Page 1 of When Ben Loved Tim
Prologue
Ben’s fingers hesitated above the keyboard as he remembered, decades ago, how he had tried to take the maelstrom of feelings in his heart and somehow put them into words. He’d been so incredibly young. And yet, he hadn’t felt that way at the time. Not when meeting him. And certainly not when living through everything that followed: The endless allure of love. The inevitable heartbreak of loss. The dreams that had come true and everything that he had never believed possible… Ben liked the idea of going back to relive it all. No matter how bad some of it would hurt. And so, haunted by the memory of a summer long since passed, he began to type.
Chapter One
My heart is lonely. I realize how ridiculously dramatic that must sound, especially for someone on the verge of turning eighteen. But it’s true. I’ve gotten into the habit of venturing out into the night all by myself, so I can wallow in the sensation, because yearning for love is the only way I get to experience it. Aside from the platonic variety. As I leave the confines of my bedroom, I hear my sister gossiping on the phone through the wall we share. She’ll be starting college soon, while living at home, which to me sounds like a fate worse than death. I can’t wait to get out of this town. Not because I have anything against it exactly. I just haven’t found what I’m looking for. What Ineed.
I pause after descending the stairs. A television is on in the master bedroom, a laugh track urging my parents to find humor in yet another banal sitcom, when really, they should be focusing on each other. I would. If I ever was lucky enough to meet another guy like me, I’d never stop looking at him, touching him, talking to him… I can’t imagine a TV show competing with that. And yet, as I stumble out into a humid summer night, I see more blue flickers in the windows. All down the street in fact, the hypnotic glow from electronic screens trapping the residents in a living slumber. Which is difficult for me to relate to, because I feel like I’ve only recently woken up. And not in the groggy kind of way that I’ll feel each morning before school, once it starts again. No, my awakening happened when my best friend moved away.
I’m not sure if I loved him. But I think I could have. We always had fun together, and he was handsome enough. I caught myself staring at him more as our bodies began to change. When he moved to another state with his family, that only made it worse, since I could pretend he missed me just as much. Without him there in the flesh, turning his head each time a pretty girl walked by, I could rewrite the past so that he had started to notice me instead. I convinced myself that’s exactly what had happened just before we’d been torn apart. And so I snuck on a bus that was headed to his new home, trying to pass myself off as the kid of another passenger. I didn’t even make it out of the station. My mom had to come pick me up. That’s when I told her. I didn’t put a title on it. Not at the time. But as we sat in the parking lot, I felt I at least owed her an explanation.
“He can come stay with us for a visit, honey,” my mom had said. “Or your father and I could drive you up to see him. Why would you try sneaking off like that?”
“Because I wanted him to know how I feel,” I’d replied from around a tight throat.
I suppose it was the grand gesture that appealed to me. The romantic notion of showing up at his door unexpectedly and having it stir in him what I had found increasingly difficult to ignore. Although these days I suspect that I was merely in love with the idea of love. If that makes sense. My mom had understood. I’m very lucky in that regard. Destined to die alone without ever knowing the touch of another man’s lips, sure, but at least my mom and dad are okay with me being gay. They don’t always get it. Neither do I. But they make me feel loved.
And yet, here I am, walking the streets like a junkie on the prowl for a different sort of fix, because the high I crave can’t be provided by my family. Or even my current best friend, as awesome as she is. I needhim. My nameless lover who I have never seen. The man of potential who remains a shadowy figure in my dreams. Not the endless guys who fill my fantasies. I can picture them just fine and imagine them gleefully while jacking off. That always feels good, but it also isn’t enough. I want the impossible boy who lets me love him and—even more unlikely—actually loves me back.
And so here I am, walking down a suburban street in the middle of the night to be closer to someone who doesn’t exist. But the dream feels more possible here, away from all the distractions of modern life. No ringing phones, no television chatter, no seductive computer screens. Just the hum of cicadas in the trees and the gentle glow of lightning bugs drifting above the grass. I guess, like me, they’re out here seeking a mate. As I turn down a paved path that leads through a park, I can’t help but wonder what sort of insect I would be. What sound would I need to produce, what exotic dance would I need to perform, to attract another like myself? Do I need to figure out how to make my butt glow green? I laugh at the idea before I begin to sing. Like the feelings in my heart, the need often comes unbidden and is just as instinctual. I can’t remember learning how. For me it’s a natural extension of my voice. In the same way people graduate from crawling to walking to running. I had gone from gurgling to talking to singing, and according to my dad, I rarely ever stopped. Even when he wanted me to, which he only says with teasing affection. People tend to like the sound of my voice. When I’m singing anyway.
The cicadas provide the backing vocals as I really start to belt out a song. That’s another perk of going on these night walks. The world feels like it belongs to me alone. And the occasional dog walker. But for the most part, I can do silly things, like grabbing the chain of a playground swing to twirl in a circle, as if I’m in some sort of hokey musical. I’m still singing when I return to the paved path, getting so into it that I clench my eyes shut. That’s when the sound of a drum joins my song, a steadythump thump thumpof percussion that grows louder until I open my eyes in confusion. My voice strangles to a halt, but the drum keeps pounding, matching the beat of my heart because I’m not alone. And he’s handsome!
