Disconnected: The Benjamin Ryan Booker Story

By Paul A. A. Williamson

Ben Booker is a seventeen-year-old senior in high school living in the northwest panhandle of Texas. After returning home from a summer job in southwest Texas, he is informed that he and his mother will be relocating to the state of Illinois so Ben can begin to cultivate a relationship with his dying father. Upon arriving in the state of Illinois, he is overcome with culture shock. He is ushered into manhood through a series of unfortunate events with catastrophic and life-altering experiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684562817

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Disconnected

The Benjamin Ryan Booker Story

Paul A. Williamson

Copyright © 2019 Paul A. Williamson

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2019

ISBN 978-1-68456-280-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68456-974-8 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-68456-281-7 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Dedicated to my mother, Evelyn Jean Saul, 8/1949 to 3/2019, sadly mother passed away march 16, who is a cervical cancer survivor, and I would like to thank Dean Myrick, a.k.a. the greatest entertainer in Springfield, Illinois, Mahogany Knight, for his support and critique of the finished manuscript. Thank you.

August 8, 1986

Springfield, Illinois

The clock on the wall read 11:55 p.m. Detective Dickhead had finally agreed to let me use the bathroom. I guessed he took my threat to piss all over his polished shoes seriously. I followed him down the hallway to a very stuffy bathroom. It smelled overwhelmingly like stale urine and bleach. I was glad Dickhead waited outside. After relieving myself, I took a good long look in the mirror. I’d never been so mortified by my own reflection. The entire left side of my face was black and blue. My left eye was swollen half-shut, and my nose looked broken. Dried blood encrusted my lower lip. If I had any energy at all, I would probably start bawling uncontrollably. Then I noticed something more horrifying than my own reflection—Max’s blood splattered all over my shirt, neck, and face.

August 18, 1985

Amarillo, Texas

Go figure. It would stop raining the minute I exit the interstate. Because of the rain, a three-and-a-half–hour drive took me almost five hours. That’s the longest I’d ever been behind the wheel. It would have been nice if Skyler could have been awake to keep me company. He was busy sleeping off a major drunk. Sadly, I spent the last five hours in a closed-up car with my best friend farting in his sleep. Beer farts to boot!

Familiar territory and slower speeds allowed me to think about the past few weeks and the major year ahead of me. I would be graduating high school in June and moving to Lubbock by the fall. I would be attending an eighteen-month trade school to become an ASE-certified mechanic. Skyler had applied to Texas Tech. If he got in, his parents had agreed to pay the rent on an apartment for us. Skyler was also thinking about moving to Houston or Dallas after he graduated Tech. I wanted to stay in Amarillo, but the truth was, I would probably follow him to New York if he asked me.

The boulevard is relatively quiet with the exception of a hooker or two in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. One night, just after Skyler got his driver’s license, we went cruising Polk Street. We got bored with it, so we decided to cruise up Amarillo Boulevard. We stopped at a 7-Eleven to get sodas and peanut butter cups. Skyler stopped to look at the cover of a magazine. I exited the store and walked around the side of the building to find a place to relieve myself. This particular 7-Eleven did not have a public bathroom. As I rounded the end of the building, I saw a hooker squatting and taking a piss. I obviously didn’t startle her because she looked up at me and asked, You want a piece of this pussy, white boy? I freaked and ran back to Skyler’s car. He laughed the entire drive back to my house.

It’s late Sunday night, and even Polk Street was desolate. School started tomorrow for all grades up to high school. We started on Tuesday. Didn’t really know why. The good thing was, it gave me the day to look for a truck with Rolando.

Skyler and I spent the summer down in Andrews, working on his uncle’s cattle ranch. Working on a cattle ranch would not be anything I would want to do for more than one summer, and no more than one time. Cows were disgusting animals. They stank, and all they did was eat. I spent most of the summer knee-deep in mud and cow shit. Skyler and I were allowed to stay in the bunkhouse with the other hired hands. His aunt about blew a gasket when his uncle suggested it. It wasn’t easy talking her into it. Her argument was that two young boys from decent backgrounds have no business bunking with the likes of drifting men of the world. She made it sound like we would be sharing accommodations with rapists and pedophiles, grifters and thieves. Perhaps, on some level, she might had been close to the truth. Those guys we shared the bunkhouse with were somewhat questionable, but harmless.

