Reading the Mind of Ben Davis

By CL Hampton

Reading the Mind of Ben Davis is a collection of short stories in the life of a man whose family handles experiences beautifully, even when Ben’s first thoughts are not always to do what’s right. Though it is Ben’s job to provide guidance and spiritual direction for his family, he often finds direction from the people around him. Many times that direction even comes from his children. And most of the time, he’s glad that not everyone is able to read the mind of Ben Davis.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: May 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638858423

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Reading the Mind of Ben Davis

CL Hampton

ISBN 978-1-63885-843-0 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63885-842-3 (Digital)

Copyright © 2021 CL Hampton

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Introduction

My name is Ben Davis. By day, I am a pharmaceutical sales rep and have been for about ten years. However, my more important roles are that of a husband to Connie and a father to Ben Jr. and Joy and, most importantly though, my eternal role as a Christian.

Connie and I met in biology class in college. I don’t know if the professor knew what she was doing when she matched us up as lab partners or not, but I sure am glad she did. I remember how sweaty the palms of my hands were in that first class and that I couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the classroom being paired with the prettiest girl. I felt like I had hit the jackpot. We had a traditional courtship—movies, mini golf, church activities with friends, and eventually married in the little church where we still attend today. What makes our marriage solid is that as Christians, God is the head of our home, and we do our earthly best to live by his principles. Even though Connie finished her RN (Registered Nurse) degree, we felt it was God’s will for her to be a full-time, stay-at-home, homeschooling mother, and she was very happy with that role.

We have two children. Ben Jr. is eleven and the spitting image of me with brown hair and eyes and a medium build. Ben loves life, and although he may not always come in first, he will always take a challenge and give his all. Our daughter is appropriately named Joy. She is four years old and the apple of my eye. Joy’s brown curls bounce up and down with every step she takes, and she has the darkest, big brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Joy is playful and fun and sees the positive side of everything. She smiles from the time her eyes open in the morning until they close for the last time at the end of each day. Our children complete our family, and we cherish the time we spend together.

I gave my life to God when I was about Ben Jr.’s age. It was easy to do right in those days because I grew up in a Christian home and attended a Christian school, and the influences of the bubble I lived in didn’t include pressures to get into any kind of trouble. Now as an adult though, I find the struggles I have most are not always in my actions but in what happens in my mind. I struggle with wanting to do right and to be the perfect Christian man, the perfect husband, and the perfect father and with having thoughts that are not always becoming of the man I want to be. This is where I get into trouble and daily need forgiveness. At times, I need that forgiveness from my family, and I’m thankful that the family God gave me knows him and shows me love and forgiveness every day and am most thankful to God who shows me grace and mercy every day. I pray for God to keep me humble, understanding, and grounded in the things that are important for the time he gives me here on earth.

This collection of short stories is a look into the Davis family, and even when my family handles experiences beautifully, my thoughts are not always to do what’s right first. It’s my job to provide guidance and spiritual direction for my family, and I often find direction from the people around me. Many times, that direction even comes from my children. And most of the time, I’m glad that not everyone is able to read the mind of Ben Davis.

Booth Number 3

Chapter 1

Connie and I have a good life. As happy as our life together is and as connected as we are, Connie and I understand that not every day is going to be a fairy tale. We do start each day with reading the Bible and praying together, and we do our best to teach our children values and the importance of responsibility, to love their neighbor, and to always choose to do what’s right, but some days are more difficult than others. I’m not sure I even know why, but this particular Friday night, my wife was not in a good mood when I got home from work, which wasn’t like her at all. Normally, I would come home to find her in the kitchen, singing or whistling one of her favorite hymns, but not on this day, and my day was no picnic either. I lost a big account at work, and my boss was breathing down my neck. I would try not to bring work home with me, but the loss of a big account certainly affected the home as well. Because I would keep Connie abreast of how my accounts were going, I wanted to tell her about my day. I tried not to do things like that in front of the children, so I kept it to myself, and I was sure she could sense that my mood was not good. I tried to put the day behind me and shifted to my husband and father role, even though I was not done stewing about the loss and wasn’t ready to move on. So instead of jumping in and helping my wife with whatever she needed, I messed up.

