BENJI. (a guide to being normal)

Encountering the Ex

Eleven o’clock. Benji stood in front of the full-length mirror. His loafers were polished, his nails were cleaned, his face was shaved. His body fitted into a nice suit and tie and his grandfather’s briefcase rested upright between his feet.

“You look sexy,” Copper complimented, tapping the electric razor against his cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Like a twat,” Benji growled, loosening the tie.

“No, no, leave it. You look fantastic, just go see her, listen, nod. Answer intelligently, and you’ll do fine. Just remember, don’t mention anything about the zeds, all right?”

“No zeds, right. I understand that part, you grilled me on that all through your girly spa treatments.”

Copper held up a strict finger. “They were to clean your appalling feet and hands. I do it for Fiona all the time. Do you want a faggot before you go?”

Benji denied with a toss of his hands. “I’ll have a mint instead.”

“Alrighty.” Copper reached into his back pocket and took out a tin. He popped open the lid and took out a round breath fresher. He placed it on Benji’s awaiting tongue. “There you go. Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Do you have everything?”

“Yes.” Benji held up the suitcase.

“Remember to shake hands and be polite, don’t talk too much, but talk enough so they know you think, yeah? Let girls go first, don’t compliment too much, and don’t touch everything.” Copper hurried Benji to the front door and out to the car. He opened the driver seat and shoved Benji inside. “Have a good day at work.”

“Thanks, babe.” Benji started up the car and drove to the London Variety. It was a lengthy drive since he lived west of London, but it gave him time to listen to his favourite songs, think about what could go wrong, and about what he wanted for lunch. As he tapped the steering wheel to a Colbie Caillat song, he began singing along with her, only to stop halfway when he remembered his last singing experience didn’t go well. Dropping his eyes to the switches on the radio, he reached over to skip the song before the sound of a blaring horn zoomed past him. Looking up suddenly, he saw a red car speeding ahead of him and then, in the rearview mirror, he saw a yellow car coming into view.

In a reaction anyone would have done with a car going fifty miles over the speed limit on a highway and passing right beside the driver’s side, Benji swerved off the road, the wheels of his car skidding across the pavement onto a merging highway. Daringly, he removed his foot from the brake, allowing the speed to replace his gas.  He tried to maneuver from the signs, trees, and cars, but everything was happening in a second. From Grace above, his car slid off the highway and into a grassy area. It wasn’t a soft landing, in fact, Benji suffered from a busted eyebrow, bruised knees, a twisted ankle, and severely sprained wrists.

Blinking away the fuzziness, he pressed a hand against the side of his head and unhinged his clenched jaw. He looked out the window and saw a police car pull up behind him. Leaning his head back in gratefulness, he rolled down the window and gathered his phone and wallet. The police officer came up beside him and leaned in.

“You all right, sir?”

“Yes, I’m all right. I’m on my way to a job interview, and I can’t be late.”

“I’m going to call an ambulance, please stay where you are. I need an account of the accident, and if you’re injured, you shouldn’t go anywhere. Call your boss and let him know.” The officer walked away and began talking to what sounded like other officers.