He was nameless, but then he walked into my life. Before, I had only a picture, a mental image, of who he was to me, to others, to the world. Initially, his name did not hold much value to me, if any: that was before I knew; before I knew all that was encompassed within that man standing in front of me.
What makes a person? A name has no effect on the physical aspect of a being, nor on personality. A name does not destroy flaws, nor does it create them. Why is it, then, that his name is that which I hear screaming out all these very things to me. He ought to have been just another...
It was the beginning of a new year the day I met him. Fireworks rang in its inception the night before, and people were still holding on to resolutions set up days, even months, in advance. I had none in particular. He drove up to my friendís house, and in that instant, began creating a personality for me to see from which I could form my impressions.
I came out of the room, and there he was, newly arrived from the street. He was seated in a chair, stroking the dogís fur. He looked up, and smiled as I walked in: It was as if Heaven were smiling its shining benevolence down upon me in the dark of the house. Introductions were made, and we headed out the door.
I sat in the back seat, an angle away from him. Forming a new image of him as a person in relation to me, I studied him as he drove. He was of average height, maybe a little above. It was a cold night, and so he wore a red hooded sweatshirt, displaying the name of a band that he admired. Black pants warmed his legs and a cap to match the band advertised on his sweatshirt covered his head. I could not see his hair or his eyes very well as we drove. We picked up another friend, binding my initial friend into a ďcoupleĒ status, and made plans for the evening. I donít believe a single one of them was accomplished, and yet, it was perfect.
He wasnít the type to look straight ahead. He shifted easily through the gears as we headed everywhere and nowhere in particular. His gaze varied, uninterrupted, from object to object, person to person. He was alert... I didnít realize it had already begun. His remarks and jests made in conversation immediately proved attractive. He was kind and amiable toward me, the newcomer. I was instantly appreciative.
His laugh was sincere, his smile comforting. His eyes, finally come out from behind the darkness veiling them in the night, proved compassionate and sympathetic against the harsh background of the world flying past the windows. They were the perfect color, the perfect openings to his soul. A slight beard of dirty blonde and light brown hair framed his jaw-line, defining his features. He sat in good posture, defining a personal respect for himself.
That man of only a year or two beyond my age was a god before me. He was my ideal, embodied in person. He was considerate: when I was cold, he quickly rolled up the window, when I wanted to leave, he took me at a momentís notice. That night, he held me in his arms and was there in every way I needed. I just met him, and yet it felt as if comfortable would be an understatement about the way I felt. Falling, into what Iím not quite sure, would more accurately describe the emotions shaking my body.
The evening came to a close, folding away with the stars as the new lights of morning unveiled the new day. He took me home...
His name was R.E.B.