The Lost

Benjamin collapses at the waist, the sweaty palms of his hands dig into his thighs as his racing breath swirls into the icy moonlit sky. He glances back to the forest, halting his breathing for five full seconds, and listens intently to the entirely new world behind him. Softly whistling breeze. Trees grazing their neighbors. No snapping twigs or sneaking footsteps.

Extending to his full five-nine stature, Benjamin pulls his beanie down to cover his throbbing red ears and takes a calm stride forward. He spends the entire walk back composing himself - leveling his panting, steadying his heartbeat, urging the weight back to it’s hollow home. By the time his house is in view, outside lights on and awaiting his arrival no doubt, the boy seems just as he had when he first left. Two cars sit dark and empty in the driveway, the temperature chilling them to the touch so efficiently their freezing steal radiates through the jacket stretched over his clammy hand.

The door creaks just as before, just as it has for months, and the grey cat meows from the corner of the entryway near the air vent blasting out warm air. Its head lifts as its shifty eyes follow Benjamin’s movements for mere seconds, gauging quickly whether there will be a petting session or not. There will not be. There never has been.

“Benjamin,” a woman of forty calls from the living room, the flickering light from the television casting blue hues into the hallway, “it’s a little late don’t you think?”

“Sorry,” he hollers back as he shuts off the outside lights. “I lost track of time.”

Benjamin steps onto the hardwood floor, his shoes making a small squeak as he walks to the couch to join his mother. Seinfeld plays quietly, his mother having lowered the volume considerably when she first heard him slink through the front door. Her hair hangs loosely by her ears, a kink or two from a day’s work having mussed the normally perfect bob. Her green eyes flash a mixture of worry and forgiveness when they meet his.

“Of course,” she smiles at him, patting her frail hand lightly on his knee, the pink polish is chipped on her ring finger and her pointer finger has a small break in the corner. “You should get to bed now then, need to be well rested for tomorrow.”

Midyear finals were approaching soon, and passing with exceptional marks is always expected within the Faulkner home. Benjamin forces a tired smile before retreating to his room. When thoughts of the home and the kids from the woods arise, he does his best to push them down to join the weight and hollowness.

Though once sleep sprinkles its sedating breath over him, his control and reality’s grip are lost, his thoughts run wild, scene after scene play out various situations - their fingers pull the triggers and barely miss him, they lose their guns and he manages to run, the younger girl places a scarcely perceptible kiss upon his cracked lips.

Soft Rock music of the 80’s, 90’s, and Today pulls him softly from slumber’s coaxing grasp. He lies quietly on his side, letting the dreamy fog of images fall from his eyes and mind. Benjamin pushes the white and blue striped comforter from his body and allows the cooler air of the room to wake him further. He’s out of the bed and ready for school with fifteen minutes to spare for a lackluster bowl of Mini-Wheats. The large pieces go down more harshly than normal, the heaviness refusing to slither into its empty resting place just yet.

A small folded note awaits his or Tommy’s viewing on the center of the table.

May be late tonight. Big case soon. Wish us luck!
-Mom + Dad

“What’s that?” Tommy inquires as he pulls a chair across the tiled floor, creating enough space to fall lazily onto the cushion that's supposed to soften the wicker seat.

“Mom,” Benjamin hands the note to Tommy.

“Oh,” Tommy mixes his word with a sigh. He looks at the note as he gathers Mini-Wheats onto his spoon and crowds his mouth with the bites. He’s not reading it, just looking at it. The edges and the angels of his mother’s harsh handwriting and the indent of each individual letter. “Maybe we’ll just order Chinese. I don’t really have time to cook tonight.”

Benjamin nods his head and the brothers finish their breakfast in silence. The note is cast to the side, forgotten after it flutters off the table due to a gust from the vent.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Benjamin announces as he carries his empty bowl to the empty stainless steel sink in the kitchen. Smudges and water spots line the sink’s walls and a noodle from last night’s meal is caught on the plastic flaps leading to the drainpipe and garbage disposal.