Skyler’s parents expected us to sleep at my house tonight. It was a good thing because I didn’t have the energy to drive him home. I wouldn’t mind sleeping alone tonight—almost wished he would decide to go home. However, more to the truth was, without him next to me, I would be lonely. I turned right off the boulevard onto Kentucky Street—my street. Just a half a block more and I could climb into my own bed.

I lived on a dead-end road. Our house and Rolando’s garage were the only two properties on our street. An old elementary school’s ball field butted up against the west side of our backyard. To the north was Rolando’s storage lot. Roland owned the house we lived in. My mother and I had lived in this house for fourteen years. We moved here when I was two years old. The house was a drafty old two-story farmhouse with wooden floors and no air-conditioning. All it amounted to was a main floor and two bedrooms.

My mother’s car was not in the driveway; instead, a newer-model Dodge Ram cargo van was backed up. The right side of the van was scarred from bumper to bumper. It looked like it tangled with an 18-wheeler. Multiple circular black marks cascaded down the side of it. The passenger door mirror was missing. It was an odd sight. The van was too new to look so dilapidated. The house was dark. Mom must have gone to bed already.

I pulled Skyler’s car into the driveway, almost nose to nose with this strange van. The front of the van was just as miserable as the side. The bumper was pushed up and in, the grill was missing, and the hood was dented and obviously permanently ajar. As soon as I shut the car off, I realized that my body was still traveling on the interstate, or at least that was the way it felt. I sat quietly, listening to the engine oil drip back down into the oil pan. My body caught up with me and I felt weightless, exhausted yet weightless. Nothing tugged at my thoughts. I just sat here surrounded by the tranquil plink of dripping oil. Moments turned into minutes; minutes turned into miles.

Skyler and I met at church camp in Palo Duro Canyon. It was a camp for boys without fathers or, better yet, a Christian camp for boys without any obvious male role model. My mother made me go. Said it would be good for me. Her sister’s three boys were going. That’s the reason she made me go. How could I argue? I was ten. My cousins were younger than I was. The oldest by two years. I was put in a different cabin, the cabin for older boys. Skyler and I were bunk buddies. Neither one of us wanted to be there. We hated camping, we hated being away from our families, and more so than not, at that point, we hated each other. We left camp on the second night, figured it would be safer to travel together. Truth be told, we were both scared shitless to be alone. We made it out of the camp, out of the park, and four miles up the road before a camp counselor picked us up. The rest of our summer at camp, we spent it like all the other boys. However, at night, because of our attempted escape, we had kitchen duty. We were allowed to shower while all the other boys sat around the campfire. I guessed, it was while showering together that Skyler and I actually became friends. At ten, it definitely did not have sexual undertones. It was time we spent naked and unhidden from each other. It seemed to be the time we spent in the shower was when we did most of our talking. Of course, because of the escape attempt, we were not allowed to be alone. Wade, the counselor who picked us up, sat watch, not outside of the shower bay but right inside. He was cool about it. He allowed us to do our business, and then he let us play under the water for a little bit. Wade was a good guy. He would make sure we were clean and dry before we joined the other boys for our nightly snack. The nightly snack consisted of some prepackaged Hostess cake, a carton of milk, and stern sermon on how young boys should behave while alone in bed. It took me years to figure out that one. For the next three years, I looked forward to camp. I looked forward to seeing Skyler. I looked forward to having extra kitchen duty. I looked forward to being naked in front of Skyler—and Wade.

