Chapter 1

Ben Chase

I've been sitting at this bar for about 3 hours now and I still have no idea of what I was going to do. I hoped that a couple of stiff drinks would give me some wisdom but all it had done was give me a headache, and when I closed my eyes I could still see the scene that sent me from the house: her on her knees with him pumping his cock into her from behind. I had run from the house, got into my car and drove like a madman for two days, stopping and sleeping in my car when I was tired, eating crap from the gas stations where I stopped for gas, then driving some more until I finally ran out of steam, slowing when I came to this place, wherever in the hell it was.

It was early in the morning but I needed a place to crash so I just drove through town until I saw this bar with it's flashing neon lights telling me it was a 'traveler's oasis'. I decided that if I could get seriously drunk the pain would go away, but I was a shitty drinker: always had been. I think that was my grandmother's fault. She used to take a switch to me when she caught me drinking beer with the other kids. But shit, that was almost 20 years ago.

I was deliberating on whether to order another shot with a chaser or find a quiet room where I could end it all when an older gentleman slipped onto the stool next to me and quietly asked if he could buy me a drink. Well, the first thing I did was give him the eagle eye to be sure he knew I wasn't one of those fancy boys. He saw the look and just smiled.

Bill Austin

As was usual for me, I had my first beer at just past 10:00 in the morning. I had been keeping to this routine three times a week for the past year, ever since Mary, my wife, died. I don't know why I come here. I never get drunk. Matter of fact, I've never been drunk in my life. I just like it here and I can watch some of the most interesting people this way. I don't have to be responsible for them now so I can just watch and imagine their problems and their lives without having to think of how to help them.

For example, there was only one other man in the bar that time of morning and he was sitting at the bar drinking straight whiskey with beer chasers, a sure sign of a man with a big time problem. I had been watching him since he came in. He truly looked lost and in some kind of pain. Probably a woman, most likely. That was the most common affliction that hit most men of his age. But for some reason, this particular man touched something in me and I felt the vague stirring of interest. That in itself was interesting since I had stopped giving a damn about much of anything since Mary went away. On a whim, I moved to the stool next to him and offered to buy him a drink. I wanted to hear his voice and maybe get him talking.

I guess I was staring since the man noticed my gaze and took it wrong. It appeared he thought I was gay. Damn! That was a real hoot! I thought I had better set him straight.

"Rest easy boy. I've been sittin right over there in that booth and noticed you seem to be a man with a big problem. I've got nothing but time on my hands now that I'm retired and widowed. Just wanted to buy you a drink and ask if you wanted a friendly ear."

Ben Chase

I gave him the once over and relaxed. He seemed to be just what he said he was. At least, I was willing to take a free drink and trust that he was old enough that I could flatten him if he made a pass. And anyway, I did want to talk.

"Wouldn't mind a drink and a friendly ear. Sure you want to hear my sad tale of woe?"

"I've got nothing better to do and I hate drinking alone. Let's go to my booth where it's quieter. I hate to shout."

Well, since we were the only two people in the bar at that particular time, I didn't plan on doing much shouting since it was so quiet you could hear the clock behind the bar ticking. But what the hell, I'd humor the old shit.

We went back to his booth and I sat across from him with a double shot and a Bud chaser. I put both in front of me and looked at the old dude.

"My name's Ben Chase. I'm from Chester, Pa, a couple of days from here. And by the way, where in hell am I?"

He just laughed and told me.

"Well Ben, you happen to find yourself in a nice place called Dayton, Indiana. Seems like you just followed I-70 right here. Glad to meet you Ben. I'm Bill Austin and I live just a block from here. Lived there all my life. My wife Alice died about a year ago and left me with a broken heart and a lot of wonderful memories. But, enough about me. What's your story?"

Fair enough. I wanted to talk and Bill seemed to be more than willing to let me tell him chapter and verse if I so wanted. Well, I did. I had to tell someone.

"First Bill, I have to give you some background on why I'm here. If I just told you I found out that my wife cheated on me, that wouldn't be such a big deal and you'd think I was some kind of wimp, running away like I did but there's more to it than that. I'll just start and you just sort of jump in if I say something you don't understand. OK?"

"Sounds good to me. You just tell it in your own way and with your own words. I'll just try to let you tell it without interruptin."

So, a took the double and downed it in one quick gulp and followed it with a swallow of Bud and began my story.

I was raised in a loving home by my father and mother. We lived in Weirton, West Virginia and my daddy, Howard Chase worked in the steel mill there. He worked in the rolling mill and he was on shift work as a shift supervisor. Made good money for the time and was always dependable and did a job for his pay. He had learned self discipline in the county system, growing up as an orphan. He didn't know how he got there and no one seemed to have any information for him about his natural parents. But since he went into the system late, being almost 7 at the time, he was never adopted. He stayed in the system till he was 18 and then they let him out with $20 and a cardboard suitcase with everything he owned.

