I have two new friends. Their names are Ben and Brandon, and they are of the most interesting boys I have ever met. The two of them bartend with Justin at Sauce, a business that is so packed and successful that you'll never get a seat without a reservation made three days prior. Let me tell you about these new friends of mine.
When I met Ben, he screamed at me. He screamed, "Hi! I'm Ben!" to which I replied with a surprised look and a "Hi, I'm Rachel." Ben was so eager to get to know everyone around him, to the point where he ended up scaring most of his new acquaintances. But perhaps it was the acid-washed high-water jeans, or the nerdy voice or the acne or the shaggy blond hair; there was something that made Ben sincerely awesome. His whole persona seemed so familiar to me, but I only figured it out after learning his last name, and putting my pieces together. Dear Ben here was James Christenson's arch nemesis. I remembered hearing countless stories of Ben's worthlessness during the years I spent dating my new friend's enemy, and I immediately fell in love with my new situation. Ben is everything someone could ask for in their favorite nerd. He's the kind of kid that you should be afraid to take into high-end places and fancy restaurants or situations where one is supposed to keep quiet; situations like these are not fit for Ben's urgency to speak a thousand words a minute. I'm even surprised he doesn't snort when he laughs uncontrollably. Sometimes he'll just talk and talk and talk even though it's blatantly obvious that nobody is listening. Today Ben and Brandon drove around the whole day, smoking weed on the back roads and trying to pass the time after work. They drove around for three hours. Ben talked the whole time.
Brandon is the stability of the two. His normalcy is what balances out the two of them and makes them such an interesting duo. He is perfectly pretty; an Abercrombie face, body, and wardrobe. He's completely typical and adorable, and that's why I like him so much. He has a cute smile and a cute laugh and cute blue eyes to go along with everything else. He smokes himself retarded on a daily basis, but he loves to work with numbers. Numbers, numbers, numbers; Brandon could play with numbers all day. I find myself wanting to know more and more about Brandon, but wondering if there's actually anything left to learn. He seems like the epitome of "cool," and the boys at work call him a Thug, but I don't see it. He is everything in the world that he is supposed to be; he's beautiful, he's friendly, he's kind of stupid, and he gets fucked a lot. When he looks at you, even if you're standing with your back to him, you can tell he's looking at you. It's because boys with eyes as blue as Brandon's have an incredible ability to look past the color of your eyes. You can tell they're staring further into you and learning more about you while all you do is try to stare back with equal mystery. When Brandon looks at me, I may not see it, but I can feel it, and apparently he looks a lot. I thought the boy was enough of a looker when I first saw him, and only liked seeing him more when he opened his mouth and spoke nothing but simple excellence. I like Brandon. After he left my car tonight, I realized he had been sitting on an apple. I imagined that must have been uncomfortable.
The first things I did with my new friends was ate dried bugs (something I've always wanted to try) and tagged until I ran out of spray-paint. I can prove it by the chunks of bug I'm still picking out of my teeth, the red stains on my fingers, and the massive smile that wipes across my face every time I think about them.