On my third year, the last year Skyler and I could attend camp as campers, everything changed. The campsite was under construction. Old cabins were being torn down and new ones built. A new baseball field was being constructed. A new state-of-the-art cafeteria was replacing the old lunchroom. Skyler and I were not the first two campers to get into trouble and receive kitchen duty. A new boy and a second-year boy got into a fistfight over a bunk bed. Since the cabins were under construction, all counselors had to bunk with the campers. That meant twenty-four–hour adult supervision, and the final change of the summer was the way my body had begun to change. Hair began to grow in abundance on my calves, thighs, around my penis, and to my disgust, the crack of my ass. Oddly though, none grew on my upper body, to include under my arms, which was where I noticed it most on all the other boys.

Camp rather sucked due to all the changes that last year. The last day of camp was the best and the worst. Skyler and I got kitchen duty due to some fluke in the punishment roster, coupled with a freak breakout of a food-borne illness that sent most boys and counselors home or to the hospital. Fortunately, Wade wasn’t one of those counselors. After kitchen duty, Skyler and I were sent back to our cabin to pack and wait for morning. We packed and then sat around bored until Wade popped in and told us to hit the showers. All summer we had to shower with the rest of the boys. It was mundane and nothing more than a task. In and out without notice of anything but the wet tile on the floor. For the first time that summer, we were left alone—naked in the shower. I noticed Skyler’s body had matured as well, and I have to say, I liked the way he looked naked. His little mushroom button and stem had developed into a full-length cock with a helmet head. The tiny giggle-berries got bigger and stretched out the sack they sat in, causing them to sag rather nicely. We always chatted while showering, but this time, the most either of us could do is lather and look. I’d watch him watch me. I remember smiling at him, and he smiled back.

Wade strolled in wearing nothing but a towel. He dropped his towel and joined us in the shower. Wade Tucker had one hell of a body—barrel chest, arms like a sailor, and the nicest round ass I have ever laid eyes on. His entire body from chest to calve is covered with a nice dusting of fine black hair. His penis was much more developed than Skyler’s or mine—thicker, longer, manlier. He turned on his shower and began to lather up. I know Skyler and I must have looked like Gary and Wyatt in the movie Weird Science, when they showered with Lisa.

Wade asked Skyler to wash his back. He moved a few inches from the wall to allow Skyler to get behind him while he stared directly at me. I watched in complete awe. It is hard to explain the desires flooding my emotions. I felt excited, yet confused to see Skyler’s hands rubbing Wade. Wade never took his eyes off me while Skyler scrubbed his backside, not just his back—his backside. I heard Wade ask me if I wanted him to wash my back, but I don’t remember answering, or moving over to him and turning my back to him. His touch, his manly touch, caused my knees to buckle. I must have blacked out for a second because the next thing I knew, Wade had me by the waist with his Popeye arms, his lips close to my ear, whispering, Are you okay, Booker? All I could do was nod. My throat was swollen, my heart was racing, and the shower bay became incredibly smaller.

Wade’s strong, soapy hands massaged my shoulders, moving from my shoulder blades to the small of my back. His hands relaxed me. He didn’t stop at the small of my back. His hands moved to my hips, then to my butt. With one hand, he felt both sides of my ass. His thumb and first finger on my left cheek, his ring and pinky finger on my right cheek, with his middle finger stroking the crack of my ass, putting slight pressure on the opening. Wade’s other hand moved from my hips to my penis, stroking it while pulling me into him. I allowed myself to fall against his firm body, his erect penis in the small of my back. I felt so overheated that I started to sweat in the shower. Every muscle in my body was tense yet relaxed at the same time. I think time actually stood stiff. Then I felt a warm wetness engulf my penis. After the initial explosion of adrenaline, I looked down to see Skyler swallow my cock. Reality snapped me back to time and place. I freaked, grabbed my towel, and ran naked back to the cabin. I don’t remember Skyler coming back to the cabin, and the next morning, both Skyler and Wade were gone before breakfast.

That was my last summer at camp, and the last time I would see Wade. Two weeks later, when school started, Skyler transferred to my middle school. His dad got a job with First National Bank, and his family moved from Wildorado to Amarillo. Upon seeing him again after the shower incident, I felt shame when I was around him. He was so easy to look at, so easy to talk to, and so easy to desire, whether I wanted to or not. At first, I was standoffish, but all he had to do is say, Booker, don’t take yourself so seriously. From that moment on, I allowed myself to desire him.

