His name was the same as mine. Which I’ve always found kinda cool. I don’t know why. It’s just some random decision of your parents, but I really do feel a closeness to other Bens.
He’s nice, friendly, with graying hair and sad wary eyes. Dresses indeterminate. Age – very vague, but older. Clearly single. Single in a sense far broader than no girlfriend. Single as in alone.
Very liberal in all his views. A kind of laissez faire liberalism that never judges anyone for anything, because it holds memories or fears of painful judgments. Liberalism as a shield against judgment. Pre-emptive liberalism.
He’s a type yeh? He’s got divorced and no mates written all over him. Generally harmless, but the jails and the morgues are full of men like him. You can hear it every time a neighbor is interviewed after some violent indiscretion.
(Imagine a suitably suburban voice)
“Yes it was just so surprising. He was just such a nice man. Kept to himself. Never any trouble. Always polite”
What else could they say?
“Yes I always thought he was a mass murdering rapist. Dressed in that heavy metal gear and I was forever trying to stop him eating the cat. Never did return my chainsaw.”
He reminded me of this guy that had tried to have sex with me once when I was travelling down from Townsville to Melbourne. It was just the two of us camping well apart in the off season at a beach side camp ground. Over a week occasionally saying hello had turned into him inviting me around and filing me up with cheep scotch. When I stood to stumble back to my tent he suggested that I suck him off, which I found quite scary and shocking at the time.
Now I just remember it as a sad bloke looking for love. He did work for the postal service though…
Yep – They’re a type.
The house though, it was great.
It was clean, it was new looking. It was straight out of a housey magazine. Three stories with new carpet throughout, a second lounge, two newly appointed bathrooms and our room to be a large attic conversion. New beds, new couches, a new kitchen and a beautiful big TV.
The walls were white. Asylum white, Cookoes Nest white and there were no pictures.
Sitting on the couch looking around I felt relaxed and impressed.
Ben was clearly a bit nervous, which I found endearing.
“Like a beer?” he asked.
“Sure, thanks” I said “Fosters eh, you like Australian beer?”
“Probably a bit too much.” He spurted out and began laughing. He laughed really loudly and for much too long. Disproportionate laughers who are greatly amused by their own jokes can be really hard work. They expect you to laugh as well which means you have to either fake laugh along with them or sit there with, say, a slight grin, waiting for them to stop and hoping they won’t be offended that you didn’t erupt like they did.
I went for the fake laugh for a while and then finished with a broad grin as I waited for him to stop.
Em and Ben talked on about details for cleaning rosters and keys and sharing space and god knows what else as I relaxed and gulped my beer.
Sure he seemed a bit weird, but compared to the stinking dives we’d stayed in in South America, this was a Roman pleasure palace and I was Caligula.
I’m a man of small expectations. A cold Australian beer and a fuck off big telly is pretty much paradise to me.
“I don’t know if I feel comfortable living with just him” said Em as we walked through Bruce Castle park to the bus stop.
She was smiling though and her white face looked beautiful, framed by her black fleece and pink beany and lit with the afternoon winter sun.
It turned out that if you approached the house from the other side it was actually in a really pretty, treed area. Families ate hot chips, kids kicked balls and played on the swings and the sun warmed our spirits.
I wonder now if had it been raining, or if we’d walked back the other way; would we have moved in?
“He’s all right. Lets stop mucking around. Do you really want to keep looking at more places? Lets just do it. Lets tell him now.”
She kissed me with her pretty little lips and rubbed her beanied head against my cheek. She trusted me. We would move in.
