A Short Story By Keith C. Milne
“Oh man! What the . . . ? Ben! Hey, Ben!” Louis, the postman, could tell something wasn’t right with Ben. He half ran, half waddled down the dock towards him. Once he got close, he had trouble slowing down, his large girth adding considerable velocity to his forward motion. He finally managed to come to a stop alarmingly close to Ben. Ben wasn’t moving, and Louis couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not, so he decided to give Ben a little shake by quickly, and firmly, poking his upper arm while continually shouting Ben’s name.
Ben came to life as fast as someone flicking a light switch. “Hey man, leave me be . . . who are you?!” He stood up fast, then realized who he was looking at. “Geez Louis, you had me thinking I was about to be robbed, thunked on the head, and thrown in the marina.” His gravel voice always sounded so indignant and commanding.
Louis looked annoyed and a little angry too, but lightened up a little as he explained, “I was coming down the dock and saw you bent over and not moving. I called your name and you didn’t move or answer or anything, so I ran to see if you needed any help or CPR or something. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, Ben.”
“Oh geez Louis. We’re fine and I appreciate your concern. I really do, and thank you for coming to my rescue, but I’m fine. Really. I went out early this morning and didn’t have any coffee. When I got back, I ate a huge meal over at McGiddy’s tavern, and washed it all down with a nice, big, dark pint. I came over here and decided to have a seat in the nice sunshine before going back aboard Bessie. Well, between me being old, not getting enough sleep, having no caffeine, eating a big meal, drinking alcohol, and then sitting in the nice warm sunlight, well, who am I to say no to the wave of fatigue that suddenly swept over me as I sat here. How bout we start over now that we’re face to face and still alive?” Ben smiled tightly, then cracked up laughing for a few seconds.
Louis smiled, “Sure thing, Ben. Glad you’re okay. Phew, that was a close one. Got my blood pressure sky high. It felt for a moment there like I was having an out of body experience, then it settled down. Anyway, here’s your package.”
Louis handed Ben a small box wrapped in brown paper addressed to his son Andrew Scot with ℅ Benjamin Scot on the second line. Across the bottom of the package it said for Andrew Scot Only on both the front and the back. That was strange.
“Thank you again, Louis. You have yourself a great rest of your day. I’ll see you soon.”
“Glad you’re well Ben, and glad to have been of service to you. I know you’d do the same for me. Can’t have a great community to live in without everyone helping their friends and neighbors!” Ben smiled, remembering that Bessie often used to say something similar, by being good friends and better neighbors.
“I couldn’t agree more! My wife used to say something similar. She often said we have to be good friends and better neighbors.”
“Oh, I like that one!” Louis said with a wide smile before turning to leave.
Feeling a little off center, Ben held tightly onto the rail of the walkway that lead down to his 40’ fishing vessel he named Bessie. He waved again, and watched Louis finish waddling his way down the the long floating dock towards his mail truck like a fast walking emperor penguin.
Ben and Bessie were married for 38 fast, wonderful years. Bessie passed away 4 years ago, and Ben missed her terribly. Everything reminded him of her, or of both of them together, or of their family time together while raising their two kids, Andrew and Celia.
Not quite ready to go into the cabin, he started thinking back to when he was young and in crazy love with his then wife to be. “Ben and Bessie. That has a bit of a ring to it. Hmmm . . .,” he pictured himself at their formal wedding. Having just exchanged vows with Bessie, his best man promptly announced their marriage to all who had gathered for their ceremony,
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am happy to present Mr. Benjamin Morse Scot and Mrs. Bessie Grace Scot, Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Scot.” and everyone clapped as he and Bessie took that walk after exchanging vows with Ben, back down the aisle towards the front of the church. Everyone turned towards them as they walked by. It was fun for both of them, happy, smiling, on top of the world, and people all around them on both sides were celebrating the two newlyweds, while they cruised the aisle together, smiling back and nodding thank you back at everyone.