In the beginning, it was a desire to be like him, to be around him, to be his best friend. We cultivated a friendship that allowed us to be like brothers, like soldiers in combat, like naive boys not knowing the bond of intimacy, yet sharing all that was intimate. At first, we just wrestled around, fully clothed yet fully erect by the time we began to sweat. Then we wrestled naked. It mostly was about the challenge of strength, but by the time we got all worked up, it was about touching each other. That eventually turned into experimenting with oral sex. By the time we were sophomores in high school, we began each session with heavy kissing. Our hands knew no boundaries. Our minds began to fill in the emotional gaps. We would be graduating in eleven months. It was starting to rain again.

A loud crash of thunder woke Skyler up. He about jumped into the back seat. He looked over at me and asked, What the hell smells… Jesus! Booker, my car stinks like ass… What the fuck? Before I could answer, he jumped out the passenger door. Perhaps, my sense of smell had deadened due to being surrounded by his toxic gas for the last five hours, but I couldn’t smell ass in the car. At any rate, I pulled the keys out of the ignition and exited his car. I looked over the roof of the car at Skyler. He was gasping for air and fanning himself vigorously. I waited for him to end his dramatic display of displeasure. When our eyes met, with a sour look on his face, he asked, What the hell, Booker, did you run over the ass of a cow?

I just smirked and answered, That smell is you! That is what happens when you drink a six-pack of beer after eating a sixteen-ounce porterhouse. You got into the car, and within two miles, your head hit the window and you began to fart like a fat man after a buffet.

Skyler’s look went from sour to ponderous. The light rain made him look skyward, and then he looked at me and asked, Wasn’t it raining when we left? Did it rain the whole time?

I shook my head and said, Oh yeah.

At first, he started to giggle, and then he laughed uncontrollably. I was glad my best friend found amusement in my misery. Let me tell ya about my best friend—he’s a fucker.

I opened the trunk of his car and grabbed my luggage. He finished laughing and then helped me, leaving his bags in the trunk. I knew that meant he was going home.

Going home? I absently asked.

Yeah, dude, I just need my own bed tonight.

I understand. You okay to drive, man?

I’m fine, Booker.

Skyler pulled his keys out of the trunk and helped me to the door with my two bags. I opened the door and stepped in, trying to be as quiet as possible. Mom left the light on above the kitchen sink. The dim glow allowed me to see that things in the living room were not the same as when I left. I sat my bag down and turned on the overhead light. Skyler shut the front door, turned, and said, Whow, dude. Where did your furniture go?

The furniture, TV, and everything on the walls had been replaced with a room full of boxes. I was shocked. My mother didn’t say anything about moving when I talked with her this morning. The only thing I could think of was the weekend before Skyler and I left for Andrews, Mom and I took a drive to look at a house for rent on Cherry Road. It was a ranch-style home, three bedrooms, a bath and a half, a fully finished basement, and an attached two-car garage. The rent was twice what Rolando charged us, but the house was ten times nicer and in a great neighborhood. It freaking had central air, carpeted floors, and more bedrooms than we need. That explained the odd van in the drive.

Skyler stood behind me being just as quiet as I was. Looks like we are moving, dude, I stated.

Sure does, cowboy. Skyler put a hand on my shoulder, massaged it for a moment, then worked his way up to the nape of my neck. Gently rubbing the sides of my neck, he drew himself close to my ear and softly said, See ya, cowboy.

Then he turned and opened the door, but before he could walk out, I asked, Skyler, what happened to you and Wade that last day of summer camp?

He looked at me with a smirk on his face and questioned, Booker, what would make you think of that?

I offered no insight to my thinking and got no answer to my question. Skyler smiled at me, stepped out, and then closed the door. I stood motionless in the living room, listening as his car rumbled down the block. I knew Mother was not home, simply because I could never turn the key in the front door without her hearing. We were moving—and I was sleeping in my clothes tonight.

