They never talked about the man who caused the accident. Ben wasn't angry. Maybe it was his overwhelming gratitude that his mother, by some miracle, left the hospital without a scratch. "Must have a guardian angel," one of the nurses had said with a wink.
Ben thought about him often. Sometimes the man's face would fill in that blank canvas of Ben's unknown father. Something about the man struck Ben as the type of dad he daydreamed about. A dad who could toss a baseball with him in the backyard after school. The dad who would fix a big breakfast on Saturday morning for Ben and his mom. The type who could spend hours crouched over the hood of an old car, showing Ben how to repair an engine. All those things his perfect make-believe dad was supposed to do.
On bad nights, Ben still retreated to the safety of his mother's bedroom. He knew he was too old for this, stumbling down the hallway blurry-eyed from sleep and whimpering over a nightmare. Sometimes he told himself he was just looking out for her. He was the man of the house, after all. His mother had nightmares, too. Her brow would crease with worry, and sometimes she would mumble a name in her sleep. Dean. On nights like these, Ben would shake her by the arm until she jerked awake with a gasp. Her fear-stricken gaze would calm at the sight of him. Sometimes she would hug him and cry, smoothing his hair and whispering apologizes for things that had only happened in a dream.
Sometimes it seemed like Ben's daydreams were taking over his life. When he put on a CD to listen to while doing his homework, he pictured the man sprawled across the couch with a beer, keeping him company. "You got great taste in music, kid," he could hear the man saying. Wishful thinking.
When Father's Day was coming up, Ben's teacher assigned an essay. She encouraged the class to make it about any parental figure that was important to them. Ben did two essays. One about his mother, which he planned to turn in, and would be displayed on the class bulletin board. The second one he kept hidden in his room. Ben convinced himself it was just his overactive imagination.
It only became a problem when he got sent to the office for fighting. Some other boys were arguing about whose dad was tougher, and Ben chose that unfortunate moment to walk past by. They turned their focus on him. The recess monitor pretended not to hear, until Ben shouted back "well my dad keeps his car trunk full of guns AND he could chop your dad's head right off" then landed a solid kick to the groin of the nearest teaser.
His mother was not happy to hear what happened. She was stone-faced as she walked Ben to her car, and neither said a word until they were halfway home. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft Ben almost missed it. "Why would you say those things?" Ben just shrugged. She glanced over, her face tight. "Ben? You know how I feel about fighting. And I would never allow you anywhere near a gun. What's going on with you?"
He slouched further in his seat. "If somebody tried to hurt you, I would shoot them."
She pulled the car to the side of the road. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel She looked straight ahead. Ben crossed his arms and braced for the epic scolding he was about to receive. Then, to his confusion, her shoulders began to shake with quiet sobs.
Reaching out, Ben nervously touched her arm. She turned on him, wrapping her arms around his body in a suffocating hug. "Why did you say that, Ben?" Her face was wet against his hair.
"I'm sorry, mom," he muttered. "I won't talk about it any more, I promise."
She pushed back to look at his face, shaking her head. "No- that's not- where do you get these ideas?"
"I dunno. Sometimes I just think about stuff. Bad dreams, whatever."
Her eyes wide, she stared at him for the longest moment. "Did you dream about shooting a gun?" Ben was terrified to answer that. She squeezed his shoulders tighter. "Ben, do you have dreams about things trying to hurt us?" His gaze met hers, and her mouth dropped open. She took a slow, shaky breath. "Honey… did you ever dream that I tried to hurt you?"
"Mom-" Ben's forehead wrinkled up in shock. "It wasn't really you. I know you wouldn't do that."
She was shaking. "Good. That's right. I will never let anyone hurt you." Her fingers were clamped around his shoulders like a vice. "Not anyone."
He nodded. "I know." He felt like they were having another conversation beneath the words, but he wasn't sure how they both understood. After a few moments, she kissed him on the forehead, put the car into drive, and they went home.
The nightmares came less and less frequently after that. Ben was more careful about keeping his imaginary dad to himself. His mom didn't ask. At least, not in so many words.