Tuesday, Mar. 10, 2009 @ 8:54 pm
Ben
Across the plaza, I saw Ben feeding crows. I watched him tossing crumbs to each crow, fairly distributing the food. He looked up and caught me watching him: he smiled. When Ben smiles, it's so genuine. A sort of Tom Cruise smile, but all-Canadian.
I meet up with him at the bus stop, and he asks how I'm doing.
We'd talked yesterday, about Grandpa's death and about his own father's and grandfather's death. Cremation and the process of grief.
"I really like crows," he says. He likes crows? Nobody likes crows. Only I like crows.
The more I get to know Ben, the more I find that we are similar. I knew it, I knew that he and I would get along. I mean, I knew that I would like him. Whether or not he likes me is unknown. Sure, he talks to me, laughs at my jokes. Smiles his smile at me. But does he like me?
He wouldn't have asked me for a ride to our field trip if he'd not really liked me that much.
Ah, Ben. Realistically, I can't be friends with him, because I would quickly fall in love. Perhaps I already have, in a preliminary sort of way. I need to get over that, because I really do like men so much better than women. Having a friend would be good for me.
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