At my job, my days are normally full of schmoozing people and keeping an upbeat, positive, life-is-a-party attitude, and after work, sometimes I just need some time to come down from the adrenaline high before I’m ready to do life. Even though Connie’s body language was clear enough that I didn’t need to ask, I made the mistake of asking her how her day was, and things went downhill from there.

One of the things I love about my wife is that she normally has a positive outlook on everything. The honest truth is it bothers me sometimes that the whole world can seem to be falling apart to me and I may want to get angry and scream out loud, but Connie’s Mary Poppins attitude downplays things, and she balances the tragedy with reality, sprinkled with a little bit of mystical power; and because of that I realize, matters just aren’t as big as I make them to be. Connie normally lives by the be-still principle and let’s God handle the tough stuff.

As much as I could have used some of that, this day was different. She complained about the science test our son failed and talked about how she’s going to make him repeat sixth grade if he doesn’t straighten up. Ben is not a straight A student, but he tries his best, and I felt her comment was harsh, especially for her. She complained about how Joy was half a step behind her, talking her ear off every second, and that she just needed a moment to herself. I guess even her mother called her that day to unload her troubles, and the saga went on.

Connie is normally a rock and handles everyone’s trials with poise. I guess that’s why everyone comes to her, so why these things were bothering her that day, I couldn’t understand. It seemed to me that her day was just like any other. I listened though as she tried to explain why the house was not picture-perfect, not that it really mattered to me, and that the laundry wasn’t finished. Again, I didn’t mind, and she went on about why we were having boxed mac ’n’ cheese for dinner that night. Now I knew something was wrong. As much as I care about her day and I respect and appreciate the job she does at home, on that day, I was having my own bad day. I just wanted to focus on my concern and how I was feeling, and my patience was growing thin with her grumbling. I know she wanted me to step in and take over with the kids and give her some alone time, but I just didn’t have it in me. To avoid a blowup, I knew I had to flee the situation. Normally Connie and I would sit down and tackle a problem together, but inside, I knew I just needed to get out. I did something I never do, and I made the excuse that I needed to run out for a few things at the store. It was a lie, something I’m not accustomed to doing, and I instantly felt bad for it, but the feeling to leave was stronger than the guilt I felt for deceiving my wife, so I went with it. I changed from my suit and tie to a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers and gave Connie a peck on her cheek, and I left. I’m sure she wasn’t happy about it, but even though she didn’t ask about my day, she knew I wouldn’t have bailed out if I didn’t really need to.

Chapter 2

The temperature was raw, and it was raining, as is common in northeast Pennsylvania, in early November. I didn’t want to just drive around, and I didn’t really have anything to pick up at the store. I just needed a chance to clear my head and be alone. After changing the radio station from one station to another, never finding a song to just get lost in and let my spirit calm down, I stopped at a small twenty-four-hour diner about a mile from my house. I’ve never eaten at this diner before, but I’d driven past it many times. It was one of those fifties-style diners with the chrome exterior on the bottom and windows on top. I parked in the first parking stall as there was only one other car in the parking lot and walked inside to find exactly what I expected. The old diner still had its charm and took me back in time. I walked onto the black-and-white checkerboard tile floor that was slick in spots from patrons bringing the rain in on their shoes, and I couldn’t help but notice the place felt uneven as the furnishings were off-center. Just to the left of the door was a small area that’s somewhat like a booth that was only large enough for one person to squeeze behind. There was a cash register, a stack of newspapers, a toothpick dispenser, and a bowl of red and white hard candy mints on the counter. There were seven booths lined up along the outside wall of the diner. Straight ahead in the center of the room and extending most of the length of the diner, except to the right where there was an opening that I assumed led to the restrooms, was a long bar that separated the dining room from the kitchen. The bar was lined with empty chrome stools with red vinyl seats. From the kitchen, I could hear a radio playing. Although it was slightly off-key, I could hear a man with a deep voice belting out Old Time Rock ’n’ Roll by Bob Seger. There was no hostess, so I just grabbed the last booth in the corner to the right and waited for someone to notice me. I chose to sit against the outside wall so I had a good visual of the whole diner, but I was far enough away from the center of the place and able to avoid any unwanted interaction or conversation. I really just wanted to enjoy an hour or so to decompress alone. The cold red Formica tabletop had the typical salt-and-pepper shakers, a napkin dispenser, and a bottle of ketchup I would expect to find. Along the edge of the table was a small metal tab with the number 7 on it. I guess I was sitting at booth number 7.

