Hands
In October 2008, the druid and I first met. We were in the backseat of a friend’s car, separately friends of the driver who was on her way to drop off a friend she and the druid knew, and that I did not know. I went because I had nothing better to do that day.
I oh-so-subtly let my hand rest on the middle of the bench seat, between us. I stared out the window, and wished he’d take my hand in his. Imagine my gleeful surprise when he did. I didn’t look for as long as I could, and then finally turned my head to meet his warm, quiet gaze with a gentle smile of my own. We didn’t let go for the entire ride, about an hour’s travel away from the area we resided in. We often squeezed hands, again meeting each others’ eyes with smiles.
I didn’t know what the heck I was doing but it felt really good. The electricity between us was incredible. And it still is. Ever after, every month since that day, I look at the druid and whisper, “Happy Handiversary,” to which he draws in his breath sharply, and grabs me in a hug.
Back in April ‘09, it seemed he was bound for a little town 500 miles away, effectively putting a pause to our perfect relationship. It devastated both of us, and it seemed there was nothing either of us could do to stop it–his roommates were moving, and he felt it his duty to follow them, explaining that he felt obligated because they were counting on him to help move and such. We spent weeks crying on the phone to each other, and holding each other desperately close the couple of times we could spend any real time together. We bawled. I got him set up with his own email address, IM name, and blog just so that he’d have something to do up there that I might be able to connect with. I had a webcam and was planning to buy a second so we could see each other. He promised he’d give me his mailing address so that if nothing else, we could write letters, likely tear-splotched.
I spent the night in his company, his last shift of work. Spurred by a thought I wanted to act upon, I traced my hand upon a piece of blank paper, and folded it up neatly and tightly, small enough for him to carry in his wallet. I grabbed a second piece of blank paper, folded that up too, and took it with me that evening. When he had a moment free of customers, I asked him to present me with his bare hand, and directed him to press it to the paper. He was confused but obliged me, watching me quietly as I quickly traced around his fingers and wrist. Just then, another customer was coming, so I shooed him away, telling him that upon his return, I would explain what in the world that was about.
He came back, still confused, but curious and smiling at me, waiting for me to explain myself. I handed him my tightly folded piece of paper. He looked at it, looked at me, and opened it to find my hand traced upon it, along with the caption, “I exist,” and the day’s date. Now, with all this leaving business, aside from one bawling session I could not control, I’d been able to keep a stoic face in his presence. I might cry a little, my eyes might become a bit wet, but I saved my sobbing for when I was alone in the room we shared when he visited me. He appreciated that, as it was hard enough on him as it was. But when I handed him that piece of paper, his emotions came unbidden to his face and he grabbed me in a fierce hug and allowed himself to sob for a moment, seeking comfort in my arms, burying his face in my chest.
Morning came, and we parted ways for what was probably going to be the last time, as he would be too busy packing to see me again before he left. He promised me he would let me see him off a couple weeks hence, though it’d be hard for both of us to contain ourselves. He’d asked me what I would do. I told him I’d probably wave to him with a smile as their truck moved off, and collapse in a heap as soon as it rounded the corner. I didn’t know what I would do then, and I assumed that it would not be pretty.
He had opportunity to see me once more a few days before moving day, and while with me, he made the decision to stay. He didn’t even tell me he’d changed his mind, he simply asked for the phone, and in even tones told his roommates he would not be accompanying them to their destination. I listened very quietly, not daring to hope, because I thought it likely he might change his mind again. Through all of this, we’d both reasoned that he’d have felt worse if he’d stayed, and let his roommates down. In the end, he chose the worse pain in staying, abruptly moving in with me, sharing my room, trusting me to care for him as he worked through that pain. It took a full month to become okay with the way things were, and in the end, he was still with me, the both of us very happy, and calm, and clutching to each other tightly.
I tell you this because yesterday evening, I grabbed my pad of drawing paper, and had him splay his hands upon the page, to which I traced around his fingers again. “What are you doing?” he asked. I smiled but said nothing, continuing to draw around his digits with the vibrant black gel pen. I placed my own hand upon the page as well, tracing my fingers as they overlapped his drawn fingertips. When the druid saw me doing that, he became intensely emotional, quiet tears streaming down his face as he watched. I placed the paper in a brand new picture frame I’d never used, and showed it to him, before putting it up on the newly placed bookshelf I’d placed next to the futon.
I can’t afford to do much in the way of gifts, but I thought it’d be nifty to do that with him. I was inspired by the original outline of his hand on the piece of paper from that night. He reported that his paper is still folded and in his wallet. I’m putting my piece of paper in the same frame as the hands we made last night. He’s carrying his with him.
–
Voted “Best of Holidailies 2009” by its panelists. :)
Challenge yourself to Holidailies 2009 by writing one entry each day in December.
