Benny's Mom
The birth had been torture. In the Arizona desert without medication and little water, her husband dragged her into an abandoned gas station where she laid for eleven hours in the agony of her birth. Even in the shade of a building, she could not escape the sweltering heat, magnified by her sweat and anguish. This was his mother. Her name was Rita.
When the child was born, it was a boy. In suffering, she cried and pushed while Harry guided the child into the world. She blinked away tears from her eyes, and she moaned loudly in relief when the boy was finally out. Drenched in sweat, Rita stared at the wrinkled, bloody infant. Harry kissed the child and rejoiced; but Rita only cringed and wept. When Harry offered her their son, she turned away.
During her pregnancy, an NCR soldier had given her an old pre-war book full of baby names. From there she picked Benoney, meaning "son of my sorrow", for the baby had been the most sorrowful event of her life. Harry abhorred the wretched meaning, and called his son Benny.
Harry couldn't understand why a mother would call her son a name with a meaning as despicable as this. "Benny." Harry whispered to his son before putting him in the cradle. In his mind, it could've stood for Benjamin. According to the book it meant 'son of my right hand.'
"You'll grow up to be my right-hand man, Benny…." he kissed the baby's forehead. "You'll be my strength.
From the beginning, Harry adored his son. He loved his curious nature. Benny wanted to experience everything, and he loved meeting new people. At merely seven years old, Benny had taught himself to play the piano. Harry marveled at his son's intellect! The old prewar instrument had sat at the back of Rita's shop for nearly a decade. Rita had forgotten about it entirely, and Harry had messed around with it a few times. But nobody really knew how to play. At least not until Benny discovered a compartment on the back that stored a few dozen prewar music sheets and a guide on how to play.
Harry couldn't get enough of the songs Benny played and bragged about his son to all the customers who came around.
"Have you ever seen such a talented young man!" Harry beamed at his son who was showing off playing some tune. The merchant from the other side of the dam smirked and took a drag from his cigarette.
"He sure does got talent! Fancy seeing an act like that in New Vegas!"
Harry chuckled. "New Vegas! I haven't been there in over a decade."
"Really?" The merchant asked surprised. "Well, I go there nearly once a week."
"I'm nearly forty, my partying days are long over." Harry said wistfully, while happy tones from Benny's piano played around them.
"Only forty? I see people on the strip twice that old! Vegas isn't ageist! It's for anybody and everybody!" The merchant waved around his cigarette excitedly, and Harry coughed at the smoke. "Besides, I don't really go there to party. I've got a client holed up in one of them casinos."
"He buys a good amount of your supplies?"
"Every time I'm up there he nearly buys me out of stock! I'd be a rich man if I didn't blow it all of the cheap booze and women!" The merchant laughed at his own joke and took another puff.
Harry pondered Vegas. He longed to know what a life of such luxury would be like. To have more money than he knew what to do with. Of course, to Harry it was only an expression. He knew exactly what he would do with it all.
Benny reached the final note of the song he was playing, and waddled over to his dad and the merchant. Harry smiled. If he really had all the money in the world, Benny would never want for anything.
"We should go to New Vegas someday, Dad!" Benny smiled up at his father. Harry chuckled albeit a little sadly. Inside, he longed to take his whole family to Vegas for a while. Maybe even permanently. But, it was an unconceivable dream; so impossible that he couldn't allow himself to wonder how their lives would be. It would only make reality sadder. While the rumors of New Vegas were glamorous; Harry knew that the politics surrounding the Strip were dangerous.
New Vegas was full of gambling, entertainment, and booze; but it was also full of violence and warring tribes. No sooner would you strike it big playing roulette, then somebody shoot you in the head for eyeing their dame. It wasn't exactly a safe place, albeit cozy. Yet, Harry wondered how much more dangerous New Vegas really was from the rest of the world. He'd known many people shot on the roads for no reason other than the assailant wanted your boots.
However, he humored his son who at seven years old, did not need to know the harshness of reality. "Yes! Someday, we're all moving to New Vegas."
The merchant smiled at the father and son.