It wasn’t long before a waitress burst through the western saloon-style doors that separated the kitchen from the bar and swung in both directions. She was holding a large tray of food that she was to deliver to the only other people in the diner. A quick I’ll be right with you, honey was shouted at me as she ran the other direction. A few minutes later, Barbara (I assumed her name was by the name tag she had proudly displayed on her shirt), a petite woman in her fifties, was laying a paper place mat and a set of silverware wrapped up in a paper towel on the table in front of me. She was wearing a pair of khaki pants and a red, blue, and green button-up plaid shirt and a pair of sensible tan shoes. Her hair that was probably shoulder length was pulled back tight in a ponytail. I couldn’t help but notice that her hair was the same color as her pants, and I wondered if she planned it that way. Barbara looked tired but had the energy of a jack rabbit, and she kept a pace that most three-year-olds couldn’t match.

Barbara inquired, What can I get fer ya? as she laid the menu in front of me.

Just a cup of black coffee for now, I replied.

Are ya sher there’s nothin’ else? she asked in a twangy voice.

I gave her half a nod, and away she went.

Chapter 3

I sat for a few minutes just staring off at the flashing lotto sign in the gas station window next door when I heard the diner door abruptly fly open. Four high school-aged boys, who looked like they just finished up with a football practice, pushed their way inside. Despite the temperatures being in the low forties, the boys were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, and even though I was a distance from them, I could smell sweaty gym socks. The boys were loud and hyped up. I assumed they worked up a good hunger after their workout and needed to refuel. Without discussion, the boys headed directly to a booth that was on the other side of the diner, just behind the booth where the cash register was, as if they sat at that same booth every day.

While never looking at me, Barbara sat my coffee on the table in front of me as she yelled, Hi, boys, like she was expecting them to show up. Barbara watched the boys file in and take their seats, like she was taking inventory, then time stopped as Barbara let out an ear-piercing "Wait! Who’s missin’? Where’s Joey?"

Like a mother bear, Barbara was frantic and appeared to be in a panic until one of the buys blurted out the explanation, Joey’s failing math class, and Coach won’t let him on the field next game unless he gets a B or higher on his next exam.

Another boy continued on with the explanation in a sassy voice, as though he were tattling on their friend. "So he’s hangin’ out with his superhot tutor tonight."

Does Joey have a date? Barbara inquired.

As though it was choreographed, the boys barked out in unison, He wishes! and the boys erupted into loud, carefree gut-busting laughter. Barbara’s countenance returned to the adoring, motherly smile once it was confirmed that Joey was okay.

Barbara left the boys for a moment, and in no time, was back at that booth with a pitcher of soda. Are we havin’ the usual tonight, boys? she asked.

The boys didn’t need a menu, and it was clear they came here often.

Trying not to be obvious, I listened to the conversation as it went from teasing as boys do to complaining about how rough their coach was that day.

Did you see Coach throw the eraser at Tom when we were going over plays? one of the boys asked.

Yeah, what was that about? another boy added.

Someone explained, I guess he fell asleep again.

I reminisced about my English teacher as one of the boys mentions their English teacher, Ms. Stine. I watched as the boy hunched his back and wrinkled up his nose and pushed up his imaginary glasses and joked about how she smelled like mothballs.

