From Bondage to Freedom

The sun bore down on Ben’s cap, unleashing the life bringing death ray directly on his straw hat to bear. His tomato shoulders and arms supporting his overalls were not spared the fate that his scalp was.The sun and him has had a tumultuous relationship since he became and remained this height years ago now.

“I’m home, Rachel,” he called into the shabby modest house. His calloused hands set his hat on the nail by the door, and grabbed a steaming cup of coffee off of the counter in the kitchen next to the morning paper. He brought them both to the living area where Rachel sat knitting a blanket.

“Did ya bring your work inside, honey?” she asked, focused on her blanket.

Without responding, Ben put down his coffee and paper, and sauntered to the kitchen. When she heard the water running, she looked up to see a few specks of red on the white mug on the side table. She didn’t waste energy on protesting how he paid the bills anymore, and he preferred to follow the rules of the house rather than rehash old arguments.

“Did you hear?” She called from the living area.

“Hear what?” He yelled back.

“About Fred,”

“Which one?

“You know which one I’m talking about,”

“And what about him?” Ben replied after a brief silence, walking back into the area. He grabbed his coffee and sat back in his chair and faced Rachel as she knitted

“He published a book, it’s apparently selling like crazy,” Rachel said looking up from her half knitted red and blue quilt. Ben looked through her eyes as her hands kept moving. His eyebrows nearly touched his eyes as his face turned as red as his arms and shoulders. The red smudged against the mug.

“You’ve got to remember to wear your hat in this heat, Ben,”

“Going to take a smoke” he replied leaving the mug on the table.

She looked at the paper he left behind as she went back to her knitting.

Outside, the red drained from Ben’s face with each drag of his cigarette. He began to notice birds singing through the Louisiana air. He closed his eyes as he listened to the frenzied dance of the wind and the leaves. Fred’s face filled the back of his eyelids as he breathed, forcing him to open his eyes. He observed the scene that he thought he’d long memorized. Saw the flowers blooming on and amidst the weeds. The pockets of sun that draped through the shade that the leaves provided. He found himself walking towards it.

He took another drag of his cigarette as he walked, and the memory of their last meeting began to unfold in his mind. It was 15 years ago now, with different scabs on his knuckles, waiting under the shade of a different tree. Frayed rope dangled from a nearby branch. Fred emerged from his barracks with his head up and his gangly limbs secure as he scanned the area. He stopped once his soft eyes met with Ben’s. Ben had arrived a month earlier, he had been assigned Fred for “workforce education”. This was taking longer than his other marks, but every mark eventually opened themselves to education, Fred was one amongst a hundred of other Freds and Fionas, and he had found his way to systematically break down a man. Fred walked over to Ben without breaking his gaze. He stopped right out of reach of Ben’s corrector, his body remembered the distance. Ben smiled and broke the silence.

“Why so far, boy,” he laughed.

Ben broke his gaze to observe the other “in perpetuity” contracted workers that began to gather around the developing scene. Ben enjoyed the spectacle, breaking the body of one can break the spirit of others. He wondered if it would be economically wise to leave their spirits intact, better for business. When he returned to meet Fred’s eyes he figured that he had not blinked since he left the barracks.

“Eh, Boy?”

“What do you want…sir?” Fred asked calmly.

More eyes appeared in the crowd, an odd number due to similar corrections. With the appropriate crowd and his pride on the line, Ben gripped his corrector tight and said, “The same thing I’ve been after since I saw your name on the listing.”

“Then do your job,” Fred replied through his teeth.

Fred had been rebellious from when they first met, he longed for a freedom that Benjamin didn’t have the experience to dream about. Ben realized that he hadn’t seen Fred’s fingertips since he left the barracks, the clear challenge turned his face and his hands hot.

By the time Fred had met Ben at 16 years old, he had met his fair share of ‘Bens”, he realized that none of them could hold his gaze for long. Fred opened his mouth and started off after Ben before the scream left his lips. By the time Ben’s arm held the corrector over his head, Fred was already too close for him to strike effectively. An added bonus to Fred’s real goal which seemed heavier in his hand than on Ben’s hip. As the iron left Fred’s hand as he threw it towards the spectators, Ben’s fist had slammed directly into Fred’s cheek. Fred twisted his neck and body as he received the hit and swung around to face Ben, his last Ben. Ben’s mouth was dry as he quickly scanned the spectators around him whose faces wore the shock more than he did. He hadn’t met this Fred before.

“Do your job” Fred said before rushing in.

Ben’s tools of his trade betrayed him, leaving him to attempt to correct Fred with tools he inherited from god. Fred, used to his hands and mind being the only tools he could depend on, dominated the scene. He had been waiting for this day.

“NEVER AGAIN!!!” He yelled between the thuds that landed on Ben’s face. “NEVER. AGAIN!”

All of the other targets before and since Fred never met Ben’s gaze. The truth of what happened that day could only be trusted from his lips at the time, which remained sealed about the incident. He only unsealed them for Rachel who nursed him back to health that day. She had never met Fred, but she always imagined the mythologized Fred who had sent her husband home with more than scabs on his knuckles.

“Writer? Book? No way.” Ben said, waiving away the idea that Fred, any Fred could do something as delicate as writing with their hands. He tossed his cigarette amongst the many butts littered around him.

He walked back into the house and picked up the cleaned mug with fresh coffee off the counter. He returned to see Rachel now reading the paper he had left behind.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Ben said.

“Of course,” Rachel replied.

Ben sat down and took a sip of his coffee. It was Black and sweet like he liked it. The coffee cup slowly lowered from his lips as he stared at the paper Rachel held up before him. Fred’s face, who he hadn’t seen since that day, took up the page of a newspaper that was made for him and Rachel. Fred wore a slight smile over the title of his book. My Bondage and My Freedom