The Hustle

The death came right as the air turned cooler, the breeze blowing in fall and sweeping the crunchy, brown colored leaves down the street. Not that anyone stopped to notice. New York City bustled around him, the constant movement a reminder of what he had lost. After all, Bentley Applegate had always been the type to keep to himself. It was a wonder he had ever married in the first place, and though it was only weeks ago since the passing of his beloved, it felt like a lifetime. 

For the past several weeks Ben hadn’t needed to venture from his Brooklyn apartment, an overpriced single bedroom that was barely bigger than his closet growing up. He was in mourning. His practice had given him a few weeks time off, time to process and get everything taken care of the young man had needed to. When the cancer had finally been caught it was too late. Plans had been made, wills drawn out. Overall it had been a fairly straightforward ordeal, but then, when doing it all in grief, the paperwork had taken much longer than he had thought and his first trip to notify the respective businesses had been disastrous. In the three weeks he had off, Ben had formed a new routine, one of countless hours of sleep and frozen dinners for one. A few people had called on him, mostly friends of Margarette’s, but he had welcomed them inside anyway. Not that it filled the void squarely located in his center.

Today was his first day back to work and the young man was feeling lonelier than ever. He wasn’t up for answering the same question over and over, having to lie and fake that he was handling everything alright when the smallest thing still sent him careening over the edge, falling further into the depression that clung to him. As a small child in Georgia he had first been diagnosed as a teenager. When he had moved to New York for a job, a place with an elite group of lawyers specializing in business contracts, and met Margarette, a petite blonde from West Virginia, whose accent wasn’t quite as pronounced as his own, everything had fallen into place. They had bonded over their mutual depressions and anxieties. They had learned to work with each other, utilize the other’s highs when needed. All of their friends, most of whom had originally been friends with Marge, said how perfect they were together. But perfect hadn’t stopped the cancer.

Entering the busy lobby Ben looked around. A familiarness washed over him, a welcome relief, but then the security guard noticed him and waved. He was an older man, well past his prime, and merely road a desk, waving people with their ID tags through. Jack? John? He had never really bothered to learn the other man’s name, but then, in the past he had always been in a rush to get through, dive straight into the pile of clients and forms that would be waiting for him. Work had always been the most important thing to him. Even when they had found out he had worked relentless hours, working to afford the treatments and the care she needed. They had downsized, moved from their two bedroom open floor plan to the cramped quarters in Brooklyn to insure she would receive the best care money could buy. In the end it hadn’t mattered.

“Mr. Applegate, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. I was so sorry to hear about the passing of your wife. She always made the best cookies for us at Christmas. Her smile, holding the large tray of colorful cookies, would make all us guards smile. We will surely miss her,” the guard said and Bentley took a moment to look directly at the name tag before making eye contact. Jack. His first guess had been right. A nod of acknowledgement followed as people continued to bustle around him, ignoring the guard all together. A few hands patted his back as they passed, but no one stopped their hurried lives to talk to him. No one other than Jack, the man he hadn’t even known the name of moments before.

“How are you doing, sir?” It would be the first time the question surfaced for the day, but surely not the last. A few of the secretaries would ask before informing him of what had gone on in his absence, what new cases he had waiting for him on his desk. Was this really how he wanted to spend his time now? Not that there was really anything else to do. Bentley was still paying off the medical debt that had come. He would need to work for the firm at least another ten years before those bills were gone. 

A shrug, fighting back the knot that had risen in his throat. “I’m alive,” he said, the voice sounding as though it came from a stranger. He had spoken much over the past three weeks and his voice had taken on a hollow, raspy sound from the lack of use. He was content to leave it there, then something stopped him. Jack had known his wife. Had taken the time out of his own morning to make sure the other man was okay, was stable. “I’m grieving,” he admitted softly, feeling almost ashamed at the revelation. “Just getting here this morning took far more out of me than I imagined. It’s a commute I’ve made countless times, but I can’t stop thinking about Margarette. I can’t stop wondering how I’m expected to return here as though nothing happened.”

Jack nodded, an understanding look crossing his face. That had been unexpected. “When my Anne passed I thought I would never be able to go on. I prayed and begged God to take me. I didn’t understand why I had been left behind. But I’ve got people here who smile and talk to me. I think my purpose wasn’t completed yet. I know I only smile at all of you busy young folks, but I feel like it’s a small difference I can make in the world. It won’t be easy for a while, but eventually you’ll find reasoning behind it all and be able to move forward with love.”

The words were as unexpected as anything else that morning, but Bentley found himself comforted by them. The folks that had come, sat with him, mourned with him, had all been hurried on to their next event. Instead of comfort the man had been reminded that the hectic life he had once lived was continuing on without him. Jack was giving him the clarity to stop, take a breath, evaluate things, and then go about your day. It was a wisdom of its own, just offered in the few moments of the day they would spend together. Ben knew he was guilty of ignoring the man before, but swore to himself that today would change that. He would be better, because the memory of Marge required him to be. “Thank you. I needed that,” he said with a smile before lifting his ID to swipe into the reader. 

“I’m always here, if you want to talk.”

Another nod, but this time a lightness filled the chest of Bentley. “Thank you. I’d like that.” For the first time in his life, Bentley didn’t feel so alone.