/ˈbenCHˌmärk/

Noun
A standard or point of reference against which things may be compared or assessed.

Verb
Evaluate or check (something) by comparison with a standard.

 

“Of the things I am truly thankful for in life, having a benchmark boyfriend is probably one of the most compelling experiences I’ve ever had….”

Dominic and I coined the phrase during a trip down to Oregon for my birthday weekend.  Heading south on I-5 we were approaching the city of Centralia debating if we would make a pit stop for a pint at the McMenamins Olympic Club or just hold off until we crossed over the Columbia to Portland – there’d be plenty of time for boozing later on and as I had come to learn – inebriated intelligence is vastly different from sober heartfelt disposition.

 

Exit 82

Harrison Avenue

Factory Outlet Way

1 Mile

 

 

 

We had been previewing some of the new tracks on the EP he’d been working on, which was a stellar mix of highly danceable club beats along with more R&B focused melodies.  One song in particular became the springboard of our conversation.

 

Coz no one else can love you like I do

Coz no one else can treat you like I do

There’s no one else who’ll need you like I do

That’s why I’m giving all my love to you

No one else…

No one else…

 

The lyrics stayed with me – I’d heard sentiments like this a hundred times before in at least a thousand other songs, but Dominic gave those words meaning when he wrote them.

“You know… this song really stands out to me.  It would be my favorite of them all.” I confess in a low-breath.

“Oh?”

Dominic digs his elbow against the tan leather panel along the passenger side window resituating himself upright thus enabling him to adjust the volume to a softer, more conversationally-friendly level.  He flips his glossy black shades above his head cocking his neck slightly in my direction.

“Why do you say that?  Dominic probes.

It’s clearly not one of your get-up-and-dance tunes meant for getting club-goers on the dance floor like the other beats we heard moments ago.  The song instead is ballad-y and emotional geting one to think a little deeper.

I’ll give him credit.  Surely Dominic knows me very well..  Having been friends over the years – he effortlessly can identify when my idealistic sensibilities become the fortitude of my convictions.

“Does it make you think of someone?”

His voice inflection vents upwards with a wily sense of humor because he is aware of his own answer.

Indeed.  He is learned, this one.

My gut reaction was to disclose a story or two from my past.  Seeing as how we were listening to his music I thought perhaps I would let Dominic, the artist-in-residence of this traveling road show, discuss “the work” behind his work.

I deflect his question with a question of my own.

“Who or what made you think to write this song?”

Dominic rotates himself towards me, pauses to collect his thoughts, and then loosens his charcoal-colored scarf as if to indicate he’ll be talking for awhile.

“OK.  So, have you ever had a relationship with someone that was so good that you compare that relationship to your other relationships after that point?”

Sydney rouses up from her slumber in the back seat.  She decided to try and grab a couple winks after we passed the Tacoma Dome as she hadn’t slept much the night before.  I glance quickly over my shoulder as the last member of our trio pulls off her black wool coat, scoots up to the center console and rests both of her elbows along each respective front-seat headrest.

There was something here she didn’t want to miss.

 

Exit 82

Harrison Avenue

Factory Outlet Way

Next Exit

 

The off ramp came into view some instances later, but our crew hadn’t firmed up a decision for a pint or two.  I figure we haven’t even made it halfway to our destination yet and take decisive action to signal back into the HOV lane while initiating Cruise Control.  Besides – eliciting the responses from Dominic’s question would make the next couple of hours on the road exceptionally more thought-provoking than stopping off at a Centralia landmark, which by its virtue does have some fascinating historical tales as well.  Just not the kind that I would fancy today.

 

 

Dominic proceeds to tell us about a past relationship of his, Diego.  As a couple they were together for two years.  I’d met Diego through a mutual friend of mine, but this was only after the two dated so I never witnessed their dynamic.   However, knowing each of the guys separately (but Dominic better) I could comprehend the statement he was about to make.

 

“Diego ruined me for other men.”

 

For several dozen more miles Dominic would talk about how the relationship began and blossomed.

Years ago the two encountered each other for the first time at the RPlace dance club in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood.  When they saw each other from across the pool tables, it was an initial curiosity on both sides, but the attraction came when they began to chat.  Diego’s stature was lofty and strapping; gaze… intense – while his smile, warm and welcoming, made Dominic feel nervous excitement, sexual tension and surprising ease with Diego all at the same time.

It was established between the pair that neither of them was into one night stands.  It was only an exchange of numbers and an optimistic, futur proche embrace that the two would go home with on that fateful evening.