Suddenly, the front door of the shop opened and Rita walked in with her hair a mess and face stained with grease. She was struggling to hold an old prewar terminal. The family's shop specialized in mechanics and guns. Rita was extremely intelligent. She repaired robots, radios, medical devices, and every now and then the odd customer would come in with a pip boy 3000, but Rita was good with technology. She was even better with guns.
She was a connoisseur of guns. When Rita and Harry first met, she wowed him with her collection. He stared starry eyed at her rows on display, and they're first date was shooting Ragstags from the top of a building somewhere out in Arizona.
Rita looked the three of them over. "What are y'all yapping about now?" she asked them, dropping the terminal on the shops counter hard. She let out a sigh. "Damn that's heavy."
"We were talking about New Vegas, ma'am," the merchant said tipping his hat in greeting.
Rita smirked. "New Vegas… that's one clusterfuck of a city if I've ever known one." Harry had to agree.
"Maybe not for much longer, you know," the merchant said nonchalantly and finally put out his cigarette in an ashtray on the counter.
"What do you mean?" Rita asked. She began tinkering with the terminal as the merchant spoke again.
"Well, you heard about the NCR making its way into Nevada?"
"Of course!" said Harry. "It's all anybody talks about anymore… War and politics."
"Great for business," Rita gestured to the gun collection on the back wall.
"Apparently, the Lucky 38 turned on its lights for the first time in… well, I'm not sure how long… maybe since before the war," the merchant eyed the two adults. "A lot of people are saying it has to do with NCR encroaching on our territory."
Rita scoffed. "The Lucky 38 just magically turned on?"
"What's the Lucky 38?" Henry asked. "Some sort of robot?"
"The Lucky 38 is a prewar casino." Rita said.
"So, what do you mean by 'it turned on'?" asked Harry.
"The lights around the top of the casino came on," said the merchant. "But, the door is still locked. Nobody has been able to go inside, a few people tried."
"How does that have anything to do with the NCR?" asked Rita.
"Nobody's sure… But all we know is that as soon as the NCR entered Nevada, the lights on the Lucky 38 started flashing. Day and night, they never go off! People are excited… nobody knows what it means, but I've got a feeling this is a new era for the Strip."
Even though Benny was only seven years old, he listened intently to the conversation. When adults started talking, they often forgot he was still there. Benny used this to his advantage. Growing up in the area surrounding Rita's shop meant he heard many conversations that may not have been age appropriate. People came through all the time talking about war, violence, blood, sex, etc.
"How are people reacting?" Harry asked.
"Well," the merchant began. "Most people are just curious. And as expected, each tribe is trying to find a way to use this to their advantage."
"I don't understand how a casino can just turn on out of nowhere…" Rita said.
"That's what's sparking all the interest for the tribes," the merchant explained. "Did the NCR turn on the Lucky 38? Do they have access to some sort of generator within the building? It's driving a lot of people insane, and the last thing these tribes want is some foreign government coming in and telling them what they can and can't do."
"So, I'm guessing you oppose the NCR?"
The merchant scrunched his face. "Well, on one side, in California territory the NCR has made the roads a lot safer, which obviously as a merchant is incredible news for me. But, then again there are a lot of useless laws we got to follow. If we don't agree to the rules, the NCR has been known to massacre entire towns..."
Benny's eyes widened.
"Fuck…" Henry whispered.
"So, did you do a lot of trading in California?" Rita changed the topic.
"Only a bit. But, I can definitely say I feel safer in California than I do Nevada."
Benny watched his parents' faces to gage their reaction. He was only seven, he didn't know too much about political tensions here or in California, but he was curious. His father seemed slightly worried. His mother, as usual, was expressionless. He couldn't quite be certain how either one felt. It seemed maybe neither one of his parents knew much about the NCR or the strip.