I woke up lost in the memoir of my dream. My room was extremely hot, and the fan was of no comfort. The smell of bacon drifted up from the kitchen. The smell was so pleasant. It’s as if I smelled it for the first time. I sat up and took note of my room. Everything was as I left it, with the exception of a few empty boxes tossed to one corner. I stood up feeling rather heavy, realizing I had, in fact, slept in my clothes last night. The sweet smell of bacon commingled with the familiar stench of the ranch. I couldn’t help the giddy feeling. I was home, I made great money over the summer, and we were moving into a better house.

I stripped off my smelly clothes, threw them in the middle of the floor, put on a pair of shorts, and headed downstairs for a shower. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen peering at my mother with a broad grin on my face. My grin faded as I focused on my mother. She was unaware that I was staring at her. Mom was on the phone with her back to me. She looked so frail. She looked like she’s lost fifty pounds over the summer. She looked smaller, weaker, less like the mother I left. It alarmed me. I began to wonder if something bad happened while I was away. She suddenly turned and looked at me. Her face was gray and distant.

After a moment, she smiled and said, Good morning, sunshine. I could tell her smile was forced. My puzzled look didn’t go unnoticed. Take a shower, baby, and then come eat your breakfast. We have some things to talk about. She smiled rather genuinely, so I smiled back and turned to go shower.

After showering, I peered into the kitchen to see if Mom was still on the phone. She was, so I pulled the towel from my waist and threw it over my head and began towel drying my hair as I ran up the stairs. The smell of bacon still lingered in the air. I was almost too nervous to eat. I put on a pair of blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt. I decided I would leave my dirty clothes on the floor until after breakfast. Before leaving my room, I kicked the empty boxes into the middle of the room. I got to unpack my bags just to box them up. It looked like I will be spending the day packing. It’s a good thing, but I was planning to spend the day looking for a truck. Rolando was going to take me to look for a good used truck. With my savings and the money I made from the ranch, I had sixteen hundred dollars. Rolando thought I could find a good one for under a grand. I was somewhat ambivalent about buying a good one or a fixer-upper. A new one sure wasn’t in the cards. What I really wanted was a new Jeep Renegade, but Rolando warned me that Jeep products were manufactured by Chrysler:

Stay away from Chrysler products. A good Ford F150 is what you need. He thought he could find me one as new as ’78 for my money. Since we were moving, I would definitely need my own transportation—wheels…automobile… I giggled at the thought of Long Duck Dong’s voice from Sixteen Candles, Automobeel.

I sat down to eat my breakfast. Mom was still on the phone. My plate sat in front of me, covered by a small towel to keep it warm. I pulled the towel away and began to eat like a starved orphan. Mom came over to me and began to tousle my uncombed hair. Running her fingers through it as if she was raking a yard, she said, You need a haircut, young man. Maybe I did, but not today. Before I could begin my barrage of questions, her tone changed and her words became harsh as she walked out of the room, obviously aggravated by the person she was talking to on the phone. Between bites, I noticed the bare kitchen. The countertops unoccupied, curtains missing, and no broom resting by the back door. I supposed this would be my last meal in here. I didn’t want to feel sad, but I did.

I sat in front of an empty plate, my juice glass with nothing but a swallow in it, the sun brightening up the room minute by minute. I wanted this moment to last for as long as it could. I felt very safe, but annoyed. Something inside me became rattled. I had no justification for the panic I felt, but all the same, my panic turned into anxiety. I know something bad was about to happen. Mom rushed into the room and slammed the phone down. She cursed under her breath and then picked up the phone and made another call. She paced from the back door to the living room before I heard her say, Aunt Ray, did I wake you? Mom rushed through the kitchen and out the back door to continue her call. The sun made the room so much brighter with Mom in a panic. The notion to eavesdrop subsided with the rumble of Rolando’s wrecker coming down the street. It seemed easier to chase Rolando to the lot than to sit in panic with Mother. I rushed out the back door past Mom and down the street. She yelled at me, Don’t go too far! We need to talk. I was out of earshot before she could say anything more.

