S2/04. Old habits die hard

4.13 Ben VanderWaal

Summer 1998, SMU Clinic, San Myshuno

"I got a double shift, so I can't make it today," Ben said quickly, to get over it and to the construction site as fast as possible.

Dr. Brunswijk interrupted his slow, careful inspection of his patient's file and lift his gaze to stab his son with his sharp dagger-eyes.

"Again? Ebony will be so disappointed," he said dryly, and his look told Ben he'd not gonna let it happen.

'Ebony would probably be the only one,' Ben thought, but either way, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice. "My boss doesn't really accept dinner plans as an excuse, and particularly not on such a short notice. He'll kick me out."

This time for sure, since Ben had already pretty much exhausted all benevolence by cherry picking his shifts recently. He had to arrange them around Diana's work time so he could look after her on her ways to the hospital and back until that creepy stalker of hers finally got locked up. Often he had to start later, or leave earlier, too. Ironically, he was glad now that it was a tough, shit job not many would do, or he might've been kicked out already.

He had his fingers crossed that it'd be over tomorrow, and not only for Diana's sake.

"It was hard enough to find something that makes my ends meet."

"Let me remind you," Dr. Brunswijk eyed him over his gold-rimmed glasses and gave him his you-fucked-this-up-on-your-own-look, "that I am the one who makes your ends meet. Why don't you go break your other wrist too? I'm sure that would count as an excuse. You were foolish enough once, go and do it one more time."

"Wow, thanks dad, for covering my hospital bill, but why do you have to be such an ass about it?"

If Ben could've afford it, he'd rather taken care of it himself. But before that rather complex wrist fracture would grow into a permanent disability, making him say goodbye to his job – and many others – for good, he'd accepted his father's offer to pay for the surgery and aftercare. He knew he should consider himself lucky, even though it meant he'd never hear the end of it.

"Language!" Dr. Brunswijk snapped calmly, but sharply. "I thought your mother raised you better than that."

"Why, because you left me with her?"

Dr. Brunswijk just raised his eyebrows and stared at his son for a while, before he sighed and turned back to his patient file.

Of course he wouldn't respond on that. He never talked about his first wife, nor the time he'd acted as if his son didn't exist, but sometimes Ben couldn't help himself and bring it up.

"I didn't get an answer yet," Dr. Brunswijk remarked.

"I said it already. I can't come," Ben muttered.

"Hm." Dr. Brunswijk said, unimpressed. "Do you think Brookhaven takes deferred payments? You should call and ask them. Soon the month will be over, and next one's charge will be fully on you."

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't kept your side of the agreement for three weeks in a row now. Or is this your way of telling me that you are finally able to take care of all your matters, with that menial labor job of yours?" He said calmly, almost serene, knowing full well it wasn't the case.

Definitely not now.

"I had to work!" Ben had trouble to keep his voice low. He knew it'd just make things worse if he'd lose his composure now, but he hadn't expected his father to stoop so low and make someone else take the fall for his son not pleasing his wishes.

"How do you think I can recover from a full month of sick leave? I have to take every shift I can get!"

"Meritorious," Dr. Brunswijk remarked, but both his voice and face devoid of any kind of appreciation the word might suggest. "Now excuse me, I have work to do, too. I expect you at seven."

Ben inhaled, ready to counter, but then left it at that and the room without another word.

It was no use. 

The more he'd try to argue, the more his father would insist on this ridiculous weekly charade of a happy family. To Dr. Brunswijk, agreements and rules were sacred, no matter if they made sense, or were self-imposed. Their weekly dinner was one of them, a proposal that'd taken Ben by complete surprise when his father had called him about two years ago.

Dr. Brunswijk had left Ben when he was ten years old with his first wife, and since then hadn't made any effort to keep up their relationship.

Until someday his bad conscience kicked in, or whatever.

It became an awkward arrangement. Every Friday, Ben had dinner with his father in the same restaurant, where Dr. Brunswijk monologued his disappointment over his only son not having followed in his footsteps and become a physician like him. They were joined by the new Mrs. Brunswijk, who hated Ben's guts and didn't pass on a chance to pick on him, too, and his half-sister Ebony, the only sane person in this fucked up family. She was the only reason Ben participated in this sad excuse of making up for the years of neglect. Besides the free food and a financial agreement he couldn't refuse: His father would take over the expenses of Brookhaven retirement home instead of Ben, who had a very unsteady income back then.

It had improved since then, but one single blow – like his recent accident – kicked him back to the bottom. It was as if he never got a chance to get ahead.
Ben simply couldn't cover a full month of the retirement home's fees, not when he was behind on fucking everything, anyway.

Fuck.

Maybe Jack could help him out and trade shifts one more time.

Thankfully, Jack could; and thankfully, Ben's boss let him go with another warning, and so shortly before six in the evening, Ben arrived home for a quick refresh before having to attend his father's accursed show.

Yancey, Joey and Will were over, deeply engaged with Weston in a heated conversation. Meanwhile Deandre was bent over a stack of papers, doing taxes or trying to improve his business or whatever.