The guy running toward me is my age. His black hair is short and spiky, his brown skin wet from exertion. Muscled arms continue to pump as wind-blown clothes cling possessively to the contours of his body, revealing tight pecs and a flat stomach with subtle ridges that my fevered imagination interprets as abs. The package in his athletic shorts bounces left and right, like a dog wagging its tail in greeting, but I don’t allow my gaze to linger there, even though it would like to set up camp… by pitching a tent next to his. I notice the dark hair on his legs before electric blue shoes capture my attention, but they’re unable to hold it, because I need to see that handsome face again. Which is a whole lot closer now.
I notice the way his strong brow furrows, thick eyebrows crinkling in the middle above silver eyes that make the breath catch in my throat when they meet mine. I can’t say anything, my voice rendered powerless as he jogs past me with puzzled concern. I finally manage to breathe in and can taste his sweat on the gust of air left in his wake. I stare openly while watching him go, desperately trying to memorize each detail as the shadows reclaim him. He passes by a lamp post, his shoes reflecting the light in fleeting flashes, distant blue dots that blink on and off like a new sort of lightning bug. If only I knew how to answer his call.
My chest is heaving, first with excitement, then with laughter. I’m such an idiot! I literally stopped in my tracks when noticing him and then stood there the whole time, gawping like a tourist. That’s just it though. I’ve never seen anyone like him before. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of the hot guys in our school. I can summon them up with almost perfect recall. If I had ever seen him before, the boy in the blue shoes, I never would have forgotten. Ever. And I won’t! I’ll be thinking of him on the way home, on the way up the stairs, on the way into my room, and especially when I’m behind a locked door. Because I might not have anyone to love, but at least now the shadowy figure in my dreams has a face. And an incredible body!
* * * * *
“What do you think?”
Allison holds up another shirt to my chest, but it barely registers. The door to the second-hand clothing shop has just opened, and in the full-length mirror, I see a dark-haired guy walk in. I perk up, certain this is the moment we’ll formally meet, but I deflate again when noticing how pale the newcomer is. My guy has a perfect tan or naturally brown skin, I’m not sure which, but I keep wondering because—
“Ben!” my best friend says in frustration. “I’m not doing this for fun, you know.”
My attention flicks to her reflection in the mirror, where her dark expressive eyes are slowly losing patience. “Sorry, Mom,” I tease. “I was thinking about all the school supplies we still need to buy.”
“I know exactly what you were thinking of,” Allison says, glancing over her shoulder as the guy walks behind us. She jiggles the shirt. “What do you think? Will your new boyfriend like this one? It matches your eyes.”
I consider myself in the mirror, not entirely disappointed with what I see. I always feel more attractive during the summer, when the sun highlights my brown hair, making it appear blond. My skin actually has some color at the moment, which is saying a lot, because otherwise I’m hopelessly white. Allison never fails to remind me of that, usually with a playful smirk. We’re quite the contrast in that regard, her ebony skin glowing with a natural sheen that I envy. Both of us are skinny, which works in her favor more than it does mine. I can only assume that, if I ever meet another guy like me, he’ll wish I had the same sort of muscles I long to squeeze. I never seem to put on weight, even when I try, and the only thing that push-ups inflate is my self-doubt.
“Umm….” I say helpfully before shrugging.
Allison wraps her arms around me from behind. “You’re the doll I always wanted when I was a little girl. Let me find a few casual options and you can try them on for me. I mean, for him.”
I laugh, not worried about her having unrequited feelings. Allison loves me. I love her back. But thankfully there has never been anything more between us. Not that I would mind. If there was ever an exception to the rule, I’d want it to be her. Allison is wonderfully patient when helping me choose outfits. I still get the final say, but only after she has whittled down the options with her superior sense of style. I need all the help I can get, if I don’t want to end high school without having gone on a single date. I’m not ugly. I wouldn’t describe myself as hot. I’m just some guy in search of the same.
Which of course is on my mind as we begin the drive home in Allison’s ratty old car. The windows have been perpetually rolled down ever since the AC stopped working at the start of summer. Radio is the only option, the slightly bent antenna attached with duct tape by yours truly, so we at least have music to sing along to. That’s one of our greatest bonds. Allison has one hell of a voice. I like it better than my own. But together…
She grips the steering wheel tighter and looks over at me, her expression pure joy as we sing the chorus of an overplayed hit, our voices in perfect harmony. My duets with her are some of the only moments that I feel complete, the restlessness in me temporarily soothed. What more could I possibly need than another carefree afternoon with my very best friend? She’s pretty much myonlyfriend, but that’s okay. Quality over quantity.
The song comes to an end just as we reach our neighborhood. Allison eases off the accelerator and turns down the radio. “Which street do you want to try today?” she asks.
We’ve been making little detours recently in the hope of finding Mr. Blue Shoes, as I’ve come to think of him. I’ve seen him a few times now. I go out every single night, instead of waiting until the mood strikes me, and on occasion it pays off. Whenever he jogs past me, it’s always in a different part of the neighborhood, making me wonder where he lives. For all I know, he could be the boy next door, or across the street, or around the block from me where Allison lives. I’m not sure. It’s hard to follow a guy home while he’s running. When people talk about the thrill of the chase, I don’t think they mean it so literally. But I still want to know. Not so I can peep in his windows like a perv, although a casual glance when walking by wouldn’t hurt. I’m simply desperate to learn more about him. Anything at all really.
“Let’s try the new subdivision,” I suggest, feeling guilty since it’s a bit more out of the way.