Reliving this again, Ben started crying and laughing at the same time from a mixture of the joy of the memory, the pain of Bessie’s loss, and his steadily deepening loneliness, coupled with feelings about his own aging and pending demise.
The more Ben laughed, the more laughter seemed to come out. He laughed so hard his eyes grew hazy with tears. He had a hard time seeing, and began to stumble around on the deck laughing almost to the point of exhaling to the point of not being able to inhale afterwards, and then he started coughing like crazy afterwards. He kept replaying that announcement in his head, each time he did it renewed his laughter all over again, and then he almost fell off the edge of Bessie.
Ben was still laughing and stumbling along at a good rate of speed with happy tears in his eyes, when his left boot suddenly hit the cabinet at the aft end of the deck ejecting him straight forward at an odd angle. He landed over the aft end of the boat. Luckily, at the last second, he managed to grab one of the rail cleats and stop himself from going completely over board.
Ben was left lying on the edge of the boat face down over the icy, 51 degree water, with only the thin top rail under his waistline, with his left hand holding onto one of the rail cleats with all the strength he had. Ben finally took a deep breath, then pulled hard with his left arm while at the same time swinging his left leg over the rail, giving him the momentum needed to roll back into the boat.
Once he managed to calm down, despite having had such a close call, he started chuckling a little again replaying what had just happened in his mind, but this time he was careful not to get caught in the laughter loop again. He reflected less on what had just happened and more on the laughter. He really liked the feeling of a belly laugh, and who doesn’t? It was the first one he’d had in years. Laughing hard is amazing, even if it did almost cost me serious injury or death, Ben thought.
Ben stood at the top of the dock ramp leading down to Bessie, taking in the bay, and the oncoming evening. He was born not too far from here, grew up here, married someone from here, worked on the water here his entire life, and had seen what seemed like a million beautiful, colorful endings to other days. Over time, fishing and lobstering, he made enough money to buy the land and the house his grandfather built from his father’s estate after he passed away. Shortly after that, he and Bessie moved in and, over time, improved the place to the point where someone who left when it was still the original house wouldn’t recognize the house that is there now. Ben just kept adding on to the original house. Now, they had 5600 square feet, a huge new entry, a dining room big enough for 50 guests, 9 bedrooms, 12 bathrooms, and a parlor that doubles as a dance floor. A barn, a four-bay garage, and lots of elaborately landscaped gardens in various places over the remaining 20 acres between their nearest neighbors and the water where the house sat.
Ben remembered all the blisters and calluses, the two broken toes, and the one broken finger, and that was all during the first big expansion. He had no idea then, that there would be four more over the next twenty years. Ben was most proud of his family, followed by his success as a fisherman/lobsterman. But the cherry on top of it all, was what he managed to do with that house. He sometimes still can’t believe it when he sees it in total. Remembering all the phases is simple, but taking in the final result takes adjustment of one’s ideas about what is possible in creative building.
The last few groups of seagulls were flying off into the rapidly setting sun. The sandpipers were sticking around for awhile to see what might pop up for dinner. They cruised the coastline in large groups, like a squadron of military fighter jets, low and quiet, scanning the shoreline below for anything edible, finally landing en mass, and rapidly walking in all directions while poking the wet sand with their long stick-like beaks.
Ben watched them fly, admiring the precision, the flawless execution of survival instinct evolving into communal cooperation in order to increase the odds that all the sandpipers would survive, not just the more adept ones. They fly and hunt together as a group, and the whole group, as well as the babies back home who will get some of what is eaten in a regurgitated form, will benefit from their unification around gathering food, while also lessoning their chances of becoming prey because of their large number.
The onshore winds were beginning to pick up and the sun was getting low in the western sky, leaving behind a swirled collage of pink, orange, purple, blue, and gray in a three dimensional pattern from all the clouds residing at different altitudes reflecting different colors.