The bus is cold when Benjamin steps on, the only shield from the nature outside being the rolled up windows blocking the whistling draft. Being one of the last stops, Benjamin is always left to settle with a seat near the front by a girl in her Sophomore year. She tries to mask her knotted and frizzy yellow hair by containing it into a large bun on top of her head, though pieces always manage to hang free. Her face is littered with small acne scars and fresh bumps and her nose is too large for her narrow face. Her lips, however, are beautiful and plump, a soft pink color that transforms into a ravishing red during winter. Benjamin often wonders what they feel like, what they taste like.

“Have you ever heard of Palmer’s?” Benjamin looks only at her lips when he speaks to her.

“Palmer’s? I don‘t think so. What’s that?” Her voice is deep for a dainty girl of only fifteen. Or maybe she’s sixteen by now.

“I don’t know,” Benjamin’s reply seems detached as he looks forward. He feels the weird look she douses over him before she turns to follow the passing houses with her brown eyes.

The trip is silent. It’s been silent past the first two weeks when the two attempted to force awkward small talk. Now they’ve settled with silence as she stares out the fogging window and Benjamin stares at the torn green seat much too close in front of them. Brown plush peaks out of the gaping hole that stretches across half of the seat’s back; a sticky residue glosses in the sunlight around the gash where a patch had once been secured with glue. The patch didn’t even last a week.

As the bus’s brakes howl at their final destination, the students cram into the aisle and hurry down the three steep steps while bracing themselves for the awaiting air current. Small flurries whip across the sky, turning to small droplets of water once they settle on the grass or cement. Benjamin slouches and extends his arms deeper into his jacket pockets, his head the only part not protected by something.

He follows the massive herd through the glass doors of the bus loading station at the school. Warmth envelopes him three steps in, though he makes no moves to remove his hands from the pockets nor to allow the displeasure on his face to melt away. The halls may be in a constant physical state of chaos, but the sounds that bounce along the walls are only those of shuffling feet and swinging locker doors. A whisper may float from time to time, but they’re rare and almost ghostly. Talking in the halls is prohibited - for the safety of the students and faculty, to ensure immediate response will be available to anyone in need of it. A small boy had a choking fit one afternoon as he cured his munchies a few years ago. No one heard him until the number of screams from passer-bys outnumber the students gossiping. There are an equal amount of rumors that he died on the spot as there are that he was saved last minute by a frantic student. The latter is mostly passed on by the Health teacher as she tries to secure the importance of paying attention and knowing safety procedures. “Maybe one day, you can step up and be that hero.” So empowering.

Benjamin collapses into his desk for Homeroom as he releases his backpack to slink to the floor. He rests his head against the white-painted cinderblock wall while waiting for the bell to ring. Three minutes to go, and a boyish looking girl slides easily into the seat to his left. Her short black hair is cut short, though not a professional or sleek bob like his mothers, more like something he’d expect Tommy to cut himself. It’s short all around and tiny bangs are flat against her face covering half of forehead. Her skin is pale and only darkened by the millions of freckles lining her entire body. They’re a little overwhelming if he’s being honest. Her eyes are a distinct hazel that Benjamin thinks may be her only physically redeeming quality in his opinion.

Well, he says this, yet she’s constantly battling off clingy girls desiring her attention or drunken bisexuals seeking their first ‘real girl experience’.

This is Martha, Benjamin’s closest contact. He doesn’t want to say friend because he’s sure that’s not the right word for their relationship.

“Have you ever heard of a place called Palmer’s?” Benjamin asks, lulling his head around to look more directly at her, allowing his eyes to shift the rest of the way that his head can’t turn. Martha squeezes her lips together and crunches her face. “Like, a child institute or something," Benjamin adds on for minimal clarity.

Her face releases the tension as recognition flows in.

“You mean the orphanage that was shut down like ten years ago or something?” Martha’s father is part of the town’s Historian Committee and always passes on small facts to his daughter in hopes she’ll take an interest in the subject and finally give them common ground to relate on. She tells Benjamin almost daily how History will never quite be her ‘thing’ and that’s she’s more into the ‘modern features’ of life. Like porn. She really loves porn.

