Savages

19

Some backstory on Ben.

The missing Ben, the rarely present Ben.

Start with the genetic material—

Ben’s father is a shrink, his mother a shrink.

Can we safely say he grew up in an overanalyzed home? Every word reconsidered, every action reinterpreted, every stone turned over for its hidden meaning.

What he craved most was privacy.

He loved (and loves) his parents. They are good, warm, caring people. People of the Left who came from People of the Left. His grandparents were New York Jewish Communists, unreconstructed apologists for Stalin (“What was he supposed to do?”) who sent their kids (Ben’s parents) to a socialist summer camp in Great Barrington, Mass., where they met and formed an early association between sexuality and left-wing political dogma.

Ben’s parents went from Oberlin to Berkeley, smoked pot, did acid, dropped out, dropped back in again, and ended up with comfortably lucrative psychotherapy practices in Laguna Beach.

Where they were among the very few Jews.

(One day Chon was bitching about being one of the few [former] military types in Laguna Beach, California, and Ben decided to take him up on it.

“You know how many Jews there are in Laguna?” he asked.

“Is your mother Jewish?” Chon inquired.

“Yes.”

“Three.”

“Correct.”)

Ben grew up listening to Pete Seeger and both Guthries, Joan Baez, Dylan. Subscriptions to Commentary, Tikkun, The Nation, Tricycle, Mother Jones. Stan and Diane (Ben was instructed to call them by their first names) were not upset when they caught fourteen-year-old Ben with a joint—just told him to smoke it in his room and of course asked him endless questions: Was he happy? Unhappy? Alienated? Not? Everything okay at school? Was he confused about his sexuality?

He was happy, unalienated, pulling a 4.0 and relentlessly straight with a series of Laguna girls.

He just wanted to get high every now and then.

Stop analyzing everything.

Ben grew up in privilege but not wealth.

Nice but not luxurious house in the hills above downtown Laguna, such as it is. Mom’s and Pop’s offices were in the house, so he learned to come in the side door after school so as not to walk in on the patients in the waiting room.

He grew up Laguna cool.

Hit at the beach, smoked herb, walked around barefoot. Hung at the basketball court, the volleyball court (was really good there, met Chon there, partnered up and beat a lot of other teams there), the playground.

Did well in school.

Genius at botany.

And business.

Ben went to Berkeley—of course.

Where else?

Double major—botany and marketing, and no one asked what was up with that. Summa cum, Phi Beta Kappa, honors thesis. But Ben was a SoCal, not a NoCal (and these are not only different states of mind, they are different countries)—he’s sun, not fog, light, not heavy—so he came home to Laguna.

Hooked up with Chon—when Chon was home—and they played a lot more volleyball.

And went into business.