Ben couldn’t believe he was already 68, but had no thoughts of ‘retiring.’ He loved being out on the water. Indeed, Ben was an ‘old salt,’ as he was sometimes called. He was unassuming at just under six feet tall, had blue-gray eyes that seemed to mirror the color of the water when out to sea, a full red, but now mostly white beard and the same for a head of hair, with a face and neck equally leathered by the sun and salt air.
Being a lobsterman, Ben stuck to basics, always wearing some variation of his trademark black watch cap, long sleeved flannel shirt, a thick black leather belt, rugged jeans worn at the knees, and steel toed work boots or tall rain boots. He was stocky and stronger than many half his age. When he was pulling his traps up, he wore heavy, wool-lined, suede gloves, and always kept 6-8 pairs handy. Ben was kind, but stern, didn’t have too much to say most of the time, and didn’t mince words when he did have something to say.
Ben sometimes imagined doing something less physically challenging, but he hated sitting at his own desk, even during tax time and even on a stormy day with nothing else to do. He certainly couldn’t imagine having to dress up, drive somewhere, sit at a desk all day shuffling papers and attending meetings. Pure torture for Ben.
Here, on Casco Bay, off the coast of Maine, Ben had seen whale pods, Japanese poachers, pirates, treasure hunters, refugees, survivors of ship wrecks, scuba divers, and chartered fishing boats. Everyday was a new adventure out on the water. Ben enjoyed having the solitude and time alone, something most people never know. Many in the modern world end up having to medicate themselves in order to offset the effects of all the stimulus of the world. Not Ben.
When Ben needs any kind of break from life, he launches Bessie back out into Casco Bay. Leaving the man-made world behind, and cruising out across the vast liquid tundra of water teeming with marine life is the best drug Ben has ever been exposed to. Every single time, the calming effects on both his mind and body from being out on the water take effect very quickly. The utter solitude that surrounds him feels like a pair of warm hands gently embracing him.
Once or twice over the years, Ben rolled up his sleeves on unusually hot days, letting anyone nearby get a glimpse of his one and only tattoo. He had it done three weeks after getting married. Right in the middle of his right arm, in a big, beautiful, cursive, font,
Ben estimated that he had already pulled up nearly one hundred pots today, he guesstimated that he had about fifty more to go. Right now, he was tired not only from all the hard work, but also from not getting enough sleep, not having adequate caffeine, and that stupid pint at lunch.
He was starting to get one of those caffeine headaches, and felt achy and sore. “Ah, heck with it!, where’s the whiskey?” he asked no one in particular. Looking forward to his drink, Ben picked up his pace a little going down the ramp thinking, I’ll get the rest of those pots tomorrow. I’m not going back out today!
Ben found his way down to the galley and opened the cabinet where he always kept the Jameson. He grabbed a drink glass, sat down, poured himself a double and downed it all at once, quickly poured another and downed it as well. Finally, he poured another double, and this time seemed content to just sit tight while letting the other four shots settle in.
The whiskey started hitting Ben’s brain quickly on an empty stomach, which always put a smile on his face. He loved that first rush from alcohol. He took another good sip, and let his mind wander back to his early days with Bessie.
He saw her dancing slowly, enticingly, provocatively, towards him with only a minimal, see through, silky, night gown covering her gorgeous naked body. She loved doing that for him. He loved watching her and the obvious joy she derived from doing it. It was the way they’d always been. Pure love and understanding conveyed by simple eye contact or a knowing glance. They simply got each other.
He imagined Bessie baking in the kitchen with both Andrew and Celia next to her, watching her make bread dough. Both children helped knead it. The smiles. The warmth. The smell of yeast and flour. The feeling of warm, sticky dough. The sharing of knowledge and of love. The making of warm memories for all. So beautiful.
