Touch

He sits down next to me. We’re so close, almost touching. I look at him. He looks at me. A smile sneaks its way across his face. I smile back. He sets his hand on my knee. My heart stops. It compensates by beating a thousand times faster than normal. His hand moves and the moment is over. He’s not looking at me anymore, he’s having a conversation with Libby now. The movie starts. I’m not paying attention. I can feel him, sitting next to me, the tension growing. My hand is free and open, sitting on the window of cushion between our legs. I feel something, his fingertips begin to rest on the top of my hand. The next few moments are an awkward game. Our hands, twisting and feeling until we find the spot. Our hands slide together, our fingers interlock, and my breathing relaxes. 

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This is supposed to feel wrong. Everything I’ve ever been taught says that this is wrong. My mom would be ashamed. I glance around. The room is dark, no one can see us. He squeezes, and I squeeze back. It feels so right, like our hands were created to fit together. So we keep them together, for the rest of the movie. Time slows. The Earth slows. For now, everything is perfect as I feel his touch.

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2 thoughts on “Touch

  1. You described my first time holding a guy’s hand to a T. It’s such an exhilarating feeling – and a near perfect one at that. There’s no way it could actually be “wrong.” No way at all. It’s how I imagine heaven feels.

    Like

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