The Boy on the Hill

I

Benjamin sat on the same back porch step at the same house that he sat at every day since The Incident. He sat with his feet resting on the step below, and one elbow upon his left thigh, and his chin held by the palm of his hand. He sat like that until his leg was red beneath his cargo shorts and his hand was numb, then he simply switched arms and stayed in his same position.

If one was to be standing nearby and watching him sit the way he was, then they might think that dear Ben was staring off into space, sleeping with his pretty green eyes open. They would be wrong. Ben was not merely staring, he was watching. He was remembering. He was reliving. And that was the most living he ever did, sitting and staring at those trees.

Sure, he would go to the arcade with his cousin, and he would weed the garden with his mother, and sometimes, his sister would come and visit and take him to the city, and they would dance underneath the ground, beneath the bright lights, alongside sweat and heat and bodies and noise.

But he wasn't really there. It was as if he sleepwalked through his life, there, but always somewhere else. Sometimes, at night when he was about to go to sleep, he thought of how far away the world and the people in it felt. That scared Ben, and it made him feel helpless. It is easy to assume that Ben went through each day of his life asleep because he wanted to. It is easy to assume that Ben could snap his fingers and snap out of his dream and once again live his life. But it was not so easy as previously assumed.

At night, in those vulnerable, scary moments, Ben cried. He cried because he wanted to be there with his family. He cried because he wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. He cried because no matter how hard he tried, he could not wake up. He cried because he was afraid that he liked it that way.

So Ben stared at those trees in the back of that house, remembering and reliving the life he once led.

Let the picture be painted of that day: summer afternoon, a warm breeze, sunlight shining through green leaves. Long grass and shrub swaying and dancing around the bees and butterflies.

But something about today was different. It was swimming in the air like a fish in cool water, and it was making Ben on edge.

Around the corner of the house, the grass rustled, and a small rabbit jumped away into a nearby bush. Ben, distracted by the noise, was torn away from his daydream. Footsteps crept closer and Ben looked around trying to pin point the source of noise.

From behind the ivy-covered wall came a boy called Lee. He came and sat down next to Ben and frowned. He looked at Ben all sad and hopeless, and Ben was fascinated.

Ben was very used to the sad, pity smiles from distant relatives and family friends and classmates and teachers, and the lady who works at the auto-repair shop. It made Ben feel like a child with cancer. He was not going to die. In fact, he had been told the worst of the storm was over. But Ben was pretty sure that it didn't matter what part of the storm he was in. It was a storm all the same.

Lee's expression was different, though. It made Ben feel a little better instead of all wrong. He decided it was because Lee looked like he was waiting out a storm too.

"Hi," said Lee.

"Hi," said Ben.

And that was that.

The two boys sat there staring for a long while longer, until Ben noticed that Lee had something running down his cheeks in curvy rivers.

"Lee?" said Ben.

"I'm fine," said Lee.

"Lee," said Ben. "I am not the lady from the auto-repair shop."

"It's just that," said Lee, "when I sit here and look at the backyard, it happens all over again. And again, and again. Like a broken record."