Ben felt the pain of Bessie’s loss stab his heart all over again. He wondered if it would ever stop and leave him alone to live in peace to know love again. It had already been years since her death now, and all the distractions, work, and booze had not made it stop or get any better. He woke up every morning thinking about her, and their time together, and she was always the last thing he thought of before falling asleep every night since her death.
He poured himself another drink, this time a triple. He half downed it, wanting it to hurt him, or at the very least burn like hell. Ben could feel so much emotion overwhelming him: Anger, rage, emotional pain, loneliness, helplessness. He finished the last drink in one last big slug, then slammed his glass down on the table.
“I know how to make you stop. You will stop now!” Ben shouted, stumbling towards the berthing area. He rummaged around under his rack for a minute then stood tall, shouting “YA!” There you are you son of a bitch! Hahahahaha!”
The reflection of the berthing light slowly traveled down the barrel of the loaded .356 Magnum as Ben, holding the gun with both hands while in a crouched stance, slowly turned back towards the door. “That’s right, you’d better back the fuck away . . .” Ben slowly walked holding the gun out in front of him, still in a crouched position as if he could see an invisible intruder that no one else could.
Now, back out in the galley, he sat back down, setting the gun down in the middle of the table, and poured himself another stiff drink. He was getting really drunk now, and even though someone might be able to hear him, they certainly wouldn’t be able to understand him. His speech was starting to slur to the point of incoherence.
He was almost passed out when his phone began ringing. He fumbled for a moment, then managed to get it out of his back pocket and saw that Andrew was calling. He let it go to voicemail. Somehow, in the back of his mind, Ben knew that he was missing something or that he was forgetting something important, but couldn’t think of it. He was feeling woozy and very tired, but still angry, and still haunted by fond memories and visions of his life with his deceased wife Bessie. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He just wanted to be left alone.
He constantly felt the painful tug of her loss on his heart, like a black hole trying to suck him in, heart first. He looked at the gun. He realized that it would be so easy now. He was drunk and alone. He had the weapon. He had the nerve. He had the pain. He picked the gun up with his right hand and turned it towards himself, slowly moving it towards his right temple until he felt the cold steel touch it. He held the gun there for a long time. He could feel the weight of his loss, the weight of his loneliness, and the weight of the gun. He moved his forefinger a little, feeling it pull the trigger a tiny fraction more, right to it’s maximum tension point, and then his phone rang!
Ben retracted the trigger mechanism slowly and put the gun back down on the table, his hands trembling so hard he could barely coordinate his movements. He reached for his phone laying face up to the right of the gun. Andrew’s smiling face on the locked screen standing there holding the big sea perch he caught while helping Ben out on the boat a few years ago.
It took everything he had, but Ben tapped the button to answer the call, and then he fell face first onto the table. The only sound that could be heard was the whiskey bottle hitting the tabletop, emptying itself onto the table, and then onto the floor.
“Dad? Dad!?,” Andrew half shouted, sounding perplexed and worried.
Ben tried to answer him, but all that came out was a bunch of slurred gibberish.
“Dad what’s going on!? Are you okay? Talk to me!”
There was no answer, only silence.
“I’m on my way Dad! I see you haven’t left your dock yet on my GPS. I should get there in about an hour. Don’t leave, please! Just stay put!” Ben was passed out on the table and hadn’t heard a word of what Andrew had just said, but for the time being, he was at peace.
When Andrew got there, he quickly parked and ran down the dock to Ben’s trawler. He dashed inside and ran down the handful of steps to the galley and saw Ben laying there, face down, with the gun and the whiskey bottle laying on it’s side on the table.
Andrew rushed over. Luckily, he didn’t see any blood either, and he could see that his father was breathing and appeared to be asleep and fine. After a big sigh of relief, he gently managed to get Ben to sit back up.
Once Ben was safely propped up against the back wall behind the table, Andrew started a pot of super strong coffee. While the coffee was brewing, he rummaged around under the sink and found an empty spray bottle and filled it with ice cold water. Andrew quickly turned and then walked up to his dad and sprayed him right in the face with it at point bland range. A couple of milliseconds later Ben woke up with a start.