For most of his life, Benny lived and worked with his parents in their shop. His father was a sort of role model, he taught his son how to shoot a gun and play cards. They hunted together and Harry taught him a great deal about life. Rita, however, was distant. When he was little, he went out of his way to get her attention. But, it was obvious she did not like him, for whatever reason; Benny resigned himself to that fact, and was content to have her as a stranger,
As he matured, Benny quickly learned that the way to make a deal with anybody was to remain cool, charismatic, and compelling. Benny didn't waste time. He quickly learned how to convince customers to buy whatever his mom was selling. Fortunately, Benny inherited his mother's good looks. It wasn't long before he began using his sex appeal to influence a deal.
As years progressed, political tensions between the NCR and the people of Nevada became worse. The roads weren't getting any safer, in fact Rita swore that the roads had gotten more dangerous than they had been in a long time. And then one day, while Benny was working alongside his mother, a customer informed them of a worse enemy. A faction that dressed like ancient warriors and spoke a strange language. They used swords and wore red; they called themselves Caesar's Legion. They were prideful and arrogant.
"What do you make of the Legion, mom?"
Rita was tinkering with an old radio brought in by a customer, it was late in the evening. Harry had already gone to bed.
"A customer is a customer…" she said nonchalantly.
"Does it bother you that they're murders?" Benny asked offended.
His mother shrugged her shoulders. "Who isn't a murderer in this day?" Benny was aghast at the comment.
"Well, us!" he said and Rita laughed, which irritated him.
""We sell guns, don't we!?" she said aggressively. "What do you think people just buy them and have tea parties with 'em?" Benny considered the statement. His mom had a point. "Listen," she said. "This side of the Dam, roads are safer, prices are cheaper, and business booms. In my opinion, ever since Caesar made his way into Nevada, things have gotten a lot easier."
"I heard its legal to rape the women," Benny said, and Rita raised her eyebrows, other than that she didn't react, but continued to take apart the radio.
Harry left a lot with the brahmin when Benny was growing up. He travelled from city to city when Rita was overstocked with supplies. He was more than capable of defending himself, but he always brought along his longtime friend, Wes, as a guard.
It was hard for Rita, especially when Benny was a baby. She was alone at the shop, having to take care of Benny all while making sales or repairing complex machinery. These were the days she hated most about being a mother.
The infant could hardly walk, it needed constant attention, and Rita detested having to stop everything she was doing to feed the child or tend to its needs. She hated breastfeeding. While some mothers saw it as a bonding experience, it disgusted Rita. But, it was cheap, and there was nothing else for a baby to eat, so she did it.
At night, when Harry was away Rita put Benny to sleep and climbed to the roof of the shop. She watched the constellations and thought about killing herself.
She sighed and smoked.
Benny was sixteen when one afternoon his father informed the two of them he was making a trip to Boulder City with Wes and the brahmin.
When he didn't return within the week, Benny expected the worse.
He watched his mother, who for the most part left him alone. He never saw her cry… He never saw her happy. He wasn't sure if his mom even realized that a week had passed and Harry wasn't back from a trip that should have taken three days at most. She went on like it was normal, and Benny didn't understand why she wasn't worrying. He wondered if she'd killed him. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. His mother didn't even seem joyful, and she was no murderer.
"Where the hell are you going?" It was early morning, and Benny didn't expect his mom to be awake yet. The sun had yet to rise. He let go of the door handle and turned around. His mother was sitting on a stool in the corner of the shop. Benny had never seen her looking more defeated.
"I'm leaving." Benny said. Rita sighed, and crossed her arms. Her expression was unreadable.
"Let me guess, you're going to Boulder City?" She lit a cigarette with an old match and breathed in the smoke deeply. Benny wanted to spit in her face. He hated the flippant way she talked, like she didn't give a damn about anything. Did his mom even care that her husband was potentially dead!?
"Does it even matter what I tell you?" Benny asked, he stared his mother down through the darkness. He didn't know what he was expecting. He wanted to see her cry, he wanted to see her beg him not to leave, or at least beg him to find Harry and bring him back alive.
She took a drag off her cigarette.
"No. Just go," she turned away from him.
Benny tightened his grip on his dad's rifle and walked through the door. He would make his way to Boulder City if it killed him.
Benoney. He thought. Son of my sorrow.