Page 90 of When Ben Loved Tim
“No!” he barks. “Stay right there.”
I resume the previous pose, but I make sure my expression is less and less patient each time he glances at me, until my face is twisted up monstrously.
“Okay,” he says with a chuckle. “You can come see. This was just a quick experiment.”
I join him on the couch, pressing against his side so I can see into his sketchbook. The end result reminds me of a fashion drawing. The form of my body is there, but it’s all loose, like a fleeting impression. My new coat is colored in, a striking orange line zigzagging around my neck. Shadows edge in from the right while marigold splatters on the other side represent the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree. My eyes are dark shadows beneath a puddle of brown hair, my smile a crooked white line. And even though form isn’t strictly defined, it’s perfectly clear what everything is meant to be.
“That’s amazing!” I say in awe.
“You have no idea,” Tim says, but he’s not referring to his art. “This brush is going to set me free. I’ll always have a boner for acrylics, but this is really gonna help.” He looks over at me, as if self-conscious. “I’m uh… Not used to talking about this stuff.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s so personal. When you say you looked through my sketchbooks already—”
“I only peeked, figuring that you didn’t want me to snoop, but I wouldn’t mind a tour. From the artist himself.”
“I’m not an artist,” Tim says dismissively.
I point at the open pages of his sketchbook. “You just made art. That makes you an artist.”
He chuckles, as if I’m being silly. “This needs to dry,” he says, setting the sketchbook aside. “Maybe some other time.”
I nearly suggest that we look at one of the sketchbooks in his underwear drawer, but I don’t want to test his patience.
“Thank you,” Tim says, his expression vulnerable. “For everything.”
“My pleasure.” I smooch him on the lips. “I love my coat.”
“Wanna take it for a spin?” Tim asks.
I glance toward the window. “But it’s cold outside!”
“That’s sort of the point,” Tim says, rising to pull the curtain shut. “Besides, it’s a tradition.”
“Yeah, okay.”
The idea of braving the winter chill is unappealing to me, but I do get excited when bundling myself up in my new coat. Soon we’re walking down the sidewalk together. The moon has risen, a thin layer of snow glowing in response. Tim keeps glancing around with a big grin on his face.
“I’ve always loved looking at all the lights,” he says.
“Does your family usually go for a walk on Christmas?”
“Nah. Just me. I’ve done this since I was a kid. It’s just so beautiful.”
That’s certainly true. The neighborhood is tranquil. Not a soul is in sight, which makes it feel like the festive decorations are for us alone. Most houses have strings of lights lining the roof or spun around the trunk of a tree. The silence is soothing. But when I imagine a solitary boy walking through the neighborhoods, I can’t help but feel a little sad.
“Did you have a lonely childhood?” I ask.
Tim shrugs. “Maybe a little. I always thought it would be cool to have a brother. Sort of like a friend that got to sleep over every night.”
“Having a sister didn’t feel that way,” I reply. “Although it was nice having someone around to conspire with.”
“Conspire with?” Tim repeats, sounding confused.
“Yeah! Like at this time of year, we’d try to figure out what we were getting, so we’d shake the presents under the tree or attempt to unstick the tape without tearing the paper to peek inside.”
“That’s cheating!”