One of the other boys asked, "Why does she feel the need to hum the theme song from Jeopardy every time she asks a question?"

As the jabbing continued, I smiled inside as I remembered hanging out with my buddies after practice when I was young. I almost laughed out loud when I heard one of the boys ask, What was your problem today? You couldn’t catch a cold if I sneezed in your face!

Again, the boys laughed at him, and I strangely felt like I was back in high school and part of their little gang. The jeering went on until Barbara appeared with her tray of burgers and fries, and the boys retreated into a table huddle, and the whole world stopped. All four boys were silent except for an occasional grunt or sniffle as they were bent over their plate as if pigs at their troughs. I remembered the feeling of being so hungry after finishing a practice that I could have eaten a horse, so I understood.

Now that the boys were faces deep in their plates, Barbara showed up again. Ya sher I can’t get ya nothin’, honey? she asked.

Along with the sounds of the half-rate solo, the smell of the three-day-old fryer oil wafting from the kitchen, and the streams of the burger grease and ketchup dripping from the chins of the boys strangely made me hungry. I should have gone home as I’m sure Connie was putting dinner on the table, but I blurted out, You talked me into it, Barbara.

In her twangy way, she uttered, Now yer talkin’, sweetheart, and she thumbed through the pages of her notepad to find a clean page in which to write down my order, then touched the point of her pen to the tip of her tongue, and she was ready. I really wanted one of those burgers, and if I were in high school like the boys, who without even knowing it, made me feel like one of them, I wouldn’t have given it another thought, but those days were long gone. Now I had my stomach that was no longer made of steel to consider. The thought of lying awake all night with heartburn haunted me, and I decided it just wasn’t worth it. I regretfully uttered, I’ll take a turkey club on wheat.

After exchanging my coffee cup with a glass of diet soda, Barbara dropped my order slip off in the kitchen and made her way back to the booth where the boys sat again. Despite her rough and backwoods way, it was clear that Barbara had a motherly fondness for the boys, and she hoovered over them like a mother bird protecting her young while they devoured their feast of cholesterol on a plate. Once their stomachs were filled, and as the fatigue was setting in, the boys sat quietly, almost comatose in their places, until Barbara started clearing off the table right out from under them like she was silently telling them it’s time to go home, boys. As the boys headed out, the surprised looks on their faces made it evident that they now realized they weren’t quite dressed appropriately for the weather, and the words of Albert Einstein came to my mind, Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one. After they departed, the smell of adolescent adrenaline slowly faded, and once again, the diner was filled with the essence of burnt coffee grounds and bacon grease.

Chapter 4

Barbara cleared and wiped off the table where the boys had been sitting. She straightened the salt-and-pepper shakers and dressed the table for the next patron. The time was nearly 6:00 p.m. now, and the diner quickly filled up with the dinner crowd. Barbara, who normally scurried rather than walking, was now working at a scampering pace. Given the size of the diner, one waitress could probably handle even a full house on a normal day, but with seats filling up all at one time with people wanting to get out of the cold rain, Barbara was really moving. She rushed from booth to booth with a pot of coffee in one hand and the notepad in the other. She stopped at one booth and asked if she could warm up the customer’s coffee, and I saw her countenance change when they asked her for decaf, and she had to drop everything to grab a different pot from behind the bar.

After most of the seven booths were occupied and a few of the bar stools were filled with single guys who appeared to be stopping in for a bite after getting off work, a young couple came in and sat down at one of the few open booths, which happened to be same booth where the boys had just gotten their fill of nourishment and memories they will keep long into their lives. The couple was appropriately dressed for the weather in jeans and winter jackets and appeared to be in their early twenties. The couple sat across from each other but leaned in so close that they might as well be sitting on the same side of the table. They appeared to be having a very intimate conversation and were unaware of the crowd around them. They spoke quietly, and I was not able to hear what they were saying across the now-crowded diner, but it was obvious that the couple was young and in love. He would lean in to speak, and she would cock her head one direction and giggle after every profound statement he uttered. She smiled and twisted her hair around her finger, and he nervously rocked back and forth keeping his eyes locked with hers. I really didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were saying. It reminded me of the hours Connie and I spent gazing into each other’s eyes. We used to joke with friends that the only reason we got married was so we could get some sleep. Each time I glanced in their direction, I felt like I was intruding, and I tried to shift my focus another direction.

