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I cherish the warm feeling of his hand as it glides down the back of my neck and down the angora coat that clings to my thawed forearms.  As his touch draws near to my hand, my body stiffens, feeling an unfamiliar need to catch his grip and never let go. His hand approaches my wrist.  I hold my breath.  The fingertips of this stranger slowly pass over the top of my hand, pass my knuckles, and pass over my fingers until he uses my fingernail as a launching pad -- and suddenly disappears.  His hand returns to its safe place on his left leg. He sits motionless.

In my overwhelming feeling of deprivation I stare at his statue-like hand upon that distant leg and beg with wanting eyes.   My right hand is forced to cope with its recent rejection.  I wait and wait for him to reconsider.  After five minutes I feel completely abandoned.  His shoulder no longer feels like my bloodline and I now have a need to alienate this close moment.  I am sure that I have just read the last line of this saga.

As I take a deep breath to energize my fatigued neck muscles and remove my exhausted head, his hand moves closer, like a spider towards a fly caught in its web.  With increasing anticipation, I watch this creeping hand move magnetically toward my fingertips. It nears the end of its journey right before my fingers, and stops with fear and hesitation. 

I am part of a chemistry experiment in progress, ready to explode, and I realize that I don't need to just wait and receive his affection in this episode.  Without stopping myself, I make the final move and caress my fingernail over his palm.  Now every window has been opened to accept this moment of closeness.  His fingers ski over my veins and tightly grab the body of my hand.  My grip rewards his behavior and for the final three hours of the journey, we hold each other's hands in quiet solitude.

When the sun rises, our fingers loosen and our drowsy minds begin to emerge from half-sleep.  Our eyes lock in the gentle beams of dawn and the bus comes to a sudden halt.  His stop, the one before mine, arrives without warning.  Frantically we both separate from our close position and he begs me to call the number on his business card, the only indication I have of who this stranger is. 

Then he is gone, without my promise, and I sit beside an empty seat, no longer alone again.

   
salon.com | Aug. 27, 1999

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