Benny & Ray 63

Cold

 

 

Ben meandered through the Chicago streets for hours, sometimes walking straight lines, sometimes in circles or figure eights. He was freezing.  He wore only his scuffed brown leather coat; no gloves, hat or scarf.  His hands were jammed down into his pockets. The temperature had dropped into the teens, and his ears and tip of his nose ached from the cold.  He sniffed, wiping his dripping nose on the soft cuff of his sleeve. He kept moving; it was the only thing that was keeping his body-core warm.

 

The streets were now abandoned, the occasional stray paper or other rubbish blowing in a gentle gust that kicked up from time to time.  It was past midnight, on a freezing February week night.  Ben had not seen a soul for an hour. Who would be out at a time like this? Even the criminals were safely indoors.  Ben sniffed in self-pity.  He was cold, alone, tired and hungry. He wished he had had his little Pearson for company.  He missed Diefenbaker. 

 

He wasn’t even sure where he was at the moment. He had passed West Diversey some time ago, so he was probably out of Avondale by now.  He thought he was either in Albany Park or Irving Park; Ben wasn’t too familiar with the neighborhoods in this part of town.  If he was in fact near Irving Park, that meant he was not too far from Francesca’s.  Francesca Vecchio.  If he ever heard the name again, it’d be too soon.

 

Ben chastised himself for thinking so childishly.  It wasn’t Francesca’s fault, nor was it Maria’s for Ben and Ray’s explosive falling out.  It was he who did what he did. He only had himself to blame. He should have told Ray that first night.  It would have been ugly, but it wouldn’t have gotten out of hand either. Ben would have been right there to keep Ray from coming to a boil.

 

Ray had slapped him.  And Ben was still stunned.  Never had Ray raised his hand to Ben in anger.  Never.

 

He had looked into Ray’s eyes after he slapped him.  And he saw absolutely no love there; it shook Ben to his core.  Even when Ray griped and complained or even insulted Ben, true anger was always tempered by affection. 

 

The only other time that Ben had seen Ray truly angry at him, in eight years of love and friendship, was when Ben had tried to keep him from going after Frank Zuko after Louis Gardino’s death.  But even then, somehow it wasn’t anything personal against Ben; Ray would have treated anybody who came between him and Zuko the same way.

 

But this. This was very personal.  He replayed in his head the confrontation over and over again. That slap had hurt Ben.  Emotionally more so than physically.  A line had been crossed tonight.  A very, very dangerous one.

 

Ray had struck him, and he had left the apartment.  Once on the sidewalk below, he had simply stood there for a couple of minutes. He had no idea where to go or what to do; this kind of thing just wasn’t in his playbook.  So he had shoved his hands in his pockets, and simply started walking north. He walked for an hour, and then another, and then another.

 

It had been years since he had felt so alone and so miserable.    

 

In retrospect, Ben realized that he was fortunate that Ray only slapped him.  When Ray’s temper gave way, there was no stopping it.  He thought of Ray trying to choke Ian McDonald after that far-fetched story about his fiancé being abducted by aliens. He thought of Ray slamming his young friend Eric’s head into the table of the interview room after pulling him from the botched museum heist. Both times, Ben had been there to pull Ray off the men, keeping them from coming to serious harm.

 

There was no doubt that Ben was married to an extremely passionate man.  He loved hard and he hated fiercely; Ben thought of the job Ray did on Frank Zuko after Zuko’s men worked him over.  And he thought of Fran’s story about Ray going crazy on Guy Rankin after Guy tried to assault her one night, years ago.  Fran had described Ray as going crazy like Sonny in “The Godfather.”  Ben had watched “The Godfather” for the first time with Ray shortly after that and understood Francesca’s metaphor very clearly after viewing the film.

 

Ben made a right, onto a street called West Wellington.  The wide avenue was lined on both sides with old Chicago brick bungalows.  The houses were all dark at this hour, shuttered up, and utterly silent.  On occasion, Ben saw a light on in a back room or a light glowing through curtains from a second floor bedroom.

 

Ben ached with envy.  A cozy bed in a warm room sounded painfully good right now.  His thigh ached, the one that had been stabbed and shot. The scar tissue had tightened in the cold, causing him to limp just a bit. His stomach rumbled. He kept moving.

