Page 24 of When Ben Loved Tim
It’s good to be wanted, I suppose, no matter the reason. “I’ll whip something up. Any requests?”
“Pizza,” he says, smiling at me before he turns to face the TV again.
Being in a different room than him and yet so close is torture. I’m relieved to find a pizza in the freezer, since I wouldn’t know what to do otherwise. Order one, I guess, which requires money that I don’t have. While waiting for the oven to heat up, I spot a kitchen radio and turn it on. After tuning to a station I like, I begin singing along with one love song and then another, appreciating the lyrics like never before. I dance around the kitchen once the pizza is in the oven, making sure to check on its progress through the glass door. I turn around on one such occasion and notice that I’m not alone. Tim is leaning on a crutch while watching me. And he has a funny look on his face. Probably because I was bent over and shaking my rump just a second ago.
“Hey!” I say with an embarrassed laugh.
“Hey yourself,” Tim replies. “Was that you singing?”
“Oh. Ha ha! Yeah.”
“You’ve got one hell of a voice,” he says.
I’m not sure if he means the volume or the quality, but one of my favorite songs starts to play. Or more accurately, a new version of an old classic. I grab a wooden spoon and use it as a microphone as I croon along with the lyrics. Tim’s eyes go wide, then he grins as I put on a show for him. I perform like I’m on stage in front of a packed stadium. I strut the length of the kitchen while working the adoring fans in the front row. Halfway through the song, I stop singing and let the imaginary mic drop to my side, but he shakes his head.
“Keep going, Benjamin!”
“Really?” I ask in disbelief.
He almost looks pained that I’ve stopped. “Yeah!”
I set aside the wooden spoon and resume singing, but I’m not hamming it up this time. I go deep inside myself, everything I feel exploding out through my voice a split second later. I stand in place, closing my eyes on occasion when overwhelmed by the intoxication that comes with being a conduit for a universal symphony. I don’t know how else to describe it. In moments like this, I’m connected to something more. A nameless god or the fabric of the universe or the unseen connection between everything living. I’m not sure. But as the song ends, I’m only looking at him. And he’s staring back, as if he finally sees me for the first time.
When the DJ starts talking, Tim scowls and hobbles over to the radio to shut it off. Then he turns to face me. “That was…” He doesn’t find the words. Which is fine, because getting to sing for him was already enough for me.
“Oh shit!” I exclaim suddenly. “The pizza!”
I throw open the oven door, a swirl of smoke coming out, but only the edges of the crust are burnt. Which for me, is as golden-brown as it ever gets.
“Dinner is served!” I say. “Almost. Do you guys have a pizza cutter?”
“Uh… yeah,” Tim says. “The drawer next to the sink.” He watches me as I work. “That was really nice.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “It’s kind of my thing. I figure everyone has a talent, whether they’ve discovered it or not. You play baseball, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Tim says.
“You can’t remember?” I tease. “Uh-oh! Did you bump your head when I knocked you down?”
He laughs while opening a cabinet. “Baseball is more my dad’s thing. How many plates?”
“Just one. I already ate.”
“Thank god!” Tim says, watching as I start stacking slices. “I would have shared, but I really don’t want to.”
“Fine with me,” I reply. “Where do you want to eat?”
“In the den,” he says, already heading that way. “We’ll put on some music videos. I wanna hear you sing again.”
“Seriously?” I ask while following.
I’m not sure if he hears me, because he’s moving surprisingly fast for a guy with a bum leg. He must be really hungry! Before long, Tim is sitting on the couch with a slice of pizza in each hand, alternating between each when taking bites (who does that?) while I serenade him during the songs I know well enough. He has pizza sauce in the corner of his mouth when he’s done eating. I want to kiss it away. That would sound gross if anyone else described the scenario to me, but I’m just that crazy about him.
“I think you need a napkin,” I say when I can’t get the fantasy out of my mind.
“Oh!” Tim rubs his mouth on the back of his hand. “Did I get it?”
“No,” I say. Even though he did.