"If she'll just be here long enough, she'll forget him," Weston stated matter-of-factly.

Oh, wow.

They were still stuck on the same topic?

"I'm sure she won't need that long if she'll taste my dad's ramen. You failed with getting her sushi," Joey said, full of confidence. 

Huh? Why did he care, so suddenly? He could've barely caught a glimpse of her when he delivered the food and left the same minute.

"You weren't even there," Yancey shot. "Me she knows at least."

"Means she already knows too much about you," mocked him Will, "Besides, I am tellin' you, she gave me a certain look yesterday." He waggled his eyebrows.

And since when did Will care? Last night, with his girlfriend Olivia sitting right next to him, he didn't give a shit about her. Or at least, pretended.

"Of pity, maybe" Ben snarked, half jokingly, half annoyed, and flopped down on the couch.

Long after yesterday's dinner at Naiah's was over, Mae's older sister had been the center of all attention. When Ben'd returned from bringing Diana to work late at night, many of his friends were still over, discussing and dissecting every tiny detail about her.

Instead of cooling down, the Linda madness went rampant; and as if that wasn't enough, it'd evolved into a silly competition who would land that hot, brilliant scientist chick, too.

Obviously, it was just fun and jokes, because realistically speaking? No one.

Even if she didn't have that supposedly equally hot, brilliant astronaut boyfriend already.

"Sure that you don't confuse me with yourself, dirty chopsticks?" Will shot back with a wide grin. 

Ben rolled his eyes, but then he had to laugh, too. They'd probably stand around his grave and still make fun of that. 

And then he'd almost spilled that she – to his surprise, too – had tried his coffee. With her own lid, fine, but not her own cup, after all. It was actually cute, how positively surprised she'd been over an ordinary hazelnut latte. And he'd never guessed someone like her had a sweet tooth.

On second thought, though?

Nah.

He didn't want to pour more oil into the already batshit crazy fire over her.

It might've been funny at first, but it'd become tiresome.

"Come on. She's probably wiping her shoes after she had to stoop as low and walk on the same floor as any of us."

Instantly, the smiles of his friend's faces vanished, and they exchanged confused glances.

As if they hadn't noticed how high up the horse was that she rode.

Yeah, she was polite and friendly enough, but also distant, and fairly dismissive. As if they, the common folk, were just wasting her precious time.

Okay, fine, with looks and brains like that, it was probably a given to have certain expectations.

Undeniably, she did play in a different league.

Far above theirs.

Ben's friends stared at him, and something like concern mixed into their confusion.

Or maybe he just took everything a bit too seriously today. It'd been a hard day, but that didn't mean he had to sweat over hot air. It was just fun and games. High time to slow down, lighten up a bit.

"If you make it big as a shoeshine boy, then she might take a look at you," he jabbed at Will, and his friends broke out in a jeering laughter.

"Bad day at work?" Deandre got up and took a few things from the cabinet behind him. He seemed to be the only one who was completely immune to the Linda bug. It was relieving, to still have one sane person around.

"Nah. I'm just so. Fucking. Broke, and it doesn't seem it'll ever get better," Ben sighed and leaned against the couch's backrest.

"Tell me something new." Deandre grinded the leaves with a ritual-like precision, before he accurately stacked them inside the paper, which he rolled it into a perfectly shaped cone.

He reached it then to Ben, together with a lighter.

"The new breed," he proclaimed, not without a trace of pride in his voice. "Test it, and tell me if it's worth the effort."

"God, I'd be dead without you guys," Ben mumbled with the blunt between his lips and lit it up. They were always there when he needed them.

"Hmm... delicious," he stated, after sitting back at the couch.

Deandre smirked, content over his success.

And potent it was, too. Already the second draw brought in the levity, blurred the noise in the room and eased the tension. Who cared about money, hot (really hot) girls and shit fathers?

Not Ben, not now.

Today, it was only the dinner left to survive, and tomorrow was another day when he could deal with problems.

He closed his eyes, floating on the wave of ease that spread throughout him.

Until Weston's voice kicked him back into the presence. "It's for you," he reached him the phone receiver to exchange it for the blunt.

Ben hadn't even noticed that it rang.

How much time had passed??

Quickly, he checked the clock on the wall; being late was not an option.

Surprisingly it hadn't been more than a minute; he still had enough time to rest and shower before he needed to go.

"Who is it? If it's Brookhaven, I'll call them back tomorrow."

Weston shook his head. "Nope. It's Alexa. She was here too, earlier, and left this for you." He pointed at a thicker envelope on the couch table.

That was a surprise. She hadn't called on him in a while now, and Ben thought she'd finally given up.

What was she up to now?

"Did you get the package?" she asked. No greeting, no name. Typical for her.

"Yeah, what's with it?"

"Listen to it. They saw you and they want you in."

Okay, she hadn't given up. There it was, another promising band that he absolutely should join. Which would totally make it big.

"I didn't audition."

"I auditioned you. I showed them the record from your Averfest feature, and they like you. Listen – I know 'Menaces' didn't do it for you, but you got talent. It'd be a waste to throw it away."

