1: Message.
Ben Tennyson had just gotten back from the soccer game with the guys and, honestly, he was completely wrecked. It wasn’t just the physical exertion, though his muscles were screaming in protest, too. What really had him pissed off was his mood. Because few things hit as hard for a total soccer fanatic who takes the game seriously as losing a match that, theoretically, was just a casual kickabout with his buddies.
But in his head, it felt like he had been playing in a damn World Cup final. And all of that had gone down on a shitty pitch in the middle of some random park: bent goalposts, grass that was more patches of dirt than anything else, and lines half-erased from wear and tear and lack of maintenance.
He had just turned eighteen in December, but at that moment, he looked like a man much more tired of life than a teenager. His shirt was stuck to his torso with dried sweat, his skin was itching all over, his legs felt like they were carrying lead weights, and his throat was burning from all the yelling, trashing, and dropping f-bombs for ninety minutes. It wasn’t just the muscle fatigue; it was that nasty mix of frustration and rage that leaves you feeling like total crap.
During the hangout with the guys, he’d ended up getting into it with Cash and JT, those two idiots who had been busting his balls since kindergarten. It was supposed to be a friendly match, but when it comes to measuring who’s got the biggest ego, sportsmanship goes down the drain faster than respect.
Ben walked away with the adrenaline still pumping hard in his chest, like the match had never actually ended. He felt the heat of his anger coursing through his entire body, a tension that wouldn’t go away just by walking or muttering insults under his breath. He needed to blow off some steam, and fast. In his mind, the solution was clear, simple, and direct: something quick, dirty, and effective. The classic “helping hand” to kill the stress.
In short, beating off, to put it politely.
Without a second thought, he decided to head to the RV park where his grandpa Max had the old Rust Bucket parked. He knew exactly what he was looking for: that legendary box full of porn mags the old man kept like they were sacred treasures. They were vintage, some looking like they were straight out of the seventies or eighties, with yellowing pages and chicks with hairstyles nobody rocked anymore. But Ben also knew that every now and then, his grandpa managed to get his hands on some more “updated” material, more for today’s kids.
Even though it was 2014, with the internet everywhere and smartphones that gave you an infinite world of free porn in the palm of your hand, Ben still preferred those old magazines. It didn’t make much logical sense, but he didn’t care. There was just something special about those magazines.
Once he spotted his grandpa’s old bucket of bolts, he went straight to give three knocks on the door, but nobody answered.
“Grandpa, it’s me. I know I joked the other day about putting you in a nursing home, but I didn’t mean it... well, maybe a little... but don’t hold a grudge, old man.”
Ben said to the other side of the door. He really hoped Max wasn’t holding a grudge or anything, not if he wanted to borrow THAT box with the prized magazines. Still, there was no answer from inside the camper. In the end, the brunette tried sticking his fingers in the handle and, with a single pull, the door popped open. Apparently, the vehicle wasn’t locked.
“Figures... you didn’t even lock it. You senile old coot.”
Inside, darkness greeted him. He flipped the light switch, and what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks: the place was a wreck. Drawers open, cupboards tossed, clothes and sheets thrown all over the floor, like someone had been searching for something in a frenzy. Everything was upside down, but curiously... nothing seemed to be missing. The appliances were still in place. Nothing broken. Nothing clearly stolen.
“What the hell happened here...?” He muttered.
On the floor, he saw Max’s wallet. He picked it up, opened it, and confirmed the money was still intact. Without thinking too much about it, he took all the cash and shoved it into his shorts pocket. Then he tossed the wallet aside like it was trash.
After all, his priorities were clear.
Ben kept exploring the mess. He couldn’t care less if some thief had taken stuff from his grandpa; he only cared about finding that box of magazines. There was something very special about those pages, and he wanted them for himself like a greedy little creep. Besides, if anyone asked, he could just say the burglars had taken those too.
“Come on, old man, where are you hiding them?”
He crouched in front of the cabinet under the sink and stuck his head inside. In the back, almost hidden, he saw something that didn’t fit: a small, disguised button.
“Aha... so you had a stash spot.”
He pressed it without hesitation. A panel on the wall, right above the sink, slid open with a soft mechanical sound. Ben raised an eyebrow, surprised. He didn’t get how something as flat as that wall could hide an entire box, but he was ready to check it all out.
His disappointment was huge when he saw that the only thing in that secret compartment was a small metal disk. He picked it up and pressed the center button. Immediately, a crisp hologram of Max himself projected from the center of the disk.
“Hello. If someone is watching this, and I’m sure it’s you, Ben, let me tell you one thing: stay the hell away from my magazines!”
And with that, the hologram clicked off.
“Great, Grandpa knew I’d come.” The brunette said.
He didn’t even stop to question the futuristic tech he had in his hands. His brain was too focused on his goal. He was frustrated that Max had anticipated everything. But then the disk flickered back on, and a second hologram appeared.
“Okay, now it’s recording. Ben, I know it’s you. Forget the previous message; I made it almost two years ago and didn’t have time to delete it. The message I wanted to leave is different, especially for you.”
The hologram cut out again and flickered back on after a second.
“Shit, I pressed the off button and now I have to repeat everything... I was talking for almost forty minutes with the recording off. Anyway, long story short, if you’re seeing this, it’s because I’m far away. You might not see me again... So, I’m leaving you the box with my magazines.”
Ben felt a wave of happiness and grinned like an idiot. His grandpa, his role model, his guide, his old mentor, was leaving his greatest treasure to him, his favorite grandson. He didn’t even stop to dwell too much on that whole ”being far away and not seeing him again” part. That wasn’t a priority. The hologram continued:
“But I’m not gonna make it easy for you. I hid it somewhere else and you’re gonna have to look for it yourself. This will serve as a lesson so you don’t touch my stuff. Get to work and get your fingernails dirty for once.”
Max’s tone sounded clearly irritated now.
“Anyway, I marked the location on the map I left in the glove box. You’ve got your driver’s license now, so grab a car and get over there. And while we’re at it, you’re old enough to move out of your parents’ house. Do everyone a favor: get a job and move out already. My magazines are yours now; you’ll have plenty of free time to blow off steam... provided work doesn’t take up too much of your time. Anyway, this is a punishment for taking one of my magazines two years ago and dropping it in the sink. You thought I didn’t notice it was you? That’s all. Max, out.”
“YOU PIECE OF SHIT OLD MAN!”
All the admiration he’d felt a second before completely evaporated. Now he just saw a spiteful old man with too much free time and a desire to screw up his life, forcing him to travel who knows how many miles just to get some old porn magazines in the middle of the internet age.
But Ben didn’t give a damn. The magazines were still useful when his connection dropped or he wanted something more... tangible.
In the end, he decided to take a little revenge. He didn’t know where his grandpa had gone, but the old man had left the keys to the Rust Bucket in the ignition.
“The hologram will didn’t say anything about leaving me the Rust Bucket, but I guess it’s mine now.”
Without further ado, he checked the map in the glove box. Sure enough, it was marked where he had to go, but it was going to be an almost day-long trip. Now, with this, he confirmed that the old man really was a nutcase.
Now all that was left was to ask his parents for permission to take this trip. He hoped he wouldn’t get lost on the way and that they wouldn’t ask him too many uncomfortable questions. Plus, he would have to come up with a good excuse to explain why the Rust Bucket was now under his name.
But he’d think about that later. For now, the only thing clear was that he was going to get those magazines back, even if he had to cross half the country to get them. And when he finally had them in his hands... he was going to blow off all the day’s frustration in the best way possible.