“What the hell . . . Andrew, stop!”
“Dad! Thank goodness you’re okay. It was getting late back in Portland. I wasn’t sure if you were lobstering off of Cape Elizabeth or Small Point today, so I checked where you were on my phone.”
“You’re phone?! What the heck are you talking about now? I hate to say this, but at this particular moment, I can’t remember where the hell I am other than on my boat. Where am I docked?” Ben asked with a slur.
“Dad, you’re docked in Elizabeth City.
“How the hell did you know where I was anyway?”
Andrew poured Ben a big mug of his special brew. “Don’t you remember, when you got your new phone, I showed you how I set it up so that I could always see where you are as a safety precaution, since you like to go out on the water alone so much?”
“Yeah, . . . no, . . . I don’t know.” Ben took a sip of the coffee Andrew had just set in front of him, and almost dropped it trying to get it back to the table as fast as possible. “Shit, what did you do, make this pot with an entire bag of coffee? It tastes like mud!”
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you would be able to really wake up. We have places to go and people to see still tonight. Don’t even tell me that you forgot that tonight is that surprise that I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago?”
Ben looked confused for a minute, “Oh, Man! I’m sorry Andrew. I had forgotten. I wanted a drink, but I wasn’t even sure that I had a bottle on board. When I found one, I started drinking. Then I started feeling sorry for myself again thinking about your mom, back in the day, you know, and when I started getting really drunk, I got really mad, and super sad, and thought I’d just better stay the night with my ass docked right here, safe and sound. You know?”
Andrew gave his dad a reassuring smile. “Yeah dad, I know, I get it. I’m glad you chose to stay put on account of how drunk you are. What’s up with the gun though?”
Andrew was looking at Ben with a deadly serious look now, a look that commanded a straight answer.
“I thought I heard something outside and fetched it out of my hiding spot in my berth. That’s all.”
“Did you ever see who or what made the noise you heard?”
“No, there wasn’t anything there, so I just came back and sat down and had another drink, and that’s the last thing I remember before you woke me up.”
Andrew noticed the way his dad just stared at the gun on the table while he explained how it got there, but never once looked up and into Andrew’s eyes with sincerity to reassure and reinforce to him that he was really telling the truth. That did not go unnoticed and really concerned Andrew.
“Have you ever had any issues here with people trying to rob you or hurt you or do anything bad to you Dad?”
Ben was trying not to hang his head. He took another sip of the muddy coffee, then set the mug down and looked at Andrew’s eyes with a penetrating look, “No, I haven’t, but today I did, so I fetched my pistol just in case, okay?” He paused for a moment, then shouted, “Case closed for crying out loud!”
“Okay Dad. I believe you. Sorry if it seemed like I was doubting you, it’s just that when I find you drunker than a skunk on whiskey, and there’s a gun on the same table as the bottle, and you’re lying face down when I walk in, well, I thought the worst, I did, I’ll admit it, and it scared the hell out of me!”
“Oh, geez, I’m sorry sonny boy, come here.” Ben slowly stood and turned towards Andrew who moved in fast for the hug. They hugged tightly, smacking each other’s backs, then pulled away laughing and smiling.
Andrew helped his father find something decent to change into and promised to drive him back in the morning so he could finish collecting the rest of his lobster pots. He helped his dad into the passenger side, and then started driving back to the big house that Ben and Bessie built together thirty years ago on a foundation of granite, right on the northern coast of Portland, Maine, in a place called Falmouth.
The house used to be the only one on Kelley Road, all the way at the end, down near the water, facing the Presumpscot River where it exits into Casco Bay.
