Short Story / Your Hands
Today I realized that I no longer see your hands. I don’t picture your long fingers and broad palms. I cannot recall the fine hair trailing lightly down your wrists. I have lost the feel of your fingers perfect movements dancing on my skin. I know that it is all still there but I don’t see it now. Your image has faded over time while I was busy not noticing your absence. And the bittersweet part is that until today I hadn’t fully believed you were gone.
Today I am going to a place that will be punctuated with you. It will reek of your presence and I am not sure if I care anymore. That is why I am going, you know. I have to be able to be engulfed by your memory and feel nothing. It is time.
You will bring her. I will bring him. We have to, for, you see, the invitation says, “and Guest”. And for the first few hours we will all pretend not to see one another and the not-quite-quick-enough glances being thrown past the unsuspecting shoulders of other party-goers. Then, with the help of cocktails and lowered guards, accidentally we will find ourselves on the cusp of the same conversation. Out of courtesy your girl will give me some insincere compliment that doesn’t come across quite right and, predictably, my boy will try and make small talk with you to deflect some of the blatantly remaining chemistry. But you and I, we just stare.
This is not a new game. The rules are unchanged. We know what the odds are and we manipulate them well. We will part company with the lie of “all getting together soon” knowing how the rest of the evening will play out. She will cry and accuse you of still loving me. He will be cold and curt all evening while never admitting anything is wrong. We will all go home and once safely there act as if none of this occurred. And for weeks this night will remain right under the surface, untouched. But there is always a next time.
I should’ve let go long before now. I know this as surely as I know that, for now, I am happy. I have no regrets for us or for you except that I held you too tightly and needed you too much. But they truly aren’t regrets either because they have been my life. Memories that will engorge me at times and torture me none the less when the past comes creeping like chills in my empty bed. And then, when I need it most, some long since forgotten image of us, laughing and shining, encompasses me and I remember that it all worked out just right.
You see, I loved you. I love you still. Yet I have come to accept that I loved you for who I wanted you to be equally as much as for who you really were. I loved you because in you I could see greatness. I could see so much beauty and strength. I still can. But now I also understand that you don’t want people to see that. I pushed too hard and wanted too much. You like it easy and without pressures. You revel in the quiet calm of mediocrity. That is what makes you. And I loved and despised that.
I remember the day you finally called me on it. You asked if it would ever be enough. And as I looked up from my book I was saddened by the look in your eyes. It was a look of fear at the answer. It was a look of defeat at already knowing. It was a look of pain at the knowledge and possibly a look of regret at finally having asked.
We tried to ignore it. We tried desperately hard and for a while things went about as usual. Except when you would look up and catch me watching you. You said it made you uncomfortable. You said it was like I was sizing you up. But what I never said was that I wasn’t. I never once said that I watched you because I knew you were the most beautiful man I would ever encounter. I never once spoke up and said I watched you because you moved me beyond words simply by breathing. I never tried one time to tell you that sometimes I ached in your presence. I guess I should have.
I am not without flaw. You know I have many. I am marred and mistaken as well. That is my penance. But for a while we were perfect in ourselves, as ourselves, by ourselves. We were untouchable. Maybe a person can only stand so much wonder in a lifetime and that made it our time to end.
Your version of this story will be much different than mine. I am certain of that. For I will see the truth that is mine and you will see things as they really were, literally and without context. You believe our lives come without preface and commence not needing an epilogue. Perhaps that is why you could walk away.
I told you I’d wait forever. I said I would never doubt you. Did you believe me? Did I lie? I have. I don’t. You do. I did. There are minutes and hours and days and weeks between us now. Gaps of time our memory may not be able to bridge. I do not want to know what you are doing now. I have no desire to hear her name as it sounds rolling off your lips. I will never want to learn about the past you have cultivated during this expanse. And I will never tell you the secrets of mine.
I do know that I miss you. I have no doubt you miss me. But I am trying to turn you into a ghost. Our friends have told me my name spills from your lips without thought and you blush at your carelessness while surveying their reaction. In some sad way this gives me pleasure and in some pleasurable way it makes me sad.
I saw you once, a few years back, from across a crowded street. You were speaking to a man and a little girl. I opened my mouth to call to you and at that exact moment you threw back your head and laughed. You laughed with the infectious, resounding music that I remember echoing down the halls of our home. Were you laughing at something the young girl said? Was it a joke passing between you and a friend or perfect stranger? Either way I closed my lips and got in my car, afraid the call of my voice would cut short that noise I did once so love. And as I drove away, I cried.