Same old speech as always. Ben didn't know why she kept insisting he should return to play. He never was interested in a professional music career in the first place.

'Menaces' was just fun and games, jamming with his then friends in a back alley garage. He'd didn't care much for musical expression, but playing drums with them was fun. It helped to forget, soothe the pain, carry on; like a challenging basketball match or running a marathon until your lungs burned.

He ended up practicing a lot, with or without the others.

Then somehow, someone knew someone who knew someone, and before he knew, they'd signed a contract with a music label.

Maybe that was what'd killed them, when everything was suddenly too serious, the stakes too high. The band didn't even last through their first tour. They ended up clashing on minor things and it was a miracle no one murdered the other. Once back in San Myshuno, they were over, jobless, and totally broke; and never spoke a word to each other again.

Needless to say, Ben didn't need to repeat the experience.

But somehow Alexa, who was their manager back then, insisted what he did on the drumkit was exceptional, and kept nagging him to join one band or another.

Probably because there weren't many drummers. Everyone wanted to sing, or at least play the guitar, be in the spotlights.

"Bad timing," he said, "I've got my ass full with work." 

"You blockhead!" Alexa groaned. And then a little softer, though not less insisting, "this time, it's not just some amateurs looking to complete their set up, okay? The band's in business for over ten years, and just signed a deal with a Sony subsidiary. Do you know what it means that they want you in? Go and listen to the fuckin' tape, at least!"

It clicked and the line was dead.

Ben sighed.

He didn't have the time to fuck around with shallow dreams of stardom when he had to earn money.

He eyed the envelope on the table that was addressed to him.

Professionals, hm?

How much revenue did the band make, being 'professional'? Could they live from it? Take care of their loved ones? 'Menaces' could barely cover the costs of their tour, but then they were anything but 'professional'.

He put the tape into the Stereo.

The music was powerful, but not because of the volume, amount of noise, nor speed.

He could feel its pulse in his body.

Some sick vocals, too. 

"Did Alexa send you a new band?" Weston asked.

"Yep."

"Their drummer sucks," Yancey remarked. "She's right, you should replace him." 

Ben laughed. It was always the go-to comment people made whenever they listened together to an artist for the first time. True or not, it didn't matter; it was just their way of supporting him, even though none of his friends had ever heard him play.

"Otherwise, not bad. Sounds familiar, kinda," Will pondered.

They did. Ben checked the label on the cassette box. The name didn't tell him anything, though.

He leaned back, taking another drag of the blunt that'd found its way back to him. The beat was catching. Unwittingly, he found himself tapping the rhythm with his fingers and soon his foot, too. Yeah, they were good.

And not only because they knew how to mix for a record.

Alexa wasn't wrong, they were on a different level than the offers he'd gotten so far.

When the second, slower song started, Will snapped his fingers. "That's it!" He exclaimed. "This was quite far up in the indie charts last summer, of course I know the band. The first song was better, though."

In that case, Ben might've heard them in the record store Mikoto worked for, too, that's why it sounded familiar.

"Eh, seriously?" Joey exclaimed, visibly starstruck.

"Will you go to their audition?" Yancey asked Ben, no less impressed.

Ben shrugged. "Alexa's shown them already a record of my old band."

He'd caused an outbreak of outcries.

"Wait – so that means they are auditioning to you?"

"Woah, dude!"

"How sick are you?!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Ben felt the heat rise in his cheeks and rushed to calm them down. "I haven't played in over a year. It's not as if I can just come over and jump right back in. Not at that level, that's impossible!"

"Dude! You can't miss out on this one!" Weston exclaimed in disbelief. "They were in the charts, okay?!"

"Yeah, it's high time to practice again," even Deandre chimed in now. He'd already brought the phone receiver.

"Hello? Ben, is that you?" Alexa's voice came out of the speaker.

That fucker had already called back the last connected number!

Fine, whatever. 

Not that he seriously could join a band on that level. Alexa'd probably shown them the tape from '95, and they'd expect much more of him than he was capable of today.

But maybe he could find some time and practice again here and there, at least. If Alexa'd let him use the studio kit, he didn't even own one anymore.

He actually missed playing drums.

And this song here? It went into his body, itched in his fingers.

Starting right with that part there – He wanted to play it –  but it deserved a bit more spice than that guy gave – 

"Uhm... Alexa? Do you think you can get me a free minute in the studio?"

"Ha! Didn't I tell you they're great? I'll call-"

"No fucking way, you absolutely can not call anyone! But I wouldn't mind getting back into-"

"Yes Alexa, you absolutely have to call them," Yancey yelled, interrupting Ben.

"Yeah, tell them that he's busy now, but he'll join," Weston added, "Ben needs to practice first, buy him some time, okay?"

Alexa laughed, and Ben also had to, shaking his head. "I'm not joining any band!" he said, but much less firm than he intended. "I just want to play again."

"Yeah, yeah, got it!" Alexa still laughed, "How about Sunday morning? Don't tell me you're carrying steel beams around on a Sunday, too."

He didn't.