I am always aware of E. I always know where he is in a room, even when my back is turned. His laugh, huge and booming and wonderful, can be heard from anywhere, and it is so full of happiness it goes all the way through me, making me happy, too. He is shy, and would tell you that it is not true at all, but it is very true: he is such a presence, in a room, a vibrant ball of energy and brightness and warmth, and I know it is not just me. His charisma is something palpable, and when he turns his attention on you, he makes you feel important, interesting, fascinating, even. He makes you feel good, and he makes you feel lucky to know him. He is good at making you love him. I know he made me love him very, very easily. It is easy to love him, and I feel lucky that he loves me back.
He is one of the smartest people I have ever known. He is brilliant–analytical, logical, so quick, fifteen hundred steps ahead of everyone else, turning around and wondering where we got to and why we can’t keep up. It is sometimes hard to keep up with him, and it is sometimes something you have to sit back and marvel at–how swiftly his mind works. He can do math in his head! Big math, I mean. He can solve logic problems to 15 places, program, deprogram, build tests, figure out problems and come up with solutions. He is a fixer, and he can fix anything.
He can do anything. He writes so well, he reads so widely, he destroys
the video games he plays so skillfully with his incredibly good
reflexes. He boxed. He did martial arts. He can kick all kinds of ass,
and he also has an annoyingly good memory. He listens carefully, he
files things away, he will never forget your birthday or the throwaway
remark you made about how a book by your favorite author is coming out
this week and you can’t wait or how your favorite color is red and you love
everything bagels and you take your latte with two percent milk and
three packets of Equal. He will also tease you endlessly and forever
and with no mercy, because he does not forget, and he will make you
laugh and laugh until you want to hit him.
He is one of the most hilarious people I have ever met, so funny and so
fast it leaves me breathless, sometimes, and scrambling to keep up.
That is not something I am accustomed to have to do. Even though he
hates puns, he is ridiculously good at them. He makes puns because he
knows how much I love them. He can identify any song within three
notes, and then he’ll sing it for you. Oh, you want him to sing for
you, because he has got such a beautiful deep voice, rich and thick
like chocolate and cream and it makes you want to bite him. I mean his
I want to bite him. He is so perfectly my type–very tall, with such
broad shoulders and big arms and completely adorable. He is a big guy
and strong enough to lift me with one hand, to haul me around, to
manhandle the hell out of me. He can wrestle me into a standstill, but
I know where his ticklish spots are and so I have got that going for
me. He loves to wrestle, to play, to laugh, to dance like crazy and
that is one of my very favorite things about him–his sense of fun, his
ability to be happy, to enjoy. He is a good match for my silliness;
he is good for me when I have forgotten how to be happy, when I am
wallowing and sad. He is good for me.
He is good. He is a good person. He has a good heart, a generous one, a
faithful, kind and beautiful heart. He is kind, and he is thoughtful,
and he does not just spoil the people he loves–though he does, and it
will choke you up every time–but he is also simply kind every day.
Polite, and respectful, and courteous. A good tipper–a great tipper. A
good person. A great person. A wonderful boyfriend. I get to keep him,
and wish him such a very happy birthday today.