Boy best friend (a love letter)
We'll go to dance parties with friends and dance mostly with each other. We sing to each other at the top of our lungs, un-ironically, when the DJ plays Ain't No Mountain High Enough. He always scoops me up before random weirdos arrive if a slow song comes on.
"You two are straight?" someone asked us at an LGBTQ event. "You're going to get married," she told us, matter-of-factly.
--
Sometimes after work I will get to my hotel room and lay on the floor. A modern room in a chain hotel is one of the most soul-sucking environments I have experienced. Worse than being alone is being alone and surrounded by strangers.
I can call him just to breathe through the phone. He's the person I call to complain about something when the "something" isn't really the problem.
--
On vacation together he charms my friends. He orders a too-expensive bottle of wine, does his best at a dance lesson. On a Sunday morning we consider our options: "I'm going to go walk around the city," he tells me. "I'm going to stay here and read," I tell him. He brings me my favorite food when he comes back.
--
Me: Are you going to do something for your mom for mother's day?
Michael: I normally send my parents something for their birthday.
Me: Are their birthdays close together?
Him: It's on the same day.
Me: How does that happen? That happens... sometimes.
I was going to say a lot, but backed away from the exaggeration.
Him: What's the likelihood that a couple will have the same birthday?
Me: One in three hundred sixty-five? So I guess I have to date 365 men to find one.
Him: You only have a handful left then?
He looks over quickly to check my reaction. He likes to tease but he knows I'm a lightweight. I smile, blushing.
Me: Oh stop.
--
I like dive bars but he likes wine shops. He orders for me at his places, and gets fancy cocktails at mine. His drinks always taste like old-timey medicine. Too many herbs.
On a Friday night a street vendor stops us to push his art. The vendor assumes we're together and signs it to a combination of our last names.
Michael pushes me the extra 10% I need to give a guy my number. "But my best friend says he has some screening questions first," I tell the guy, only half-joking.
We get on Tinder Social together and quickly swipe left on all our options.
I talk about him too much on my dates. Michael says I should stop doing that.
--
Michael thinks I should eat meat. He cooked me fried chicken shortly after I told him I'd decided to be vegetarian. And he's promised to roast a whole pig at my housewarming party. He volunteered to be the co-host; a title well-deserved.
When you walk into my house you'll see an open kitchen with a beam supporting the opening to the dining room. My friend lifted that on his two shoulders. (He constantly complains that he lost a quarter inch of height that day.)
Perhaps more impressive was when he pulled literally tons of plaster from my walls with me. Or the time he used all his brute force to rip the old plumbing from my walls, or when he crawled through my crawl space with me for hours (I killed the spiders, that's my job), or when he fed hundreds of feet of wire to me for my upgraded electrical system. He always picks up the slack when I am slower or weaker.
He thinks I'd be stronger if I was getting more protein.
--
I'll drop by after a bad date. I know it's past his bed time, but he pours me a beer because he knows it's what I need.
Usually, what I really need is just his company.
This week: Sia, Cheap Thrills
It's Friday night and I won't be long
Til I hit the dance floor
Hit the dance floor
I got all I need
No I ain't got cash
I ain't got cash
But I got you baby
Hit the dance floor
I got all I need
No I ain't got cash
I ain't got cash
But I got you baby
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