Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Hold My Hand

The mood shouldn’t have been awkward, but it was. They were the kind of friends that only really knew each other through another friend. There wasn’t an established relationship, yet. There were established feelings, however. His hand was right next to hers on the couch. If she had more confidence, had she been a bit more daring, she would have just grabbed his hand herself. But she was the oddly shy, slightly awkward girl that only knew how to speak up after she gave herself plenty of preparation to figure out what to say.

He was telling her a story about some friends from work, and though she nodded politely and giggled when he chuckled, she wasn’t paying much attention to anything but the small distance of their hands on the couch. His fingers were long, with his nails bitten down in the typical-guy way. The back of his palm looked a little rough from the cold winter weather. She studied her own hand: stubby fingers, wide palms, long nails with chipped purple paint on them. His hands were gorgeous, whereas hers were just as awkward as herself.

He slouched down onto the couch a bit more. He looked comfortable, so she leaned back, as well. A friend walked into the room, doing a double-take.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you had your head on his shoulder for some reason.” She laughed and walked out of the room.
“You could, you know,” he said in a low voice.
“I could what?” she asked.
“Lay on my shoulder. If you want, I mean. Might be better on your neck.”
She smiled, thinking it over. “Alright,” she said, leaning down.

He continued on with his story, different than the previous one. She could hear his heartbeat and feel his chest rise and sink with each breath. His mouth was near her forehead, and she wished he would be cute and randomly kiss her forehead. Again, she took notice of their hands, so close to each other, even moreso now. He didn’t seem to notice, he didn’t seem to care that they were so close together. She sighed and closed her eyes, just enjoying his comforting warmth. He played with her hair.

“Are you comfy?” he asked.
She lifted her head slightly and nodded. He grinned, looking like a little boy with stubble.
“I’m not boring you with these stories, am I?” he asked her.
“No, no… I enjoy hearing you speak. Your voice is really comforting,” she said.
“Heh, I’m glad you like it.”
”Please talk some more?” she asked.
“Always happy to give people what they want.”
‘Then hold my hand,’ she thought. She snuggled closer to him while he started a new story about his childhood, knowing that he wouldn’t make a move and she was much too meek to try. ‘You take what you get,’ she thought.