This Story Might Save Your Life(9)
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BENNY AND I were BFFs from day one. After the band played their final song, he walked me home and waited on the street until I was safely inside. The next afternoon, he knocked on my door. “Just wanted to say hi.”
We went for tacos at my favorite Mexican joint around the corner and talked for four hours straight about movies and art and books and childhood pets. He was warm and funny, and I liked the way he searched my face while I was talking, as if trying to read between the lines. I felt certain from our first bowl of bottomless chips that he would make an indelible mark on my life.
Benny and I hung out the next day, then the next. He took me to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and we zigzagged through the 202 streetlamps of the large-scale Urban Light sculpture, watching strangers pose in all manner of candid and professional photos.
“How many selfies do you suppose these lamps are in?” I asked.
Benny nudged me and pointed to the center of the sculpture, where a man was proposing to his girlfriend on bended knee.
“I bet it’s not real.” I eyed the photographers who were there to capture the moment. “It’s probably for a magazine.”
The girl said yes—“Yes, yes!”—and pulled her fiancé into an embrace.
“Looks pretty real to me,” Benny said, brushing away a tear.
I tucked my chin to hide my smile. I’d never met anyone who wore his heart on his sleeve the way Benny did. I liked him. He was so adorable with that explosion of curls, that bushy beard, those watchful green eyes. We hadn’t yet addressed the elephant in the room, but he was taking up more and more space every day. Were we hanging out or were we dating?
I brought it up at dinner. “So, I have kind of a weird question to ask.”
“I guess I have a weird question to answer, then.”
Running a finger down the condensation on my water glass, I said, “Are we…? I don’t want to overstep and make things awkward, but I wasn’t sure if we were … I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t see me that way, but I guess I was just … wondering…”
In case it wasn’t obvious from the proposal scene above, let it be known that Benny has no poker face. It was one of my favorite things about him until that very moment.
“Oh,” he said.
My stomach dropped. I was an idiot. “Never mind, it’s cool. I get it.”
“No, no, it’s not that…” He looked down at his half-eaten burger.
All around us, there was laughter and music, the clinking of utensils. I should have waited until we were done eating to ask. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I do. Because I like you. A lot. It’s just that I … I got into a bit of trouble before I moved to LA.”
“In Tucson?”
He nodded.
I knew only that he’d landed in Tucson after his mom died in a car accident. Grief-stricken, he’d traveled aimlessly around the States for several months, finally settling in the desert with a group of old high school friends. He’d explained this on day one, matter-of-factly, as if stating the plot points in a book report, so whatever he was struggling to say now must be bad. “Are you married? Do you have a wife and two children you’re not telling me about?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Cold.”
“Did you murder someone?”
“Still cold.”
“Are you in trouble with the law?”
He ducked his head a little and scratched his beard. “Warm.”
I pressed my back to the booth and crossed my arms. “Don’t make me guess anymore.”
“I was arrested for selling peyote.”
I laughed. “Psychedelics?”
He picked up a fry. Dropped it. Sighed. “And also assault.”
I’ll admit this one took me by surprise. That afternoon, I’d watched in awe as Benny let an entire bus full of tourists cut in front of us to buy tickets. He didn’t bat an eye. The man did not have a temper. “Who’d you assault?”
It was obvious he didn’t want to say; I urged him to continue.
“I’m told I had an altercation with a convenience-store owner because he was out of Cactus Cooler,” he said to his plate. He didn’t remember. It was a bad trip, drugs procured by a friend of a friend of a friend. The experience terrified him, and he vowed he would never do it again, and his parole officer must have believed him because she granted him permission to move to Los Angeles for work.
“Wow.” I let this sink in for a while. Parole. He was obviously waiting for me to offer some indication on how I felt about this, so I shuffled through my thoughts. “Cactus Cooler was my favorite soda when I was a kid.”
The corners of his lips turned up.
“Is that why…” I pointed to his water glass. I’d thought it a refreshing show of confidence that he’d chosen water over booze the last few times we’d gone out, but now I saw it in a different light.
“I want to be in a good place.” He took my hand across the table. “I’m working hard to be in a good place. It’s just, I think you may be my first real adult friendship, and I don’t want to mess it up.”
My chest was heavy, but I managed a toothy grin. “I don’t want to mess it up either.”