I caught up to Rolando’s wrecker just as he was turning into the lot. A bright red 1978 Ford F-150 was hooked to the back of the wrecker. It’s a nice-looking truck—glossy paint, clean chrome, no dents that I could see. I immediately began to believe this was my new truck. Freaking awesome! I jumped up onto the running board of the wrecker, pulling myself up by the mirror.

What’s happening, old man? I asked, grinning from ear to ear. I obviously startled Rolando.

"Jesus, Booker, how many times I gotta ask ya not to do that?" He couldn’t help but smile back at me.

Did ya miss me?

Rolando brought the wrecker to a stop, and I jumped off, stepping back so he could exit the truck, but he didn’t. He sat looking at me through the open window, his left arm hanging out the door. His smile faded as he studied me for a moment.

Have you talked to your mother? he asked. His voice is gruff and even toned.

She’s on the phone, has been all morning. You know that woman. I know we are moving, if that’s what you’re asking. Did something happen? Is that my new truck? How much is it going to cost me?

Before he could answer, I started for the truck. Booker, come back here, he said as he got out of the wrecker. He stood between the truck and me and put his hand on my shoulder. No, buddy, this is not your new truck. Now you need to go home and talk with your mother.

I was nonetheless perplexed by his seriousness. The look in his eyes gave me cause for pause. What’s going on? What’s the big deal? We are moving into another house. I still want to work for you, and I can drive over after school and work on Saturdays.

Booker, my boy, go home was his reply. Then he turned toward the truck and began to lower the front of the F-150.

No, Rolando, tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand.

He looked over at me, and I couldn’t believe the sad expression in his eyes. Booker, I can’t answer your questions, so just go home now, young man. He said it demandingly, yet I felt like he was about to cry. What the fuck?

Fine! I left looking only at the ground in front of me. My old Adidas tennis shoes were dirty and worn. Maybe I would go to the mall and get new ones tomorrow after school.

I stopped at the mailbox to check the mail, even though I knew the mail didn’t get here before 2:00 p.m.—empty. I looked deep into the empty shell. It mocked the soon-to-be-empty house. Then everything became somewhat foggy. I wasn’t looking into the mailbox. I was in the mailbox looking out. I felt so small inside that tin box. The sun was no longer shining. Hard rain pounded down on the hanger-sized enclosure. Then my mother’s face appeared in the opening. Her look grave and sad, but almost godlike. She reached into the mailbox. I thought to save me, but instead, she placed a large pistol right next to me. The color of the rain changed to red, as red as blood. The red rain began to drip and stream from the opening. A voice called my name, Booker, and then a loud bang brought me back to reality. I stood shaking in the street, looking at a house I no longer recognized. The sun was hot and I couldn’t tell if I had just had a daydream or a hallucination.

I don’t remember walking into the house as I found myself standing in the kitchen looking at my mother. She turned to me and said, Oh no, Rae… I think Ben knows. I’m going to have to call you back. She hung up the phone and looked deep into my eyes.

Know what? I asked. She asked me to sit with her at the kitchen table.

Benjamin, we are moving to Illinois. Her words came in monotones. Your father is ill, and we are moving so that you can get to know him before it’s too late. I sat stunned, and utterly confused. I couldn’t think or react. I could see that my mother was still talking, but I could hear nothing but my own breathing, difficult, almost forced.

Anger washed over me feverishly. I pounded my fist on the table and shouted, No, I’m not moving out of Texas. What the hell are you thinking? Why would you uproot us to move to another state just so I can get to know some prick that has not bothered to even send me a birthday card in all these years?

Benjamin, you watch your mouth, mister. Your father is ill and does not deserve to be called a prick. Now don’t you go and give me trouble on this. My hands started to tremble. I could feel rage building up inside me. I stood up and began pacing the kitchen in an attempt to alleviate my anxiety.

Seriously, Mom, it’s my last year in school. All my friends are here. Couldn’t we just go for a visit, and if he makes it to the end of the school year, then maybe I would consider visiting over the summer.

Benjamin, it’s not that simple.

Why, why now? Don’t you understand it’s my senior year? All my friends are here. Everything I know is here, right here in Texas.