At the Bottom of the Garden

The world was full of people that barely tolerated Benjamin James Reynolds. He spoke over people, he was clever and not humble about it. He took things apart without permission and he had an answer for everything. He never, ever said sorry. Benjamin James Reynolds was 11 and he was already the most infuriating person imaginable. 

He sat muttering to himself. Nimble little fingers twisted wires together, the harsh metal strands scratched his fingertips, but Benjamin didn’t notice. He was almost finished. A dismantled radio sat before him, the front panel was loose and a bundle of wires peaked around its edge; loose and scruffy. 

“Benny,” Benjamin visibly jumped, he wasn’t aware that anyone had even entered the room, “is that your father's radio?”

“Yes.” He stated, straight.

“Well is it functioning?” Martha Reynolds chuckled to herself, shaking her head. She stepped further into the room, out of the doorway, observing the room. It was dark and dusky, evidence that Benjamin hadn’t left his desk in hours. It was almost five o’clock and the evening was subsequently darkening. Martha pulled her son's open curtains closed and flicked on his light. Benjamin barely reacted, rubbing his eyes and blinking slowly, he carried on his work. “Hunny?”

“It will be.”  Benjamin muttered, surety evident in his voice. 

“Benny,” Martha slowly knelt down next to her son, “your father will want to use that when he gets home.”

“He can’t. I’m using it.” He said bluntly. 

“Oh Ben.” Martha held back tears as she pulled her son’s head to her chest, her hand massaging his dark, unruly curls. He took a deep breath and looked up to his mother’s face, finally putting down the wires in his tiny hands. “Father will shout at me, won’t he?” Benjamin said steadily, his voice cracking slightly. Martha closed her eyes, a single tear drop fell onto her cheek as she pulled her son into a hug. “Don’t worry about that now baby.”

They sat there in relative silence for a few minutes, before Benjamin wriggled in the suddenly claustrophobic grasp. When no reaction came he called weakly, “Mother.” Martha released her son, hands reaching up to clasp his pale, childish face. “What’s going on up there, eh?” She smiled sadly, tapping on his forehead. Benjamin looked confused for a second, eyes wondering up to his mother’s face, he cocked his head, “biological science. Nerves. Thoughts.”  

“Oh my clever boy.” 

Benjamin was holding the radio, it was, not perfectly, but to all intensive purposes, reconstructed. It perched on his knees. Shoed feet on the hallway floor, Benjamin was situated on the staircase, staring intently at the front door. He was counting the seconds, listening to the clock tick, waiting for his father to come through the door. The clock’s rhythmic drumming was practically asking for its autopsy. With eyes still fixated on the door, Benjamin’s mind raced with the theory and fingers twitched at the thought of dismantling and finding every cog and mechanism powering the device. 

The click of the door brought Benjamin’s thought back to the impending situation. Arthur Reynolds came through. He emanated presence and power; he was suited, clean shaven and his stern glare could put any man in his place. This glare turned onto his only son; red tear-stained face and his precious Regency radio, imperfect and tinkered with. “Boy.” He said in a low, demanding tone. Benjamin stood clumsily and plodded, ashamed, after his father into the kitchen and to the dead centre of the room - he’d measured it. “Do you care to tell me why you have broken my radio?”

“It’s not broken. It still works.” Benjamin muttered quietly, placing the device on the table. 

“Boy. How many times must I tell you.” 

“I wanted to know how it worked. We don’t have them at school.” 

“Oh,” Arthur stood suddenly and Benjamin flinched, “school is not good enough for you now.”

“He didn’t mean it like that.” Martha squeaked timidly from the kitchen stove where she was preparing dinner for her small, disjointed family. “Quiet.” Arthur snapped and Martha dipped her head, tears again forming. “So?” He prompted.

“I wanted to learn more.” Benjamin tried, barely more than a whisper. Arthur’s face became red with fury and he strode toward his son, now shaking slightly. “Why can’t you just be normal?” Benjamin’s eyes streamed fresh, unwanted tears as his father leaned toward him. “Get out of my sight.” Arthur growled turning his back on the visibly terrified child.

“Yes, sir.”

Arthur scarpered. He bolted out of the back door and into the garden, down to the very bottom. It was a muddy and damp spot, small enough for Benjamin to curl in amongst the overgrown foliage. He would sit there and watch the creatures; woodlice and worms, birds flitted above his head and the odd insect flew past. He cried, which was not unusual, Benjamin cried alot, it was because, as his father had said, he was not a ‘real man’. Benjamin had taken on that title and cried. 

“Hello?” Benjamin considered the fact that he was mistaken when he heard a little voice come from behind him, but Benjamin was never wrong, “Hello?” he called up between weak tears. 

“Are you ok? I heard you crying.” A little voice replied and Benjamin deduced it was from the garden next to theirs. He’d never met his neighbours, but decided she was a little girl. “I am fine thank you.”

“People who are fine don’t cry.” The voice replied again. 

“No.” Benjamin stated, “who are you?” 

“My name is Heather.”

“Like the perennial shrub?” 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“I do.” Benjamin declared. 

“Are you clever?” Heather began again after a brief pause. 

“Yes.” A soft, little giggle came from over the fence. 

“I want to be an artist when I grow up,” Heather disclosed, “I like to draw.”

“I want to be an astrophysicist.“ 

“I don’t know what that is.” Heather sounded disheartened. 

“I want to see the moon and build space rockets like NASA.” Benjamin’s little eyes glinted and he wiped away any remaining tears. 

“I don’t know what that is either.”  Heather repeated.

“Do you know anything?” Benjamin laughed, “NASA is the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. They are going to send a man to the moon next year, I read that in my father’s paper.”

“Oh, ok.” Heather sounded unimpressed and Benjamin deflated slightly. 

“I am clever...But I am not clever enough. Yet.”

“I think you are!” Heather said, suddenly bright and active again. 

“Thank you. My father says I am stupid and not clever enough. NASA only take the best.” Benjamin repeated from the memory. 

“I think you’re the best.”

“Thank you.”

In the world there was one person who happily tolerated Benjamin James Reynolds. He spoke over people, he was clever and not humble about it. He took things apart without permission and he had an answer for everything. He never, ever said sorry. But to Heather he was fascinating. Benjamin James Reynolds was 11 and to Heather he was the most amazing person imaginable.