This isn't weird.

Mr. Fucking Rogers II (Electric Boogaloo)

 Arthur returned and placed a fresh cup on the table. "Careful," he said as Ben picked it up. "It's hot."

"I wouldn't have guessed," Ben said wryly as he brought the mug to his face and blew on its steaming surface. "Let me ask you something, Arthur. How are you like this?"

"Like what?" Arthur asked.

"So... fucking nice all the time. So good at talking to people. Nobody is actually this nice."

"I disagree. I believe that everybody has the capacity to be equally kind. In fact, I think that deep down, everybody prefers to be kind. It's just difficult, sometimes, to feel safe enough to do so."

"Okay, well... How did you get there?" Ben asked again.

"Work, I suppose. A lot of work." Arthur paused thoughtfully. "Do you really want to hear the whole story?"

Ben nodded.

"Well, then," Arthur said. "To start—my mother was not a well person. She was always depressed. Paranoid. She had terrible panic attacks, for worse than anything I've ever seen from Millie."

"So you had to learn to take care of her?"

"I did. I thought I was very good at it, too. I was honestly proud of my ability to talk her down when she was at her worst."

"And that's what made you kind?"

"Oh, heavens, no," Arthur laughed. "That's what made me angry. I was a very angry child. Angry at her, for putting me through all that. Angry at my father, for always being gone, leaving me alone with her. He was military, and he never brought us with him anywhere he was stationed. I only saw him a few weeks out of the year. I was angry at my grandparents, and at all my aunts and uncles, for looking the other way and pretending nothing was wrong. I would burn all of their Christmas and birthday cards, even the ones with money in them. And I was so angry at the other children at school, for having normal parents who helped them with their homework, baked them birthday cakes, drove them to the mall..." He trailed off for moment, then looked at Ben. "But I was angriest at myself, I think."

"Why?" Ben asked.

"For feeling angry in the first place," Arthur replied. "I thought I was a selfish monster to have the audacity to worry about my own feelings when my mother was the one who was suffering so much. I always knew she was sick, even when I was too young to understand it. What kind of son hates his mother for being sick?" He shook his head and sighed. "I had so much guilt and shame. When she killed herself, I thought it was because of me. Because of my resentment towards her."

Ben's eyes widened. "Oh my god."

"I found her with this crumpled letter in her hand, but—it wasn't really a letter. It just said Arthur over and over again, all the way to the bottom of the page. I still don't know if she was thinking about me, or my father."

"Holy fuck, dude—" Ben looked a little pale. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"It's alright. It's a part of who I am." Arthur shrugged. "After that, I was... an even angrier young man. I made a lot of very poor choices. Drank a lot. And I mean a lot. Destroyed things just for the hell of it. I once dropped a bowling ball through my neighbor's windshield because his dog wouldn't stop barking all night. I got into a lot of fights—I must have been arrested a dozen times, but I was a minor for most of them, so it never really stuck. Then Dad died—liver failure; he drank himself to death. I was twenty-one at the time, and I was so angry, I just... I went to a bar and picked a fight with the biggest guy I could find."

"What happened?"

"Well, mostly I got the shit kicked out of me. But then... I got in one lucky punch—if you can call it that—knocked him off balance. He hit the pavement hard, and when he tried to get up, his legs wouldn't move."

Ben stared at him in silence.

"I should have gone to prison. But there were witnesses who testified that he technically threw the first punch, and I was basically already beaten to a pulp by the time I got in a hit, so the judge ruled it self-defense. I got probation and court ordered rehab."

"Hold on," Ben interrupted. "Are we about to get to the part where you tell me you found Jesus, he saved you from yourself, and he can save me too?"

Arthur broke into a laugh. "You really are funny, Ben. I can see why Millie likes you."

It surprised Ben what a swell of pride he felt for that tiny bit of approval.

"But, no. Mr. Christ and I never ended up on a first name basis," Arthur continued. "After it happened, it was clear to me that my being alive had made the world worse. Objectively, tangibly, quantifiably worse. The man I hit—he was just minding his own business, enjoying a night out with his friends. He was a single dad, I found out later. A widower. Two little girls. When I saw them in the courtroom, I knew that they would spend the rest of their childhoods having to take care of him, instead of the other way around. If I hadn't walked into that bar that night, they would have had normal childhoods, normal lives. Homework, birthday cakes, malls. I took that away from them."

"So... did Jesus save them?" Ben interjected weakly, and got another chuckle out of Arthur.

"To the best of my knowledge, no. It certainly would have taken a lot off of my plate if he had. But the way I saw it, my choices were either to kill myself like my mother had, or get help, sober up, and spend the rest of my life trying to do enough good in the world to balance out the harm I had caused. I chose the latter. And I have to choose it again every day."

"Wow." Ben sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe... That's just... wow."

"So you see, Ben, I am not, in fact—" Arthur grinned. "Mr. Fucking Rogers."

"Oh my god, she told you I said that!" Ben groaned, putting a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I'm an asshole."

"Nah. I kind of like it. With a name like Arthur P. Wurst, Jr., you can surely imagine that I have had far, far worse nicknames than that. And so long as you don't manage to cripple a man, you will never outdo me in the asshole department."

"Wow, you're right." Ben grinned. "Now that I think about it, I'm a pretty good guy."

"That's the spirit!" Arthur laughed.

"Fuck, man. I just don't... How did you do it? How did you get from there to here?"

"A whole lot of work, and a whole lot of help. A small army of therapists. I didn't become the person I am overnight. It's been nearly two decades of constant effort. For me, support groups have had the biggest impact on my life. Sharing space with others who are struggling with their own demons... It taught me that there's always more to everyone. Everybody is always hurting in some way or another. And even though someone is always hurting more than you are, that doesn't mean that your own pain is any less destructive if you don't deal with it."

"Wow. That's amazing, Arthur. It's fucking incredible that after everything you've been through, you ended up... here." Ben gestured vaguely around the room. "Mr. Fucking Rogers."

"Thank you, Ben. But I haven't even told you the best part."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Well, you see... If you just accept Jesus Christ into your heart as your personal lord and savior—"

"I take it all back! Fuck you, man."

The ensuing burst of laughter went on until they were both out of breath.

"Hey," Ben said, putting his empty mug on the table. "Do you think I could stay for one more cup of tea?"

Arthur smiled. "Of course."