But the world didn’t stop for us. I went on without you and you plowed ahead without me. We have made seperate lives and written new verses. I am happy with my life. I can only assume you are happy as well.
Sometimes I still panic and forget to breathe. Sometimes I still think I feel too much. I know I still push too hard and hold too tightly. I know I am still flawed and dirty. But he loves it all. He is in love with me for who he wants me to be equally as much as for who I really am. That is where you went wrong. You just loved me. You loved without hesitation or reservation. You loved me and I was scared.
I have seldom since found another man’s hands on my body without remembering the grace of yours. I have never found any as beautiful. I have never wanted another’s hands to rob me of my sanity and then give it back as perfectly as you. I truly loved your hands. I truly loved you, for all the days that we were and most of the ones that we were not. Sometimes I believe I still do.
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A very emotional tale of love. It is a universal tale that many can relate too. As most everyone has at least one old flame. I thought this was well written and it flowed nicely. Good Job!
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This comes across as a confessional, journal/diary, as told in a letter to an ex. The problem is it lacks motion, it just hang there while you tell us the story from the middle of the stage. You need to get into the background. You need to move to an active voice, and move from the passive voice you have going on there. The other is you just plain beat around the bush and tell us what you want us to know, but you don’t get into the events and show us what happened. Remember those confessional letters you and your friends did when you were young, and you read them and thought it’s true, it’s real, but it’s not a story? That’s it right now. You must have action here. Confessional alone won’t move this piece.
Thanks for sharing and I hope that helps to focus you on what you need to do with this piece. Good luck.
A lost love well captured. Perhaps a bit obvious and predictable but then I suspect this is the need to write and get out a real life experience. Those are the most difficult to write as the experience often interferes with the mechanics of writing.
Nicely done though, keep writing, try something totally foreign to you, focus on the writing.
I liked how you started the story. I was instantly drawn in to read more, and when it was done, I liked how you finished it by sort of ending where you began. I must admit, I find this piece kind of hard to review because it was well written, but at the same time I had trouble with the middle parts of the story. I found that I was drawn into the story, but then it kind of looped, and I began to lose interest… but that’s somewhat subjective. It was still well written.
I have lived it (to some degree i suspect we all have)and know every note of it. You have done an outstanding job of capturing it.
In some ways I feel like I looked up and caught the ghosts of memory in your eyes, and we exchanged an understanding nod about.
“There is joy and there is pain and we carry it all, I see your burden bunched on your shoulder fellow traveller. Well met and goodbye,”
I really loved this story. It flowed so well together. I’m almost at a loss for words about how beautiful your writing is. I have nothing to recommend to you. I don’t know how you could improve it above this standard.
July 15, 2006
Deleted User
Wonderful story. Many people can relate to this one. I don’t know if this is based on a true story or not, but it feels like it was. It truly felt like you had gone through this. So if it wasn’t real, you are amazing with putting yourself in another situation. And I love the repition about his hands. That is always how it is, it’s not always the whole person, it’s a few things about them that really stick with you the most. Great job.
The emotion is strong and deep. You can actually feel it as you read line by line. However, it doesn’t read like a story to me, and I won’t nitpick because of categorization. To me a story has a clearly definable beginning, middle, and end. While this doesn’t fit that standard, I liked it in regard to honestly expressed emotions and realism. It has something to say, and I like that.
Couple of things that may or may not be helpful.
Missing comma: Out of courtesy(,) your girl will give
Break this sentence, it will increase pace. ..that doesn’t come across quite right and, (remove and, and start new sentence with Predictably)predictably, my boy will try and make small talk…
You start at least three sentences in the same manner. Try changing it up some.
Example:
But you and I, we just stare.
But there is always a next time.
But he loves it all.
separate (separate) lives
Watch your change of tense too.
Overall, nice work.
This 1 word review has not been unlocked.
June 27, 2006
Deleted User
This was a great, moving story! Although this may sound like an insult, trust me when I say that it is a compliment: There’s nothing extraordinary about this story – but in a simplistic way, this is such an honest portrayal of the love that human beings share.
I truly enjoyed reading this story and I love the flow of it and the little mentions of his hands being the focus of this story.
Lovely!
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