 

Ben kicked himself for letting Ray find out this way.  He knew how it looked to Ray, understood after years of knowing the man how his mind worked.  It looked like Ben had been unfaithful and had covered it up, which was far worse than Hugh simply kissing him and Ben refusing his further advances. Even if Ray hadn’t found out through his sisters, Ben imagined that he would not have taken the news very well in any case.  He pondered the wisdom of “letting sleeping dogs lay”, as Fran had put it.  What had he or Ray gained, now that the truth was out there? Nothing but hurt, anger. He was an idiot sometimes, he realized.  Somewhere during the night, his id had formed a question, asking him if he wanted to tell Ray about Hugh as a way of retaliating against Ray because of Tommy. Ben had immediately squashed the thought down, refusing to address it.

 

Ben realized with some little resentment how dependent he had become on Ray and his family.  Most of the time the knowledge made him feel loved and secure, but right now it made him feel vulnerable.  It occurred to Ben perhaps he had too much invested in Ray and the rest of the Vecchio-Moretti clan.  He had let them become his whole life.

 

And what if Ray couldn’t get past this?  Not only would Ben lose Ray, he’d lose his sisters, the kids, and Ma as well.  And that thought was unbearable.  The very idea made his eyes well up.  He thought of not seeing Marissa grow up, or not seeing Raphy again. 

 

Ben felt his chest constrict with anxiety, as did his stomach, at these thoughts.  He was grateful that his gut was empty, as surely he’d be doubled over vomiting right now. He couldn’t feel his toes, and he felt like his full bladder was going to burst. 

 

He had to get out of the cold; his extremities would be damaged if exposed for much longer.  He pulled his hands out of his warm pockets and placed them over his painful ear tips. Ben silently ducked into an alley, between two detached cinderblock garages. 

 

He desperately needed to pee.  Looking around, he guiltily turned toward a wall, unzipped his fly and relieved himself, zipping up again.  He ought to arrest himself, he thought, almost hysterically.  Public urination was a crime, after all.  Ben moved on, silently apologizing to the residents of the property he had just urinated on.

 

Ben jogged for several blocks, to keep his body warm.  He contemplated the worst case scenario.  He somehow supposed, in the back of his mind, that he would move back to Canada if he and Ray ever broke up.  There was always his father’s cabin. 

 

Ben laughed at himself sardonically.  And then what Benton? He asked himself.  Live an empty life with no friends and family, back to square one?    

 

When had he come to NEED this big Italian family, their love and companionship?  Was this what love was? Being made vulnerable? Being stripped bare like this? 

 

He wasn’t going to go back to living alone, just himself with a dog for company.  That Ben Fraser had died the day Greta Garbo burned his apartment building down, and a new Ben Fraser had finally been born the night that Ray kissed him for the first time, in the dark, musty basement in his house.

 

Ray.  Ray. He had talked about building a house with this man, having children together.   Walk away from Ray Vecchio? Never.  He stopped running.

 

Ben looked in all directions, trying to orient himself.  He was a very, very long way from home.  This walk had been foolish and ill-timed.

 

He had little options for a quick reprieve.  He had only two dollars in his wallet right now, and some loose change.  He carried no credit cards on his person.  He didn’t have enough money for a hotel room if he could find one before he froze, nor did he have enough cash for cab fare back home.  He was exhausted.  He had gotten up at four o'clock this morning to go to the Y for a swim and a short jog around the indoor track. 

 

He urgently needed some food.  He had only eaten a half-sandwich on the commute from the office to class.  There would be no boiling of shoes tonight to chew on; he wore sneakers. 

 

He did not carry his cell phone today, so he could call no one to come and pick him up.  He’d need to find a pay phone. Ben picked up his pace.

 

He stopped every so often to jump and to stamp his feet. He had no feeling in his toes and a gust had just picked up that was cutting right through his jeans. His legs stung from the cold.  He rubbed his hands over his ears from time to time.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Ben spotted a pay phone in front of a shuttered-up video store.  He had three quarters and a penny, so he had three chances to get a live person on the phone.

 

Ben glanced at his watch.  It was 01:15. He paused at the phone, and sorted out in his mind who he would most likely catch awake at this late hour and could come and get him off the streets now.  He dare not call Ray. No telling what his state of mind was.  He took a deep breath, dropped his quarter in the slot, and dialed a number.