Despite the grandness of the house, there was a time when they were both worried that they may lose the house to the bank after a couple of bad lobstering years. So, thinking about their situation, they decided to subdivide some of their land, and they sold building lots in order to raise additional cash to live on. Now they have several neighbors and, luckily, they are all nice, decent people.
Ben’s house has a stunning approach with a big turn-around driveway, and a grand covered porch outfitted with rattan furniture, and at least a half dozen rocking chairs, all painted different colors. The entire house has large, open rooms, and the walls, ceilings, and floors, are all covered either in hardwood or stone, or a blend of both.
As they approached the house, they took turns commenting on how they loved the approach and curb appeal of the house, how grand it appeared, and how it had a way of instantly making someone feel welcome. Pulling up, you knew you were going to enjoy yourself and finally really be able to relax.
Andrew parked right in front, got out, and came around to the passenger side to help his dad, but Ben had already exited. Before going in, Andrew asked if they could just stand their for a moment taking it in. He hadn’t been to the main house in quite awhile due to business travel.
As they stood there together, Ben watched Andrew scan the big house before him. He was proud by how much Andrew looked like him when he was younger. Shocking red hair, a full, well-trimmed beard, the same blue-gray eyes, and the same firm, formidable jaw line, like Kirk Douglas, but without the dent in the chin. The biggest difference besides their age, was their dress. Unlike the commercial fisherman look, Andrew preferred business attire and suits most often. Casual for him was golf shirt and slacks with dress shoes. He looked like someone who lived in the Hamptons down south on Long Island, New York.
As they walked up the long walkway to the porch, Ben felt a mix of emotion. He was starting to realize that if he was ever going to know true peace and, perhaps, be able to live life without having almost constant painful thoughts about his dear, departed Bessie, that he may very well have to sell this beloved, grand house that has known so many celebrations over the years, and where he had made so many memories with Bessie and the kids. That was going to be a discussion, but not tonight or anytime soon.
One thing he knew for certain but hated to admit to himself: Bessie would never want him to be suffering like this, especially about her! No! She would want Ben to be happy and have another woman in his life to come home to every day. No doubt!
Ben paused after climbing the stairs to the main porch to catch his breath. It had been a really long day. He looked at Andrew, “Let’s get us something to eat, son, what do you say?”
“Sounds perfect dad.”
As soon as they were inside, Ben flipped on the lights and almost fell down from the percussion of about fifty people all screaming SURPRISE! at the top of their lungs at the same time.
Ben glanced over at Andrew, who was beaming from ear to ear, “You knew about this, didn’t you!?”
Still beaming, Andrew looked back at his dad, “Yep! I set the whole thing up starting eight months ago. It’s not easy getting all these people here at the same time you know.” He finished with a laugh and the rest of the room followed suit.
In small groups, his daughter Celia, her husband and children, and others moved in to say hello, so so did Ben’s younger brother and sister and their families, and surprise, Ben’s old fishing mates that worked alongside him off and on over the years during peak season.
When everyone finished greeting Ben, and everyone was just standing around with food and drink quietly talking, Ben suddenly shouted, “Can I have everyone’s attention please, just for a minute. Thank you. Thanks. I love that you’re all gathered here today, but I’m standing here while you all come up and greet me as if I’m the Pope or something. Can someone PLEASE tell me what the occasion is? It’s not my birthday, there was no funeral, it’s not a holiday and, as far as I can tell, no one is getting married here today, so what gives?”
The room was so quiet now that you could hear some people breathing. Andrew looked around, “Should I, or does someone else want to answer him?”
The room stayed silent, then Celia said, “I’ll tell him. I’m so excited and I’ve been keeping this a secret for so long it will be really nice to finally be a able to get it off of my chest. Dad, we are all gathered here to celebrate you. Yes, you!”
“I don’t understand, why celebrate me, for what? Why? What did I do?” Ben looked around the room and was genuinely confused. I am just Ben. No big deal. he thought.
