I have decided to write about Ben tonight, because

a) he’s one of my most faithful readers, and
b) I think he’d like it. And it would make him smile like this:

and that would be a lovely thing. Look at those laugh lines around the eyes — I’ve been working on growing laugh lines as good, and I think it’ll take me till I’m at least 50.

It might have been Ben’s smile that first drew me to him. He has a slow blooming smile, but it has a wonderful, involuntary inevitability about it — once it’s started to grow, nothing will stop it, not even Ben. And it’s consuming — while he’s smiling, it looks as if the act is taking up all of his concentration and focus. Which is probably why it’s such a great smile.

When Ben and I became friends, I think was going through a phase in which I was trying very hard to be charming. That is, I had noticed certain behaviors I was capable of which I had decided were attractively lively and delightful, and I did my best to cultivate them. Mostly this consisted of donning an attitude of happy amusement with the world and laughing as much as possible. (I know, doesn’t that sound awful? Fortunately it didn’t last long and I don’t think anyone noticed.) But the wonderful thing about my friendship with Ben as it developed is that I came to almost always feel completely natural and at ease with him.

Which is probably why he is the one I called and kept up all night when I came home joyfully drunk in the wee hours of one night in senior year — as well as the one I called for solace after a particularly brutal day of teaching. In his presence I have been exuberant, stony, flirtatious, bitter, wheedling, demanding, loving, hostile, sorrowful and sarcastic. I have confessed dark ill feelings towards friends. I have tickled him mercilessly. I have repeatedly taken and bulldoggedly held the opposite position in an argument just to see how he responds. I have traveled all over the emotional map with Ben and he has never in all our years together shown one moment’s frustration or annoyance with me (though surely he has felt it).

Ben is a fantastic artist and my very favorite dance partner in the world. I wish he would go into musical theater, because he also has one of the nicest singing voices I’ve ever heard, and it shouldn’t stay inside his car. He is wildly self-conscious, abominably over-analytical, confusingly devoted to family and tradition, deeply principled, often ridiculous, and one of the bravest and kindest human beings I know.

And I forgot to mention that he used to be a barista at a fancy coffee place, but is paralysed by the prospect of figuring out how much sugar he wants to put in his own drink. Also he can twist himself into a pretzel while standing on his head. (Don’t neglect the special skills section on the resume, dear!)

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Ben and I met at 1369 this evening to discuss the personal statement he’s writing for application to graduate programs in human-computer interaction. And now that the whole world knows that, he’d better get right back to work and finish the damned thing so I can edit it already!