In Love with a boy named Ben

im in love with the boy sitting behind the pearl drumset. i see him as i walk through the church door and experience the same feeling i get when i call him after a crazy day and hear his voice on the company answering machine: comforted. his hair is a neat mess of curls in the shape of a fro & he wears my favorite urban cowboy shirt and jeans. i take a seat, chilled and wired from the hour commute, and his friends and their families smile at me. 

three years ago i always sat in the center seat so i could count the number of times we made eye contact and report it to candace later that afternoon. "thirteen," i would report. "thirteen's gotta mean something," she would reply optimistically. eye contact games with the nameless blue eyed bible babe became a sunday morning activity i enjoyed very much. today i am sitting in the back of church with sweet pricilla. ben has influenced me in many wonderful ways but i must admit that his occasional untimeliness is begining to influence me too. i am eight minutes late & find myself without the option of a center seat. ben plays drums where i cannot see him but i am tapping my foot to his rhythm anyway. 

it is now twilight & we cruise down lakeshore because i need to be surrounded by tall tall buildings and watch crowds of people scuttle down michigan avenue. the skyline is disappointingly surrounded by haze but i hold my camera out the window and capture the view anyway. ben plays a set of songs that their cover band will play at the professor's daughter's wedding. he decides to treat me to my favorite white hot chocolate at the bourgeouis pig and we play a game of chess. i am awful at strategy and give him a nasty look when he steals my fourth pawn. he gives me an intellegent smile- one of those smiles where the person knows what they will say is no doubt correct. "whatever," he tells me. "youre the kind of girl that would be offended if i let you win." damn his support for liberation, i curse. i lose anyway but "i am learning" he tells me. we drive home with dizzy on the radio & i feel like a child who needs to be taken on a long drive to calm herself down. "if you asked," i whisper as we embrace in the slushy, unplowed street, "i would say yes."