“It’s hard to explain. But when you look at them, likereallylook at them, time just stops. Nothing else matters besides you and them, and being with them, or even just being near them. Your head hands over the reins to your heart. Every part of you that didn’t make sense before will suddenly seem balanced.”
“Christ, Ben. You make it sound transformative.”
“It is.”
“And was that Ryan? For you?”
“It was.”
“Doesn’t that make you sad, though? That it’s over?”
“No.” His voice softens.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got hope left that it will happen again someday.”
I smile to myself. “I think it will, too.”
“You know what, Al?” His voice is veering into slurs, the wine finally making him drowsy. “I know you’ll find it, what you’re looking for.” Ben closes his eyes and settles himself further into the sofa.
I turn my head and watch him drift to sleep. I look at the ceiling for a while. I count the details in the pattern before finally letting myself fall asleep.
Chapter Six
Changes by David Bowie
"Ali! Wake up!” Ben is gently shaking my shoulder. I slowly flutter my eyes open and am met with a shock of warm sunlight filling the room. Through the glare of sunlight, I can see him staring down at me. Sleeping on the sofa all night has tousled his blonde hair. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt, from the collection of items he constantly leaves at my house.
I stretch out, groaning as I move out of the crumpled ball shape I fell asleep in. My mouth is dry and sticky, my head pounding. I stare around the room, trying to figure out how we got here. I look at the kitchen counter and see the three empty wine bottles.Oh, shit. That’s how.
Ben hands me a bottle of water and I gulp it down like I’ve been traveling through a desert.
“Come on, we’ve got to get ready. We’ve got Titanic practice in an hour,” he says with a wry smile.
I roll my eyes at his joke and stand up, pausing for a moment to allow the room to stop moving. I stumble to the bathroom to inspect the damage in the mirror. My hair mats to one side, the consequence of sleeping in a ball. I quickly brush it out and pull it back into a ponytail.
I wash my face; the exfoliant wakes my skin up to look a little more alive. I quickly cover the bags under my eyes with some concealer. I squeeze some toothpaste on my brush before plunging it into my mouth and dashing to the closet. I grab the quickest outfit I can throw together, jeans and a gray crew neck I got in Cape Cod last summer with Ben and some friends. I run back to the bathroom and spit out the toothpaste. It’s funny how a fresh mouth makes you feel ten times cleaner and more awake. I take one last look in the mirror. Not bad. I actually look half human. On the outside, I look put together, but inside I’m churning. And I can’t tell if it's the lingering effects of the alcohol or the nerves.
I walk back into the living room, where Ben is waiting. He’s put on a light blue v-neck sweater and is tying his shoes when he looks up at me and laughs.
“Ah, the hangover sweater.” He knows my outfit of choice after too much alcohol is a comfy, oversized sweater; this one in particular.
“You ready to go?” I slip on a pair of Vans and grab my keys. He nods and we head out the door to what Ben jokingly calls Titanic practice. Dr. Conrad calls it Edwardian 101. I’m still calling it fucking crazy.
It’s eleven thirty in the morning as we make our way to campus, and “class” starts at noon. I check my watch as we walk and turn toward Ben. “We’ve got time for coffee.” It’s going to be a necessity today. I think Dr. Conrad would rather we be late than deal with a hungover and caffeine deprived Ali.
We veer off into the coffee shop and order our usual; Ben picks up the tab this time. He winks at the barista, Peter, who smiles back at him coyly like they already know each other. I am eternally amazed at Ben’s ability to be magnetic and command attention everywhere he goes. He casually tosses a few dollars into the tip jar before we head back out into the crisp fall air.
Once back out onto the sidewalk, I ask Ben if he knows Peter, given the flirtatious eye contact they were exchanging.
“I go there a lot.”
“Why?” He lives in a completely different area of Boston. This is my neighborhood spot, not his. He only ever comes in here when he’s staying over at my place, or so I thought.
Ben winks at me. “I just like looking at him.”
I smile as we continue walking. I can’t blame him. Peter is about as tall as Ben, but he has striking jet black hair and blue eyes.