He found a job in the steel mills around there and he worked as many shifts as he could. Once he had been there for 90 days, he joined the union and became a full fledged mill worker. He made good money for the times and got himself a car and found an apartment that he could rent. He continued to work and bid on all the jobs that were a higher level than he had at the time. Shift work didn't bother him so he often got a good job because no one else wanted it on the off shifts. Things seemed to be good.

My daddy met my mother, Pauline, on the job and they dated for two years before he finally proposed to her. They were married and daddy used some of his savings to buy them a small two bedroom home away from the smoke of the mill and sort of out a ways. Mom loved the place and always seemed to be content with what they had. I remember her telling me as I was growing up that it was a home that I could be proud of. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Mom and dad waited for a couple of years before having me. I was born three years after they were married and mom was able to take off work when she was about 6 months along. She spent the time getting the second bedroom cleared out and fixed up for my arrival. She was happy and so was daddy. At least that's what grandma told me later. I just remember the ceiling of that room when I was old enough to see things. It was sky blue with little while clouds painted on. There was a light covered by a globe that made it look like the sun. I remember that ceiling all the time. I loved that ceiling. It made me feel safe and secure. Still does when I think about it.

Anyway, I was raised in that house. Mom stayed home with me for the first 5 years of my life. I remember her pretty well. She had pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. She was small, I remember that. She carried me on her hip most of the time and she was always taking me places: the grocery store, shopping, church, and sometimes to the park where they had swings and sea-saws and sand boxes. I loved the sliding board when she would wait at the bottom for me to slide down to her waiting arms.

When I started school, mom decided to go back to work. I think daddy asked her to stay home but she wanted to get out of the house and do something. She finally took a part time job in a doctor's office nearby. She walked to work so it had to be close. But even with her working, she was home every day when I got out of school and she was always part of our dinner in the evenings. We made it a point to get together at dinner, one of her rules. Even as I grew older and became involved in sports, activities with other kids and things that all kids do, I knew that I had to be home for dinner.

When I was 8, I came home one evening for dinner and found mom and dad just sitting at the kitchen table. I looked around but didn't see dinner ready. When I asked mom what was wrong, she just looked at me with tears in her eyes and told me that she hadn't been able to fix dinner that night. She got up and fixed dad and me something to eat but she didn't sit down with us. Instead, she went off to bed and didn't come back that evening. When I asked dad what was wrong, he wouldn't tell me anything. He just said that it was grownup things, but I remember he was crying too.

"Say, could we get some coffee over here? Telling this story is hard enough. I don't need to be drunk to tell it any better."

"Go ahead with your story. I'll get the waiter over here with some of that swill they call coffee. Go ahead. This is a damn good story."

All that week, things were different around the house. Mom and dad hardly spoke to each other and our dinners were quiet and strained affairs. I remember now that it was clear that dad was angry at mom and mom was trying very hard to talk to dad but he refused to answer her most of the time. I hated it but I was too young to understand what was happening. I never did know until much later when grandma Pearl told me. All I knew at the time was that mom was always crying and dad was working more and more at the mill. After a few weeks, dad stopped coming home for dinner and it was just mom and me. She was so quiet that I was afraid she was getting sick but when I asked her, she just said that she was sad. She tried to be strong for me but she wasn't able to fool me. Nothing much changed for us for the next few weeks but I saw my dad get more and more quiet and mom got more and more sad. I didn't understand but I knew it was bad. I knew something was seriously wrong when dad began sleeping in the little room we had just off the entryway. It wasn't much bigger than a closet but mom always referred to it as our parlor. We never used it and dad always intended to open it up and make the living room bigger. Now, he set up a cot in there and began sleeping there.

I came home from school one afternoon to find some policemen at the house. I ran inside to see what was wrong but grandma was there and she grabbed me as I tried to get past her to find my mom. She held me tight and wouldn't let me go. I started to cry and twist to get loose but she finally made me stop and face her. I stopped struggling and asked her what was wrong.

"Grandma, what's wrong? Where's mommy and daddy? Is something wrong with mommy?"

"No boy. Your mother's fine. It's your daddy. He's had a terrible accident. He's gone boy. He's gone and he's not coming back."

"No! No, that's not true. My dad wouldn't go away without me. It's not true."

Grandma held me tight against her bosom and rocked me over and over till I calmed down. She finally let me loose and took me in to see my mother. She was sitting in the living room, her arms clamped around her knees and her head down so that I could only see the top of her head. She was very still and just swaying forward and back, forward and back. I ran to her and tried to put my arms around her but she hardly recognized me. I called her but she didn't answer. The policemen were walking through the house and poking into everything but mom didn't say anything to stop them. I was getting scared but grandma came and got me and pulled me away. She took me back to the kitchen and made me sit down. I wanted to get up and run to the parlor where dad was sleeping but the police had the hallway blocked and anyway, grandma wouldn't let me go.

