Simplistic

Benjamin Holtry spent most of his time running. While serving as a paid intern for Hallmark's sales representative, he also was an unpaid errand-boy, running amok through the bustling streets of Chicago. He ran through every lousy, hipster-infested coffee shop and every goddamn doughnut place within a ten mile radius. He has done more cardio in the past three weeks than he ever did during his twelve year academic career and he’s not sure what that says about him. Maybe if he strived to be on the futból team or follow through on his gym membership, he wouldn’t be so out of shape when sprinting toward Debra’s Diner or The Most Delicious Doughnuts Around (which are definitely not the most delicious doughnuts around). Why is he running? Because he’s in a competitive internship at Hallmark Greeting Cards sales representative branch, and he needs that job.

Benjamin has become very impatient, very miserable, and very sweaty since he’s returned to Chicago. He used to live in a small town called Sedbergh in Cumbria, England. It’s home to a renowned education system and loaded with second-hand book shops. While rural and quiet is nice, never has it suited Benjamin’s taste. He’s always yearned for the city, a true city, where he can hear the musical across the street from his apartment window or hide in a wave of umbrellas and pedestrians. Yet, all Benjamin has experienced is overrated cafes, sugary bakeries, and piss-smelling public transportation.

As of right now, Benjamin is on break and eating his homemade lunch of a plain sandwich, plain potato chips, and plain water. For the moment, it’s all he really can afford. His “coworkers” are sitting across from him, arguing about American football and the mayor election this year. Benjamin tries to mind his own business, tries to be as invisible as possible, but inevitably fails when Steve, one of the coworkers, calls his name.

“Hey, Benji,” He pokes, making light of Benjamin’s hatred for that ungodly nickname, “say ‘piss-bucket’.”

Ah, another thing people seem to love; his accent. Benjamin has lived over fifteen years of his life in the North West of England, right on the border of Yorkshire, therefore an accent was inevitable. Benjamin, while not ashamed of his culture, completely detests when people tell him to say things just for shits and giggles, especially ridiculous phrases such as “piss-bucket”. He glared at them, irritated yet unnoticeable.

“Why?” He dared to ask through gritted teeth.

Steve chuckled, “Just say it.”

“Piss-bucket,” Benjamin spat, imagining he was throwing the insult directly onto his coworker’s greasy face. As per usual, the coworkers laughed and giggled like school girls, finding his speech the funniest goddamn thing in the world. Benjamin stifled a dry chuckle and gathered his things, throwing them in the trash and getting back to work. Most of Benjamin’s days at “work” are spent in the mailroom, sorting and organizing. People call it “gerbil work” and Benjamin can definitely agree to the description. He has yet to handle actual cliental, yet his boss, Mr. Fitz, continues to promise him he’ll get hands-on experience eventually.

Yeah, eventually.

After a boring and tedious session of organizing and sending out mail, Benjamin was done for the day. He left at seven, would run to catch the bus, and sit in an area with the least amount of putrid smells until he was home. Which, by the way, did not resemble a home under any circumstances. Benjamin had to finally learn how to handle money after his parents gave him a set amount to survive until he got a full-paying job. And with responsibility came a lot of fuck-ups, late night crying, and yelling of frustration. He cursed his parents for never teaching him the first thing about balancing check books or how to get a library card for that matter. But, of course, Benjamin has learned both those things since being here.

He entered the bus, ignored the scent of desperation and poor hygiene, and sat toward the back. He set his satchel on the seat beside him, leaned beside the chair, and closed his eyes. He figured a swift moment of closing his eyes wouldn’t matter. Besides, it never lasted a mere minute, for someone promptly tapped his shoulder and asked him to move his bag. He nodded, still drenched in sleep, and moved his things with eyes half-opened. The person sat themselves beside him, creating warmth which Benjamin appreciated.

“What’s your name?” A sudden voice asked.

Benjamin re-opened his eyes, wrinkled his brow, and turned to his left. The person sitting next to him was now staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer Benjamin wasn’t sure about. He pointed at himself in question, wondering if he was speaking to him or some other apparition that may be floating around. The boy nodded, almost as if saying “obviously”.

“Why?” Benjamin asked instinctively. He’s ridden this same bus over a fifty times, and never has anyone even bothered to say “excuse me” let alone ask his name. He was skeptical, to say the least.

The boy shrugged, “Just wanted to make small talk. These bus rides can get boring.”

Benjamin shook his head, “Yeah, no, don’t do that. Don’t—don’t do that.”

“Don’t make small talk?” The boy scoffed, a chuckle bubbling up his throat. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yeah, don’t,” He yawned, “don’t bother people, mate. They’re tired.”

“Mate? Where are you from?”

Benjamin yawned one more time, turned his body toward the window, and rested his head
against the glass pane. Closing his eyes, he swatted away the question with his hand; “Far away.”

“You sound British.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed. Stop talking, please.”

“Fine.”

There was about thirty seconds of silence, Benjamin counted, before the boy opened his mouth again. As soon as he heard him take a breath, Benjamin cringed and his whole body contorted.

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” He said.

Benjamin, without even thinking, blurted out, “That’s my father’s name.” Which, yes, it was, but the boy had no reason to know that. Benjamin questioned himself thoroughly later, but in the moment, he was too tired and sleepy to form a coherent thought.

“Oh,” Frankie sighed, “you shouldn’t have said that. Kind of a turn off.”

At this, Benjamin opened his eyes and began to turn his attention back to the boy, but he was already standing up and leaving. His stop was here and Benjamin’s eyes followed his silhouette until he was out of sight. Turn off? Benjamin didn’t get it, but his brain hurt if he thought about it too long. He decided to just nap his problems away.