The Lost

The front door creaks as Benjamin opens it quickly, seeking immediate escape from the frigid winter. The glowering sun does nothing to warm the moving air, which penetrates through the three layers of fabric snuggly wrapped around his shivering arms. A cat meows somewhere in the next room, most likely uncoiling itself from its tightly curled position on the living room couch.

Benjamin peels off the outer jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. As he’s trudging slowly to his room, hoping for a mere hour of rest before dinner, he bumps softly into his brother’s small frame that appears suddenly from the kitchen entry.

“Hey. How was it?” Tommy, two years Benjamin’s junior, acts more of a father figure and adult than Benjamin can fully comprehend. Tommy wears their mother’s pink-polka-dotted apron loosely, a layer of dark goo smeared every so often near his waist.

“Fine,” Benjamin cracks a small smile. He hates talking about his appointments and all they entail. He always brushes it off as just another task to complete his day, like going to school or eating dinner. He mostly hates it because it makes him feel so much smaller than the rest of his family. They’re all fine, like actually fine, and they’re moving forward with their lives and doing better already and Benjamin hates that he can’t keep up. He instinctively reaches out to ruffle Tommy’s blonde curls, the only action he still holds on to from their childhood that reminds him of their true age difference. Benjamin is sixteen and Tommy is only fourteen, yet Tommy makes them dinner when their parents can’t and he feeds the cat and he does his homework of his own will and he’s so grown up that it makes Benjamin question once more when it happened, when did Tommy grow so old while he just cowered in the same corner for the last seven years.

Tommy laughs as he ducks away from Benjamin’s hand, smoothing his curls slightly before asking the question Benjamin knew was coming, “Did he say you’re making progress?” He used to try to prepare for the question, to have a new answer every time one of the family members asked. He used to go into detail about all the progress he was making and how he felt better and changed already. Those were his answers up until four years ago, when it was obvious that he wasn’t getting better and making vast changes, that he isn’t getting better. Now he answers with a smile and a shrug. He throws out a comment or two to deflect the question sometimes.

“You know,” the corners of his lips move up mechanically at the same time his shoulders near his ears, “Doctor-Patient confidentiality.”

He sees Tommy’s smile and he sees the head nod of approval, but he also sees the slipping hope. He always sees the slipping hope now, none of them can hide it. Not anymore.

“Right. Well Mom and Dad are a little caught up, but dinner should be ready kinda soon I think,” Tommy looks back to the kitchen with the rising steam from the pots on the stove, “Maybe twenty minutes or so? Why don’t you go get ready and I’ll call when it’s done.” Tommy flashes a cheeky smile before wandering towards the stove, picking up a wooden spoon on his way. Benjamin can’t grasp when all the changes happened. He’s stuck.

Benjamin discards his backpack on his desk before retreating to the bathroom to wash his face. The cold water chills his newly warmed skin, jolting every cell awake. He dunks his head into his full hands six times, the water splashing out onto the counter. The water makes him feel better, it has since the beginning. He feels it’s helped more than any amount of time spent in a plush chair talking about feelings and hopes and pasts and futures. He especially has a hard time talking about futures.

He hears Tommy call up to him as he’s drying his face with the dull red hand towel. It’s scratchy and stiff from age and use.

The smells waft through his nose from the three dishes placed perfectly in the middle of the table. Green beans, spinach alfredo, and rolls have been portioned out on three outer plates. Benjamin senses the movement of his face as his eye brows fall closer together.

“I didn’t know Michelle was going to be here tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers as their older sister enters from the living room, a grey cat in tow begging for the petting to continue.

“How are you doing Benjamin?” Michelle sits properly at the side opposite him, her posture in tact and her face deadpan.

“I’m fine, how are you?” He doesn’t actually care. She doesn’t care when she asks either, though, so it’s only fair.

“How was your appointment today?” She blatantly ignores his question, favoring her own interrogations over family bonding. He can’t remember the last time she conversed with him rather than trying to investigate into his psyche.

“Fine,” Benjamin no longer looks at her.

“Does Dr. McCarey say you’re making progress?” Tommy’s lips release a small hiss as he tries to get Michelle to back down in order to avoid the inevitable argument approaching.

“I guess,” a sigh follows his emotionless reply.

“Oh my God,” Michelle groans out to the side before launching the first attack in their continuous battle, “How long are you exactly planning to drag this out for Benjamin? I mean, Jesus, it’s been seven years. Going for a full decade? Do you have any idea how much money Mom and Dad are sinking into this bulshi-” She stops herself before crossing that line and takes a deep breath, the air deflating her lungs so slowly he‘s sure she‘s counting to ten to contain her annoyance and disapproval. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a tragedy. It was horrible and painful and the saddest thing I think any of us will have to go through. But that’s just it Benjamin, you have to get through it. Get past it.” She breaks for another breath and Benjamin looks up to meet her gaze, a certain sadness twinkles in the corners of her eyes as she continues, “All you’re doing is dragging us back to the same point we’re all trying to move on from. You need to stop, Benjamin. You have duties, as a son and brother, that you’ve neglected for too long. It isn’t fair.”

He doesn’t say anything back, just stares straight ahead into her brown eyes. Frays of her brown hair blow in front of them as the air kicks on. He can’t look at her for any longer.

