This one gets a little mushy.

A long time ago, a friend of mine told me a story. She was a very close friend of mine at the time, and I was one of the few guys in her life who was not actively trying to hit on her or use her for something, though in the interest of full disclosure, I did eventually sorta hit on her. Successfully. At the time, however, I was just a friend to her, and did what I could to make her life less tedious, because in addition to simply being nuts about her, I felt I owed her a debt of gratitude.

Anyway, in the course of being me and being captivated by a female, I did various funny, sweet, or silly things in an effort to impress her or distract her from my other obvious failings, and the things that were not going well in her life. She was one of those who participated in the great change of my personality, but one thing about me that’s always been there is the attention whoredom.

So, back to the story she told me. At this point in time she was dating a guy somewhat seriously, either Mischa or Jon, I think Mischa. I’m pretty sure it was him because I probably wouldn’t remember this story all that fondly if it were Jon, because he was a dick, and also because I remember Mischa having a computer, which is an integral part of this story. This story, which, though really quite short, I am somehow stretching to insane lengths. This may be because I am unintentionally distorting many of the less salient details of the story, because it's been an awfully long while.

So Mischa, while not a dick like Jon, was not mister perfect boyfriend either; I do have to give the guy credit, though, for when I later met him, he was amiable and held no bitterness. Anyway, chief among this guy’s imperfections, as I recall them, was his possessiveness. As we all know, there is of course little in this world that independent-minded, free-spirited women love more than possessive men. I am being sarcastic, but somehow while actually knowing this rationally, this guy was like this anyway.

One day my friend is utilizing this guy’s computer, at his suggestion, to reconnect with the circle of online nerds she had been largely without since she lost her own computer and net access. Being one of the few among these big honkin’ nerds to keep in touch with her via the phone and snail mail, I knew of this in advance, and had sent her a little email.

I can appear, if nothing else, charming and sweet until such time as you learn all my numerous faults. So, this particular email was a gesture indicative of me when I’m being sweet, which is to say, well-thought-out, personalized, and based on tiny nuggets of information that reveal the degree to which I listen to the most minute details of those who capture my intense interest. Plus, I think it amused her in a way that I seemed to have a unique talent for.

Anyway, everything’s going as planned, and her day is brightened, and I consider myself one tiny bit closer to repaying her for what I consider the incredible gesture of being female and not being repulsed by me.

She told me that after that, she had a special kind of smile, one that I genuinely but somewhat sorrowfully hope someone else has found a way to elicit. She described it as simply that, a special kind of quiet, ear to ear smile she couldn’t describe but seemed to come only from me. This is the kind of thing I live for. This is the kind of moment I can get through hundreds of lonely nights on. I mean in an emotional sense, you insensitive clod.

But, it got even better. Well, for me, anyway. As the story goes, Mischa comes in at this point, and sees this smile - this smile, that, at the time, I’d have given anything to be able to see, and reminiscing over the later instances of it, will never in all my life forget. He knew she was intending to talk to me, and had in fact enjoyed the relationship benefits of being the guy who got to do the menschy thing and give her the means to contact those she dearly missed. Walking in on this smile, and following the “Cockyness is the sure fire way to reduce our relationship tension” guidebook, he says to her, “Hey, that should be my smile.”

You see, many women have a special kind of way their face lights up when they see the person they love, and you can see it if you’re a careful study of female behavior. In my experience, it’s often in the area right around the eyes. I don’t think it’s strictly a female thing, however, by and large, outside of movies, guys are not particularly sensitive or emotional, and are far more likely to say “It’s about time” than “My God, I’ve missed you.” Anyway, this guy was bright enough to know most of that, and made his best stab at trying to convey that he was sensitive enough to know he was being robbed of the joy of providing something he was not very interested in providing.

And where many women would have their happy moment blighted by this, she simply stood up, and said “Yeah, well, it’s not.” She wasn’t rude, there were simply things he did not own about her.

Now, I bore no real ill will toward the guy, nor do I now, aside from him being a less than perfect match-up for my good friend, which isn’t really his fault, just who he was. But the point for me at the time was MY SMILE WAS BETTER THAN YOURS, I RULE, SOMEONE PLEASE GO OUT WITH ME. I reveled in this point because I was in no position to benefit from this action in any way other than her happiness, and in my view that gave me license to gloat to myself as much as I’d like. It also reassured me that I had something in me to offer to a companion, and with my self image being what it is, every bit of reassurance of that is worth the world. She was still firmly with the guy, though, and I still had no one, and no prospects, and so any delight I could get from his agony was blunted by that. I was simply happy to have brightened her day in a way she was apparently not getting regularly.

Since she told me that story, I’ve always cherished it, and not because of any competitiveness or anything to do with him, but simply because of this special smile, and the sort of mystery and joy the concept held for me.

I’ve been somewhat sad over the years that I’ve not really had a similar reaction. I loved the concept of that smile so much, I wished to share the kind of feeling that eliciting it could cause with others. But I think it’s like love, and you simply can’t fake it. Platonic as it was, the sincerity of it is unimitatable, the sheer emotional core of it – the kind of knock-out feeling that leaves those who mock anyone who uses three words when they could use ten speechless – simply has to happen of its own accord, and no wishing will make it so.

Today I was lucky enough to have had such an experience, and luckily not even from some dorkus who I wasn’t even dating or capable of dating. I was driving back to Atlanta, and listening to a song, and I found myself with the most peculiar smile.

Today, I got my special smile. And there was nobody to walk in and wish it was theirs. No mismatched person that I had to remind of that. I got to live out the above story today, and without all the unfortunate, ironic parts. I got to take a story that has warmed my heart for years, and have it take on a whole new meaning as I appreciated firsthand the feeling I was so happy to have caused. And now, I get to tell that to the person who caused it.

And I really can’t tell you how wonderful that is.

Though I just got through with a lengthy phone call with that person, I don’t think I managed to properly thank her. I didn’t tell her much of this story because I wanted her to read this, since I'd already written most of it. So, I guess I can use that to my advantage.

Thank you.

[we'll ride them someday]