It must have been hours that the police were there and mom was in the living room talking to them. I couldn't hear them but I didn't care. All I wanted was for them to leave our house and have her tell me about dad. What happened and why did he have to go away? What kind of accident did he have? What happened? I was panicked and afraid and my heart was broken. I wanted to cry but I couldn't, since I didn't know what I was crying for.

It was three days later when mom came to grandma's house to pick me up. I had gone home with grandma that day and she kept me with her. I didn't even go to school for those three days and I knew then that something serious had happened. I never got to stay home from school. But when mom came to the house, she seemed to be better and she even smiled at me when I ran to her. She held me in her arms and pressed her cheek against my hair and just held me. I clung to her as well. She took me in to see grandma and told her that it was time I came home. Grandma just shook her head in agreement and we went back to our house.

The first thing I noticed was that dad wasn't there. His jacket was not on the hook and his lunchbox was gone. His work shoes were not in the entranceway where he kept them and there was no change of clothes on the hook for when he came home. I walked down to the parlor and looked for his cot and stuff but nothing was there. I knew then that dad was gone. I asked mom about it but all she said was that dad had gone to a better place and that I should keep him in my prayers. She wouldn't say more then. But it was clear after that dad was gone for good.

Remember I was 8 at the time and I had no idea of what happened but I found out less than a year later when one of my friends at school spilled the beans. He told me that my dad had killed himself one night at home. He said that dad had taken his shotgun and blown his head clean off right in the bathroom of our house. He said that my mother had found him and called the police. That was the day I came home from school to find all the cops there. That's what happened then.

When I asked my mom that night, she didn't say anything for a while but finally took both my hands in hers and told me the truth. It was true that dad had killed himself. She told me as little about it as possible but she said that it was true and that she had come home to find him there. She was sorry that it took her so long to tell me but she wanted to be sure she had the right words for me. She wanted me to know that he was a very good man but that things had become too much for him to handle and he thought that this was the only way he could deal with it. I told her that the minister at church always told us it was a sin to kill yourself but mom got angry and said that dad would be forgiven. He was a good man and he had done what he thought was the only way for him.

From that day on, mom was always at home with me. She didn't go back to work and she stayed in the house almost all the time. I never saw her go out except to get groceries or to take me to places I needed to go. She quit the church and her job and she never invited people over to the house anymore. She was quiet and withdrawn but she was never cross with me. She made sure that I did my school work and that I was always prepared for my tests and such. But I noticed that she was becoming more and more sad as the days went by. It had been almost a year since dad died when she told me she wanted me to stay with grandma for a while. She said that she had something to take care of and that I would be OK with her. I didn't want to go but I finally had no choice. Grandma picked me up on a Friday night and I stayed with her that weekend.

Monday I expected mom to pick me up for school but she never came. When I asked grandma, she said she would take me home instead and we would see what mom was up to. We finished breakfast and I helped her clean the table so that we could go. We drove home and grandma pulled into the drive. I jumped out before she could get the car stopped and ran into the house. I smelled something funny as soon as I opened the door but I didn't recognize the smell. I called for mom but I got no answer. I ran down the hall to her room and looked in. She was on the bed, I thought asleep. But when I tried to wake her, she didn't stir. I reached over to grab her arm and jerked my hand back when I felt how cold she was. I moved closer to her face and saw immediately that she was very pale and cold. She was dead! I then saw the blood on the floor and on the bed. She had slit her wrists and bled to death. I remember screaming for grandma and then nothing else.

It was almost a week before I was well enough to go home with grandma. The doctors said that I suffered a traumatic episode whatever that was. I was a kid and I found my mother dead. What the hell do you call that and why was everyone surprised that I zoned out for awhile? Well, I did. But afterwards, I went home with grandma and thought about my parents as little as I could until I had pretty much put them in the back of my mind. I was on my own. They both left me and didn't care about me. They just went away. Anyway, grandma was a real pusher and she made sure I had little free time to brood or mope around. She raised me from then on and I pretty much turned out OK.

On my 18th birthday, grandma bought me an old car that she told me I could fix up and drive around. I told her it was the best present in the whole world. She let me fuss with it until late that night before calling me in. After I had washed up and come down to watch TV until bed time, grandma told me she had something else for me. I perked up right away, expecting another gift, but instead, she handed me a letter.

"That is a letter from your mother, boy. She left it when she did away with herself. It's addressed to you. Said to give it to you on your 18th birthday. That's today. I wasn't sure whether to give it to you or not, but it was her wish so I'm giving it to you."