Mom almost instantly, while he hadn't told me much of anything in two days.

"I couldn't do that. That would make you brothers," Mom said, a wide grin.

"Mom!" I complained. It seemed that no matter how old I got she was able to draw that exasperated moan out of me.

We arrived at her house, and she stopped to look at me.

"You're a good boy, Roy," she said and patted my chest. "You always had such a good heart."

"Do you think it was stupid to bring him home?"

"I think it was the right thing to do. And now, run along, just go and be nice to him. I will come by tomorrow and see both of you again. And when he gets better, I have a few things you could help me with around the house."

"Okay, Mom, sure thing," I said and hugged her again. "Love you."

"Love you too, baby boy," she said. I watched her get in her house and turned to walk back to mine.