Read Online Burying Ben by Ellen Kirschman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ellen Kirschman
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can’t face her, o v er eager and expecta n t, g rilling m e for signs that my life is a g ain filled with never ending prospects for a fabulous futur e .
If she’s heard about Ben, she gives no indication. S i nce m y father ’ s death, she has stopped reading newspapers and watching tele v i sion ne ws because it is too d epressing. She is, once again, the per p etual opti m ist of her youth, see m ingly unchastened by the fact that her sunny outlook was to bla m e for hooking up with m y father in the expectation that their life together would be bursting with utopian possibilities. She m ade our penury seem like an adventure in si m ple living, and blessed my father ’ s crappy m enial jobs for giving us an ethical life, free from corporate greed.
W here he saw evil, s h e saw a wounded spirit. Where he saw conspiracies, she saw a network of well inte n tioned, but ill-info r m ed actors. As for my own truncated social life, she calls it a ti m e for healing, during which m y true life ’ s co m panion is searching for m e as hard as I am looking for him. W ork is only so m ething to f ill the ti m e be f ore he m akes his appeara n ce.
I wake up at six on Monday, shower, and put on a black suit to m atch m y mood. My house feels like a prison. Eddie and Ben have been dogging m e for two days, tra m ping through m y m i nd in a never-ending loop of i m ages. Ben, alone and desperate, staring at his gun. Eddie, drunk, driving off the road into a ditch, the sound of his head cracking the windshield. Ben, terrified, cold m e tal against his skin, tears pooling in his eyes, thoughts racing — yes, no, yes, no — un t il the final yes and the sudden spray of blood and tissue.
I leave the house and head for the police depart m ent as soon as I’m dressed. No coffee, no juice.
I find Eddie in the report-writing room with Manny.
“ W hat’s up, Doc ? ” He w aves his cigar in t h e air like a carrot. “How’s things in the nuthouse? You know m y boy, Mañana .”
“ Manuelo ,” Manny says in a soft voice. He stands up and shakes m y hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t worry about d i sturbing us. Mañana has got to learn to m ulti-task. This isn’t college, college boy, where you get to do one thing at a ti m e. This here is po-leese work.”
“You weren’t at the debriefing,” I say.
Eddie’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Hey Mañana , run over to t h e cafeteria, get m e a donut and coffee. And get the Doc so m ething too.”
I decline. He shoves a five-dollar bill in Man n y’s hand.
“Go out the door, turn right, walk up the stairs, turn left, and go through the big double doors m arked c-a-f-e-t-e-r-i-a.” He s p ells slowly and robotically. Manny’s mouth is drawn into a thin line, his lips locked together. A g r owing ruddiness splotches his coffee colored co m plexion.
“So, Doc, what can I do you for ? ”
“I was concerned when you didn’t show up at the debriefing.”
He shrugs, tilts back in the chair and puts his feet on the desk.
“Why didn’t you co m e? It was m andatory.”
“Mental m asturbation is for the kids. I don’t need you or anyone else picking through the turds in m y head. I got m y own doctor, Doctor Jack Daniels.” He pats his chest as though he has a bottle underneath his unifo r m. “I’ve done this job for years with o ut t a lking a b out it. As f ar as I’m concerned, that debriefing crap is just a big circle jerk w here everybody cries, says their feelings and l eaves feeling w orse than when they started. Too bad choir practice has gone out of style. A bottle of booze, so m e buddies in the parking lot and you get it all off your chest. D one. Finished. Kaput.”
“So m ebody said you’ve been on a binge.”
He drops his feet to the floor, sits up in his chair and wheels around to face m e. “Cops gossip m ore than girls. W hat I do on m y own ti m e is my own bu s iness. Period. You saw m e at the
If she’s heard about Ben, she gives no indication. S i nce m y father ’ s death, she has stopped reading newspapers and watching tele v i sion ne ws because it is too d epressing. She is, once again, the per p etual opti m ist of her youth, see m ingly unchastened by the fact that her sunny outlook was to bla m e for hooking up with m y father in the expectation that their life together would be bursting with utopian possibilities. She m ade our penury seem like an adventure in si m ple living, and blessed my father ’ s crappy m enial jobs for giving us an ethical life, free from corporate greed.
W here he saw evil, s h e saw a wounded spirit. Where he saw conspiracies, she saw a network of well inte n tioned, but ill-info r m ed actors. As for my own truncated social life, she calls it a ti m e for healing, during which m y true life ’ s co m panion is searching for m e as hard as I am looking for him. W ork is only so m ething to f ill the ti m e be f ore he m akes his appeara n ce.
I wake up at six on Monday, shower, and put on a black suit to m atch m y mood. My house feels like a prison. Eddie and Ben have been dogging m e for two days, tra m ping through m y m i nd in a never-ending loop of i m ages. Ben, alone and desperate, staring at his gun. Eddie, drunk, driving off the road into a ditch, the sound of his head cracking the windshield. Ben, terrified, cold m e tal against his skin, tears pooling in his eyes, thoughts racing — yes, no, yes, no — un t il the final yes and the sudden spray of blood and tissue.
I leave the house and head for the police depart m ent as soon as I’m dressed. No coffee, no juice.
I find Eddie in the report-writing room with Manny.
“ W hat’s up, Doc ? ” He w aves his cigar in t h e air like a carrot. “How’s things in the nuthouse? You know m y boy, Mañana .”
“ Manuelo ,” Manny says in a soft voice. He stands up and shakes m y hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t worry about d i sturbing us. Mañana has got to learn to m ulti-task. This isn’t college, college boy, where you get to do one thing at a ti m e. This here is po-leese work.”
“You weren’t at the debriefing,” I say.
Eddie’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Hey Mañana , run over to t h e cafeteria, get m e a donut and coffee. And get the Doc so m ething too.”
I decline. He shoves a five-dollar bill in Man n y’s hand.
“Go out the door, turn right, walk up the stairs, turn left, and go through the big double doors m arked c-a-f-e-t-e-r-i-a.” He s p ells slowly and robotically. Manny’s mouth is drawn into a thin line, his lips locked together. A g r owing ruddiness splotches his coffee colored co m plexion.
“So, Doc, what can I do you for ? ”
“I was concerned when you didn’t show up at the debriefing.”
He shrugs, tilts back in the chair and puts his feet on the desk.
“Why didn’t you co m e? It was m andatory.”
“Mental m asturbation is for the kids. I don’t need you or anyone else picking through the turds in m y head. I got m y own doctor, Doctor Jack Daniels.” He pats his chest as though he has a bottle underneath his unifo r m. “I’ve done this job for years with o ut t a lking a b out it. As f ar as I’m concerned, that debriefing crap is just a big circle jerk w here everybody cries, says their feelings and l eaves feeling w orse than when they started. Too bad choir practice has gone out of style. A bottle of booze, so m e buddies in the parking lot and you get it all off your chest. D one. Finished. Kaput.”
“So m ebody said you’ve been on a binge.”
He drops his feet to the floor, sits up in his chair and wheels around to face m e. “Cops gossip m ore than girls. W hat I do on m y own ti m e is my own bu s iness. Period. You saw m e at the
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