Walking with a closeness that does not require fingers intertwined but implies that we could, if it was necessary, and it is not.
I turn my head in laughter, looking first at the ground through my eyelashes, I catch a glimpse of the cracks in the sidewalk as they say hello and goodbye with our movement, and then looking up into the street where the lights illuminate the interior of a car that slows as it passes. It's driver is pressed close to the steering wheel to get a better look.
Eyes squinted in curiosity meet with mine and I am suddenly frozen in his stare.
I've heard before that 60 percent of the human body is made up of water and this look drops my internal temperature to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. I am the bitter wind of January. I am the unforgiving lake superior. I am the frozen baby mammoth uncovered in a remote corner of Siberia and I am frostbitten.
We remain this way, looking at one another just long enough to feel the cold set in but so briefly that this happening may be soon forgotten. I watch as the eyes change and darken and seem to struggle with a series of emotions most people do not experience in an entire day, let alone a moment like this! One this small.
Taking a breath I turn my head and re-enter the conversation, seemingly unfazed except now I wish for that hand swinging so close to mine, because I HAVE been fazed. I need that hand just for a minute and my palm is burning in its absence.
Our fingers meet and settle, searching for that familiar position. And as they lean and relax against one another,
"Yourhandsaresocold!"
"Cold hands, warm heart."
I hear the sound of the idling engine slowly and regretfully become the sound of acceleration and I keep listening as that sound becomes lost somewhere in the larger and louder sounds of the city.
I squueeezze the hand to tell it that I am here. I squeeze the hand a second time faster than the first and it reminds me that it is here! and we are here together.
"what?"
"...nothing."
"o."
I turn my head in laughter, looking first at the ground through my eyelashes, I catch a glimpse of the cracks in the sidewalk as they say hello and goodbye with our movement, and then looking up into the street where the lights illuminate the interior of a car that slows as it passes. It's driver is pressed close to the steering wheel to get a better look.
Eyes squinted in curiosity meet with mine and I am suddenly frozen in his stare.
I've heard before that 60 percent of the human body is made up of water and this look drops my internal temperature to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. I am the bitter wind of January. I am the unforgiving lake superior. I am the frozen baby mammoth uncovered in a remote corner of Siberia and I am frostbitten.
We remain this way, looking at one another just long enough to feel the cold set in but so briefly that this happening may be soon forgotten. I watch as the eyes change and darken and seem to struggle with a series of emotions most people do not experience in an entire day, let alone a moment like this! One this small.
Taking a breath I turn my head and re-enter the conversation, seemingly unfazed except now I wish for that hand swinging so close to mine, because I HAVE been fazed. I need that hand just for a minute and my palm is burning in its absence.
Our fingers meet and settle, searching for that familiar position. And as they lean and relax against one another,
"Yourhandsaresocold!"
"Cold hands, warm heart."
I hear the sound of the idling engine slowly and regretfully become the sound of acceleration and I keep listening as that sound becomes lost somewhere in the larger and louder sounds of the city.
I squueeezze the hand to tell it that I am here. I squeeze the hand a second time faster than the first and it reminds me that it is here! and we are here together.
"what?"
"...nothing."
"o."