“I guess,” Benjamin leans forward with his words, more interested in the small girl now. “Do you know what happened to the kids that lived there?”

“Uh, no? I mean, I’d assume they were probably relocated or something. It’s not like the government could just leave them there,” Martha shrugs her shoulders and conforms her face into another weird mask.

“Okay,” Benjamin feels the words slide from the corner of his lips as he rolls his head back forward and wait’s the remaining seconds before the bell rings to start another day. He let’s the fact that he doesn’t have an appointment today heave his spirit through all his classes. He’s always present, but he’s never quite there. He stopped attending school for a while after it all happened, and he just couldn’t find a way to ever fully return.

Benjamin’s locker gets stuck as he’s trying to empty his arms of needless books and folders at then end of the day. He has to resort to finding a janitor to unlock it which results him missing the bus home. While the wheeled transportation is only a ten minute ride to his stop, the walk home is almost triple that, allowing plenty of time for thoughts to drift in and fester before leaving to make room for others.

His breaths are deep and controlled. Halfway home, the boy stops in front of a Dominos. Lunch was unsatisfactory at best, though an entire pizza to himself seems slightly ridiculous. He mulls over his options for approximately ten minutes before he swings the clear door open and approaches the counter.

“A large cheese pizza please,” Benjamin requests as he pulls a twenty from his wallet to place on the counter. As the greasy woman behind the counter is punching the computer keys with unnecessary strength, he speaks up, “Actually, can you make that two please? Thank you.”

He takes a seat at the chairs lining the windowed wall before she even has the register open. When she holds up his little change, he waves a hand that the dismal amount of money is hers. She’s not grateful.

The cardboard boxes are hot to the touch, and Benjamin hopes they won’t be cold by the time he arrives. The walk is shorter this time, however, since the sun is actually able to penetrate to the ground. He manages to only flop around twice, once due to a displaced tree root that he somehow overlooks as his eyes scan the leaf-debris littered ground.

The sign is just as rickety and the crosses entice the heaviness to stir harshly. He breathes the weight deeply into his lungs and back into the hollowness. He calls out as he walks closer to the rundown house, “Hello?” He stops at the bottom of the two steps leading to the small door. “Hello? Is there anyone here?” He doesn't go closer, allowing a small head start for himself should he need it.

The front door opens a small crack and a dirty face with brown eyes looks from within.

“Why are you back?” He voice is raspy and light and domineering. She will not be overtaken.

“I have pizza,” Benjamin raises the pizzas higher. She glances down at the boxes, then drops her eyes to his feet and rakes them slowly up to his face. The girl opens the door enough for her entire body to be visible, which Benjamin takes as a welcoming to the door. “They’re both cheese.”

The girl’s savage brown orbs move from the boxes clasped in Benjamin’s hands to his face. A small closed-mouth smile pulls tightly across her face. She pushes her scraggly brown hair behind her ears, then pulls it all to one side, then just pushes the whole mop of it behind her shoulders.

“What is it?” A deep voice questions, each word sounding closer than the other. The door is opened fully, the blonde haired leader standing tall in the doorway. His gaze falls on Benjamin and his jaw becomes set as his face drops into a scowl and his chest becomes a bit broader. Both bystanders land their full attention on his intense blue eyes.

“He brought pizzas. From-” The girl looks away from her partner to the Benjamin.

“Oh, uh, Dominos.” Benjamin angles the boxes enough for the two to read the red and blue logo plastered atop the lid.

“Dominos. You know, my favorite.” Her raspy voice loses its edge with the elder to her right. He takes in deep breath and releases it in a fashion that announces his disapproval of Benjamin and the pizzas and the entire situation. The left corner of his lips raise into a grimace as he moves away from the door.

“Come in,” the girl voices to Benjamin as she returns her gaze to him. Her hands are two shades darker than her face and her fingernails are caked to the brim with dirt. Benjamin doesn’t stop her when she grabs onto his jacket and tenderly tugs him into the crumbling home, though. “This way.”