Celia looked around the room, “I’ll start, then let’s all share what we know and what we’ve seen from him all these years.” Without waiting for anyone to answer or agree, she continued, “Dad, we are wanting to celebrate you because you have lead a life of quiet solitude with your nose to the grindstone. Whenever someone looks at you, you smile at them. When someone asks you for help, you always give it. You never complain, you just get up everyday, do your thing, going out on the water, even when it was really dangerous, to ensure that we always had what we needed. Me, Andrew, Mom, we never did without anything in life that really matters, and it was all because of you.” Tears were streaming down her face and she recounted all the things about her dad that she was grateful for, and she was struggling to keep her voice from wavering.
Andrew, choking his tears back added, “Yeah, Dad, she’s right. You always taught us good from bad, right from wrong, and managed to do it without hurting us, but rather by example instead. You went out, worked hard, brought home the bacon, never complained, always made time for us, me and Celia and Mom, and you came home every night for dinner and I knew and felt that you truly cared about us. You always asked how our day was, and really listened to the answers. You built this amazing house for us to live in and made sure we had what we needed. I can never thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me, our family, and our community over the years.”
With little pause after that, Tom, one of Ben’s oldest buddies, and a former employee of Ben’s, told everyone about the day his truck broke down and wouldn’t start.
“Shoot I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t know what to do. Damn truck had always started just fine, but not this particular morning. So, I left the kids at home with their mom, forcing them to miss school that day, and forcing me to walk the four miles to work and be late.”
Everyone in the room got quiet and were all really tuned in to Tom’s story, which he continued,
“So, tired as hell when I got there, Ben could tell I was tired and upset and asked what was going on. When he heard what happened, he put off launching the trawler, giving the other fishermen a head start on the day’s catch. He told me to get in his truck and he drove me all the way home, and we picked up my two kids and took them to school. After that, he drove back to my house and then called a tow truck and put it on his credit card! He told the man on the phone to tow my truck to Gill’s garage over off of I-295, and to have the truck fixed and to put the whole thing on his credit card.
On the way back to the dock, he told me I could pay him back over time, and to pick how much and how often, and whatever amount I came up with would be fine, and not to worry. “
The room remained quiet and people were mesmerized by Tom’s tale, but their eyes were fixed on Ben.
“Then Ben didn’t want to hear any of my objections or anything. He kept saying that he was just happy to be able to be of service to me and my family. Can you believe that!? I have never in my life had something like that happen to me before. Ben, you are the best man I’ve ever known. I’m not a church going man, and I’m not even sure if I believe in any kind of traditional God, but man, you really saved me back then, and I know I’m not the only one—look at all these folks! From the bottom and the top of my heart, Thank you!” Tom raised his glass, “Let’s hear it for Ben! The unlikely angel from Casco Bay. Oh, and folks, before I forget, I tried to pay him back and he took my monthly payments, only to give it all back to me at the end of the year as a Christmas bonus!”
Everyone raised their glasses and shouted, “Yay! Here, here! Here’s to Benjamin Morse Scot the best friend anyone could possibly have!”
Ben was flabbergasted and felt himself blushing. He was completely speechless for a bit. He fought hard to keep the tears from streaming down his cheeks, but eventually he succumbed and let them flow while he expressed his deep gratitude for everyone’s kindness and caring.
The speeches continued flowing, and one by one, each person told a story about Ben. The rides he gave, the money he ‘lent,’ the free repairs he gave, the gardening advice, and his wise financial insights about how to handle money as a fisherman. As a person, people expressed their gratitude for Ben’s patience, his kindness, his obvious love for his fellow man. Many of the things or incidents that he was responsible for, by those he had helped, were brought up for everyone to know about, so that the true scope of his goodness would become completely visible.
Everyone there felt it was imperative that Ben know just how much of a positive impact he had made on their lives, in the countless ways over the decades of knowing him and watching him fish and lobster, knowing good times and bad, with Ben never complaining, never asking anyone for anything, always ready and willing to help his fellow brother, sister, or neighbor in any way that he could, and always with a smile on his face.
