The hand as
family
We work together, play together, sweat together, for the
most part. Although Pinky is often a bit behind the game, so to speak, sometimes
she surprises us and keeps up. Today is the exception…she’s lagging, sluggish.
Like an ALS patient on the verge of paralysis, Pinky just sits there. Perhaps
she’s as nervous as we are…today our body has been a bundle of nerves. In
general, no one works harder than I do, except for maybe Thumb. His chubbiness
can sometimes cause problems, though, so I still feel I’m the leader here.
The lights are dim, a stunning sunset framed in the west bay
window. We see other fingers on another hand, not our left (a sore excuse for
workmanship, our corresponding left hand is shy, clumsy. We, on the other hand
{ha!} are forceful, outgoing; we get the job done). Speaking on behalf of the
whole hand, I, Pointer, am alert to what may happen next.
This other set of hands is soft, delicate. A woman’s hands,
we’re certain.
Tonight, our body is intent on wooing the body owning this
other set of hands. He has prepared mussels in garlic sauce (we were the stars
of this show!) and opened a bottle of his best Chablis. We’re all a bit sore
from the preparation, so we’re ready for some relaxing downtime. Our wrist
(again, a weak link…we do far more of the work) is resting lightly on the edge
of the table and those other hands, glimpsed briefly a moment ago are on their
way across the table to us. They grab hold of us, squeezing lightly. This is
new! Our body rarely touches anyone else, so this sensation is exciting,
unexpected. Remember my mention of sweat earlier? Happening now in excess!
The sky turns as the sun disappears, it becomes a vibrant blue;
not eggshell, not Tiffany, just the blue of the end of day.
“Just a moment.”
Our body gets up to draw the blinds, so that now the room is
only candlelight. Each of us is poised, ready for whatever is coming next. No
longer sitting at the table, the owner of that beautiful hand grabs ours again,
squeezes, and we are bound together closer than ever. Then, all at once, that
silky, soft hand is gone and we’re heading up, up, to clasp a neck, move a
stray hair, brush a chin. So sudden, this other body so close. We appear to be
working in tandem with the left hand better than ever before. We’re all a
little frightened, not having been through this before, so we feel a kinship with
the left that’s missing from our everyday activities. Washing dishes, shaving,
typing, driving…mundane activities in which we, the right hand, feel superior.
We’re feeling more intensity coming from our body, he’s now
moving us in so many directions we’re dizzy. He leads the body belonging to the
other set of hands to the couch, and we’re everywhere at once. Hair, shoulder,
breast, leg, hair again. We’re heady with the excitement of it, and know that
once this night’s over, we’ll be clamoring for more.