After reading over the advertisements on my paper place mat, looking for spelling errors as Connie and I have done since our dating days, I noticed a newspaper lying at the end of the bar near me, and I reached over and grabbed it. I scanned over the front page that was splattered with the recap of political propaganda that didn’t really interest me. I thumbed through the pages looking for some earth-shattering news and was left unimpressed. Advertisements for the upcoming Santa Parade and the opening of a new beer store in town seemed to be what the editor wanted the readers to most be aware of. As a Christian, neither revelation interested me. I kept thumbing through the pages. There was a page of pictures of pets that had been dressed up for the Halloween Parade the week before. I thought back through all the dogs we had in the family throughout my lifetime and couldn’t recall a single memory of putting a dress on my dog and wondered to myself, What is wrong with people? Maybe it was the times, or maybe it was just me, but it wasn’t something that I would have ever done. A verse in Colossians 3:2 came to my mind, Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. I guess this is why politics and beer stores and dogs in dresses don’t grab my attention. I read through the obituaries to see if I recognized any of the names. I find it interesting that the older I get, the more the obituaries interest me. I wished I had taken the opportunity to head home instead of committing to a longer stay by ordering a dinner.

Finally, Barbara brought my club sandwich, and I could eat and rush home to give Connie the time and companionship she was seeking earlier and maybe spend a little time with Ben Jr. and Joy before family devotions and tucking them into bed. Even though I had completely lost interest in the love birds, I did find it interesting that Barbara didn’t hoover over these two, who clearly were alone no matter how many other bodies were present in the place.

My club sandwich wasn’t the best club sandwich I ever had. It wasn’t bad, but there was nothing special about it. The chips that were served on the side, however, were clearly homemade, and the perfect balance of salt and crunch made the whole meal one I knew I would be back to enjoy again. I didn’t notice when or how, but I looked up from my dinner, and Romeo and Juliet were gone. Once again, Barbara was dressing the table so it would be fit for the next party.

Chapter 5

After finishing my club sandwich and my second diet soda, I felt the need to relieve myself and made my way to the restroom. As I looked back over my shoulder to the booth that seemed to capture my attention that night, I noticed the metal plate on the edge of the table with the number 3. Booth number 3 was located to the left of the door and right next to the cash register stand, so there seemed to be a lot of action. After Romeo and Juliet left, a young woman with two young children quietly came in, and because there were no other seats available, they sat at booth number 3. If given her choice of booths, I think she would have chosen one in a corner away from anyone else, maybe even the booth that I was sitting in, but at this time, there was no other choice for her. The woman was attractive but pale and had a certain sadness about her, and she looked like she had been crying. Her children were well-behaved, and after she assisted them in removing their coats, they sat respectfully in the booth while their mother ordered their meals for them except for the little girl, who was about Joy’s age, when she spoke up and announced she would like chocolate milk, please.

Barbara smiled and quietly said, How ’bout some whipped cream on that chocolate milk, little lady?

The little girl’s face lit up, and she vigorously nodded, and Barbara rushed off. I watched as the woman turned the place mats that Barbara had placed on the table over and showed the coloring pictures on the back to her children, then handed them the crayons that Barbara had slipped into her hand as they were coming in the door. I got the impression that she was trying to occupy them so that she could be lost in her thoughts without interruption.

With the children busy coloring, I saw the woman rummaging through her purse and wondered if she was concerned about having the money to pay for the chocolate milk that Barbara offered to top with