Everyone told him that night what a great, valuable, respected, and loved individual he was. The evening was utterly serendipitous.
After the evening’s activities ended. Ben took a long shower and replayed the speeches he’d heard that night in his mind. His heart had soared hearing all the kind things that people said about him and about how he had impacted their lives positively, and how much they cared about him. He had no idea that so many people saw him the ways that they described. He had been clueless about his sense of value with the community, or even within his own family.
Lately, he had been feeling pretty darned worthless, and those feelings were validated by the complete lack of visitors, phone calls, or people needing him, or wanting him for not much of anything anymore.
For a second, he flashed back on the gun and his flirtatious dance with death only hours before, and felt a jolt of guilt pass through him. He forced himself to continue replaying the good stuff and continue embracing his positive feelings.
The next day, Andrew pulled up to drop Ben off at the marina in Elizabeth City. Suddenly, Ben remembered the package Louis had brought him the day before. “Hey, what about that package you sent? I got it yesterday, and it says, Andrew is the only one who can open it. I meant to give it to you last night. Let me go and get it, I’ll be right back.”
“Right! Actually, that box really was for you, Dad. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t open it before the party. Open it at your leisure. I’ll call you later. Wanna grab dinner together tonight? Come by at 7?”
“See you then, Andrew. And, Hey! I can’t thank you enough, but let me say it again, THANK YOU!”
You’re welcome, Dad! See you later.”
“See you.”
The first thing Ben did after getting Bessie underway was to put a pot of coffee on in the galley, then he sat down and opened the box with much curiosity. Inside was a slightly smaller cardboard box with a lid. Ben opened the lid. Inside the smaller box were letters attached to gift cards or letters of credit?!
Old(er) man Fred McGillicutty, owner of the general store, wrote about how he’d lost track of all the delinquent bills from friends, family, and former workers of Ben’s that Ben had paid off, always in private, always instructing Fred to keep him anonymous. Well, here is something coming around from it already going around in a good way! He had enclosed a gift card for $2500.00.
Clair, over at the fish market, wrote about how she’ll never forget how many times Ben came over and mowed her grass and then played ball with David, her son, who’s dad had been killed in Iraq.
Christian at the garage, wrote about how he had developed deep respect for Ben over the decades, watching him give rides and money to his friends, relatives, employees, and strangers that have had broken down vehicles that needed expensive repairs that they couldn’t afford to have fixed, and Ben stepped in, and stepped up and made the difference for others consistently. He enclosed a card that he said would allow Ben to get gas for his personal vehicle for free for the rest of his life!
Phyllis, of Phyllis’s Style Salon and Barber Shop who cuts Ben’s hair, wrote that she has listened to others tell her stories about Ben’s philanthropy for almost twenty years now, and has come to learn what a fantastic human being Ben is. She included a homemade coupon that says,
This coupon is good for a haircut and/or shave for Benjamin Morse Scot for the greater of the duration of his natural life, or mine, whichever comes first! There was a small picture of smiling Phyllis at the bottom.
Ben couldn’t believe all of this praise for him. It was more in one day than he’d received in his entire life combined. He loved how it made him feel inside. Like winning a million dollars. When Ben had finished, it seemed as though he might never have to buy food or gas or clothes or pay for a haircut, beer, or shot of whiskey ever again!
Suddenly, he got up and found the gun he had almost ended his life with the day before. He emptied the chamber of the gun onto the table. He scooped up the bullets, grabbed the gun, and hustled up to the top deck. Once outside, he walked over to the aft end, and threw the gun and the bullets into Casco Bay. Ben threw that gun as far as he could, watching it spin end over end until hitting the water, where it instantly disappeared beneath the icy waters below.
Ben smiled. He finally felt liberated and happy again for the first time in four years.