Benjamin pushes himself out of his chair calmly and makes his way over to the door. There are no protests spoken to him from the dinner table as he grabs his over sized coat and steps into the freezing night. They used to come after him when he did this, the whole family would rush out the door and drag him back inside and confine him to a group huddle as they told him everything was going to work out, that it’d get better, that he’d get better. They learned after five years that it’s best to just let him go.

He yanks a black wool beanie from the pocket of the coat and pulls it down upon his head as far as it’ll go. The wind has picked up since earlier and the temperature has likely dropped at least fifteen degrees, though it feels like so much more. No birds coo and no crickets chirp. There’s nothing but silence in the November dusk.

As he approaches the corner of 18th and Woodson, he makes a change by turning right instead of continuing straight. He doesn’t remember that direction, knowing it’s been at least months since he last took it. A weight wells inside him which he tries to push down, tries to bury deep within his hollowness. It’s heavy, but sinks rather quickly. He’s gotten better at making the heaviness settle down, if nothing else.

He stops for a break to lean against the wooden streetlight. A golden yellow coats a small diameter of the street, illuminating driveways and trashcans of the houses on the other side of the pavement. Behind the streetlight are woods, thick enough to keep people from exploring them too deeply. He wants to escape though. He wants a break from the roads and lights and city. He just wants a small break, a few minutes to himself.

Ten feet to the right of the light, there is a small opening in the front layer of woods. Benjamin has to bend down to avoid the crossing and over lapping branches protruding from the trees, but it’s big enough that he can fit through. This is the first time he’s ever thought to enter the black abyss of leaves and fallen twigs. He’s not outdoorsy or adventurous, he probably couldn’t last more than a night without the comforts of modern convenience, but he wants to start making changes. He wants to get better and move forward and he thinks maybe this a step. A small and most likely pointless step, but at least it’s a step.

There are as many dense patches on his journey as there are open spaces. At one point, he splashes loudly into a small stream that trickled silently in front of him. His left leg is now wet and covered in mud up to the middle of his shin, making his already haphazard stumbling that much worse. He’s figuring he’ll turn around soon, the setting sun long gone and the moon his only source of light in the patches where is manages to seep to the ground.

As Benjamin is nearing his end and preparing to return, feeling this step was indeed a pointless one, he collides into a broken sign covered in dirt and weeds. He shines his flashlight across the white painted wood and reads, in fading blue letters, Palmer’s Institute for Children. While the name sounds slightly familiar, it also sounds peculiar and he doesn’t think he’s actually heard of this place before. Looking up from the sign, he sees a large two story home, run down with chipping paint and boarded windows, before him. As he approaches the abandoned building, he sees three make-shift crosses sticking up from the ground, each about two feet tall. He looks closer and sees names carved in an unskilled manner, as though crafted by someone who wasn’t quite sure how to curve their letters or make straight indents.

Charlie. Madison. Ms White.

Ms White’s cross looks the oldest and most decayed. Charlie’s looks fresh, as though created recently. Benjamin runs his fingers across the names lightly to avoid obtaining any splinters.

He averts his attention to the house when a noise comes from inside, or he figures it’s from inside. He stands carefully and moves cautiously towards the entrance. The doorknob is silver and rusty and makes a significant squeaking when he turns it to the left. He knocks three times against the door as he opens it slowly, the hinges creaking with every inch.

“Hello?” The door is fully open now, “Is there anyone here?” Benjamin takes two steps into the entryway. To his left is a closed door as fatigued as the front door, to his right a large den with two beds, and in front of him is a set of extremely dangerous looking stairs. There are two missing completely. A ladder rests against the balcony at the top of the stairs, extending to the floor.

Benjamin calls out again, “Is anyone home?” He hopes not given the unsanitary condition.

Turning around, ready to leave and putting the noise up to the house settling deeper into the wooded mess of mud beneath the structure, he is met by two kids holding guns to his face.

“What do you want?” An older boy with long, blonde shaggy hair and a shotgun held firmly in his hands questions Benjamin. The girl beside him, only slightly younger but appearing just as foul and wild, grasps a smaller hand gun.

“Uh,” Benjamin trips over a matted rug as he takes a step back, fumbling as he regains his footing, “nothing. I just heard a noise and I was making sure there wasn’t someone hurt. I’m sorry. I don’t want anything. Except to leave? I want to leave. I’m sorry.” His words are as jumbled as his heart beat and he looks away from the boys blue eyes, hoping to seem feeble and as non-challenging as possible.

“How did you get here?” The two teenagers step into the building, closing the distance Benjamin has just put between them.

“I, uh, I walked? Stumbled actually. Very dense forest. I was just on a walk.” Making sure to keep his face to the floor, Benjamin moves only his eyes to see as much of the gun owners as possible. Their clothes are raggedy, holes dotting every few inches of fabric. Their skin is grimy, covered in mud he presumes. Their eyes, however, are alive and instinctive and taking him in slowly.

“I think you should go home now.” The boy’s voice is deep, fully developed and done with puberty. He speaks slowly, with an air of dominance.

Benjamin nods his head quickly, fast-walking through the gap the two created between their bodies. The cold awakens him more as he attempts to move swiftly and not trip over any twigs or large rocks. He is weary to feel completely safe until he pushes through the outer layer of trees, finally reaching the paved road by the golden streetlight.

He’s not sure if his pointless step turned out to be a step forwards or back.