Dominic conveyed how later they began dating.  Diego was smart and witty.  He could banter back-and-forth.  Someone who Dominic felt could “keep up” with him.  Someone who could put Dominic “in-check” and call him out on his own brown-sugaring (BS).

There were times when he could read Dominic like a book.  Diego was intuitive, emotionally-available and knew when things were wrong with Dominic even before he could identify what was bothering him.

 

And of course… there was the sex.  Oh, the S-E-X!

 

Dominic continued for at least another half hour on this subject alone –

Positions.

Preferences.

Willingness to try new things.

Cuddling afterwards.

Me, I most enjoyed hearing the part about the cuddling – the intimacy of it.

Dominic reminisced,

“When we would go to bed after sex already laying down, he’d come behind me putting one arm around between my neck and the pillow then wrap his other arm (and huge bicep) around me.  I’d feel warm… I’d feel safe.  And he would whisper things in my ear about how much he loved me or things along those lines.”

How I miss being the Little Spoon.

 

 

 

Over time, Dominic fell in love.  Diego did as well.  It was one of those loving and fulfilling relationships that was as wide and deep like the ocean.  In similar fashion to the age-old tales of military commanders who burned their ships to commit their troops to victory or death, Dominic was all-in.

 

Vulnerable.  Committed.  No turning back.

 

“He is the epitome of the relationship that I want to have now.” testifies Dominic.

The three of us explored the subject more as the mileage count on my Infiniti increased.  Sydney sat intently listening for most of the trip, but chimed in occasionally.  More into asking questions than making statements.  She was in her early twenties, pixie-like with short black hair and a caramel complexion.  Here, Dominic and I were gabbing amongst ourselves not unlike the stars of Ab Fab who tended to ignore their daughter.  In this case, however, Sydney simply hadn’t come to that chapter of her life yet.

 

We cross into Oregon.

About 10 minutes later we finally arrive in downtown Portland at the Hilton Hotel to check-in.  The hallways are decked in rich warm cherry wood with an oriental carpet placed thoughtfully in front of the waiting area at the Front Desk.  Walking into the elevator with our bags after my discourse with the Front Desk associate I can sense Dominic needing some alone time – having shared with us his story of love & loss.

“Ooh!  There’s a pool here!” Sydney exclaims.

I ponder her suggestion for swimming.  Dominic announces he’ll opt to kick back in the room to decompress from the trip before we start off on our big night.

Strolling down the hall we reach room 601.  I slide the key card downward obtaining a green light from the panel.  I push shoulder-first into the heavy door opening a path to two neatly made queen beds bathed in sunlight from the open windows.  A white and blue marbled bathroom to my left while sliding door mirrors flank against my right as I begin un-clipping my backpack at my solarplex.

Sydney runs into the bathroom after dropping off her bags in a corner.  Dominic leans his duffel against the mattress of the furthest bed while kicking off his shoes.  I toward the far right window of the room with a desk positioned parallel the city skyline and lay my backpack across the ‘Welcome to Portland’ hotel folio.  When I turn around Dominic is spread out on the bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” I plead hoping for his company.

He declines turning on the TV and suggests instead that we go without him while he takes a disco nap.

Grabbing my trunks, key card and flip flops I motion to Sydney as she steps out of the bathroom we should take a quick dip downstairs.  She nods her head as she proceeds to the hotel room door, but not before slinging a blue canvas tote filled with her pool accoutrements over her shoulder.

In the locker room, I slip off my gear hopping into the shower stall to take a mandatory rinse as is the requirement of the fitness center.  I can still feel the steam in the air from the last guy who was in here.  The grout along the beige tile is worn, speckled.  I pull the handle for the shower valve.  Immediately, hot rushing water surrounds me as I begin to feel the tension dissipate from my lower back from three hours of driving.  My neck droops as droplets of water from the stainless steel showerhead depart from my person through the tip of my nose.  I dwell on our car conversation letting the water penetrate through to my thoughts –

Have I had a benchmark boyfriend?  Do I compare my future boyfriends to previous ones?

I reach for the handle shutting off the water.  Still wet, I pull on my solid crimson-red trunks foot-by-foot and gather my belongings on top of the dry folded towel handed to me by the fitness center attendant when we walked in.  On the way out of the locker room I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror – I’m wearing these trunks for the first time.

Oooh… Baywatch!

I flex my arm while holding the pile of clothes trying to see if my efforts in the gym have paid off.

Whoa!  I guess those power cleans have been doing something for me.

I realize that I’m still wet and rightly so in order to use the wading facilities.  Sydney is waiting for me.  I continue to the pool area.  Somehow our conversation in the car rippled into waves for her.  I toss her a flutter-board to keep afloat while I jump in.