We were sitting cross-legged with the entire surface area of our sides pressed into each other. By happenstance. That was just the way we had sat down and neither of us made a motion to change our arrangement. It was pretty cold anyway, for California. And the warmth from you felt, well, warm. Which was nice.
Plus we only had one blanket between us and we needed that for our legs.
Your large plastic Dell sat three feet in front of us and played a sometimes black and white, sometimes color, sometimes sepia cult classic. The information that was withheld from the protagonist was withheld from us, and in order to accomplish this, the director had cut up the narrative and rearranged the scenes. I had seen the movie before, but I don’t think you had.
Your battery on that laptop sucked.
It was pretty dark. Our hands were under the blanket too. I think the hairs on your left hand were brushing up against the hairs on my right hand.
When I noticed it my heart started pounding, even though we were just friends. I mean, I knew you wanted me pretty bad, but… And I mean, when you reached over and scratched my back that one time when we were sitting on Ralph’s and Drew’s futon watching a movie, that made me really uncomfortable. It gave me chills, in a good way, but I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. But what was I going to do, ask you to stop scratching my back?
So I moved my hand into yours. The entirety of the surface area of my palm and all the skin lining the interior of my digits was now pressed against all of that of yours. It was tingly. And it was cold, after all. For California.
The silhouette of a tall thin man with a gait not unlike mine, who happened to be a bit darker and handsomer than me but not as goofy, ambled toward us from the cluster of double-wides beyond the dark where we were sitting. The man it belonged to materialized in front of us, asking loudly about the nature of our film. He sat down next to us to participate. In my chest I could feel a secret joy – I was sure we were both smiling to ourselves, to each other. It was awkward, but we were humored by it.
He couldn’t know we were holding hands.
Why was Ken out in the field, in the cold, anyway?