𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 | 𝐛. 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳

𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 | 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧

I LAY AWAKE, staring at the ceiling of my empty apartment, my back sore from the lack of my mattress arriving yet. The company promised a two day delivery, but I had no clue that two days actually was two and a half weeks. The mattress should be here tomorrow and I'll finally have a good night's rest. Although, it isn't the mattress's fault that I can't sleep. It's the fact that I live in the same town as Benjamin Rodriguez and I'm too scared to talk to him about all that I did to hurt him, not that he would listen anyway. I sit up with a groan and stretch my back. I stand, walking to the kitchen where I grab my cellphone. I grab the old yellow phone book the landlord gave me as my "welcome" present, flipping it open. It's less than a year out of date, but it's all I have to go off of other than my cellphone. I flip through the pages, smiling when I find the name and address. I grab my car keys, cellphone, and type in the address into my GPS. I pull on my shoes and walk down two flights of stairs to the base level. I walk outside, cringing at the intense scent of cigarettes outside. I walk to my car and climb in, driving away. The location I plan to go to is a little over 19 miles away from here. The world is dark and quiet, a typical 2:00 am for L.A. or any other town. The drive is long and quiet, my desire for music dampened by the ache in my back from the crappy sleeping situation. A familiar yellow house sits at the corner of one street, a giant green tree sitting out front of it, a memory playing back in my mind.
"Benny, I'm seventeen years old, I don't need you to hold my hand." I said.
"It's not because I don't think you're mature enough or I think you're in danger, it's because I want to hold your hand." He said, running his hand over the back of his baseball cap.
"What? Why would you want to hold my hand? You're my best friend." I said.
"Exactly. You're my best friend. We've known each other so long, gotten to known each other over the years, and I've realized just how much I really like you." He said.
"Benny, you need to be careful how much you say that. Using those kinds of words will only make some love-struck girl fall for you." I said.
"That's my plan," He said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "Happy Fourth of July, Lennon."
         "Am I supposed to be the love-struck girl right now?" I ask. "Is that your plan?"
         "I don't know, are you love-struck?" He asks, an eyebrow raised at me.
          I slow my driving as I pass a sweet little house where the Smalls used to live. I turn the wheel and park beside the driveway of the house across the street. I climb out of my car and wrap my sweater around me. I approach the front door, knocking twice. This is wrong of me to do. It's 2:00 am, she's probably asleep. The door opens and I hold my breath.
         "Hello? Can I help you?" A soft feminine voice asks from behind the storm door.
        I press my lips firmly together, knowing that I have to talk with her now.
        "Mama Rodriguez?" I ask, eyebrow raised, hoping she still lives here and hasn't moved.
        "Lennon?" She asks, a confused tone in her voice. "My little Lennon Davis, is that you?"
        I smile, nodding, even though I know she cannot see my nod or smile in the dark.
        "Yes, it's me, Mrs. Rodriguez. I've missed you all so much these past few years." I say.
         The door opens and she wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. She's shorter than I remember, even shorter than I am. With how tall Benny is now, he must have to crouch to hug his own mother. She takes my hand and walks me inside, leading me to a seat across from her at the table in the kitchen.
          "I'm sorry to wake you, I just couldn't sleep and knew talking to you might help." I say, smiling at her. "And it would be nice to talk with you about Benny."
           She starts the kettle, boiling hot water for tea and cider. She returns, sitting across from me.
            "You didn't wake me, dear. I haven't slept well in years. I don't really sleep well knowing that my boy is living in the big city all by himself." She says, running her finger over a small scratch in the old wooden table.
              I raise an eyebrow, looking around the house. Framed pictures of Benny and his family hang up in the living room, a large framed portrait of his rookie season poster hanging in the kitchen beside the door.
              "Doesn't Benny call you to let you know that he's alright? Doesn't he come home on the weekends to visit you?" I ask.
               She shakes her head, leaning against her hand slowly.
              "No, he doesn't. After you moved, something in my boy broke. When you didn't come home, he was so angry that he spent more time at the Sandlot then he did at home. Even if the boys weren't there with him, he would play the game. Until nearly two in the morning, he would bat. When he finally did come home, he would grab a snack, shower, then go straight to bed. He was a different boy after you left. Now, I don't blame you for moving—you had no choice. But Benny... Benny did." She says. "Benny hasn't come home in over a year, except for the holidays."
          I raise an eyebrow and imagine Benny batting all by himself in the dark, then showing up exhausted the next day to play with the boys. Then, when the rest of the boys left, he would stay. And the cycle would repeat itself over and over and over. She stands and makes each of us a cup of tea, handing me mine.
           "One day, maybe three days before he left for the Minors, he left at maybe six, almost seven o'clock in the morning. Said goodbye, like usual, and walked to the Sandlot with all of his typical stuff. I had through nothing of it when he didn't show up back at the house when the rest of the boys did. I waited for him in the Kitchen, right in this exact spot. I must have fallen asleep at the table because the next thing I knew was someone was pounding at my door—it was almost five in the morning and Benny wasn't home yet. When I answered the door, it was Scotty Smalls, the boy who lived just across the street. He had noticed that Benny didn't make it home yet and suggested we go look for him. We ran to the Sandlot, and sure enough, Benny was still there, batting. Although, this time, he was crying. The sun was about to rise and the sky was lightening up. When I ran over to Benny, he was broken, sobbing as he swung the bat. When I finally got the bat away from him, he collapsed in my arms, crying like he was a little boy again. All he could say was 'She isn't coming back. She's never coming back.' He was devastated." She says. "He knee you had no choice about moving, but he was so hurt."
      I'm nauseated as I look down into the cup of earl grey tea, pondering if my stomach will be able to keep it down. I look at her as she sips her tea.
       "Mrs. Rodriguez," I say quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Do you think Benny will ever forgive me? I never wanted to hurt him. I tried to come home, but my flight kept getting delayed, and when I eventually made it, he was gone."
       She takes my hand and smiles at me, her crow's feet and smile lines showing her age, but beautiful in the sense that she's smiled often in her life.
        "Benny has never been a boy to hold grudges. This thing he feels for you—it's only temporary. He hasn't forgotten about you, and he never will. Give him some time to come around. Eventually he will listen. And if he doesn't, I will make him listen. He is still my son, after all." She says.