I was doing that weird social experiment with human touch. I wanted to know how far I could go with the natural touch that happens in public spaces. I would sit on the bus and make sure my knee was touching the person next to me, or keep my elbow just where it was at the movie theatre when the person next to me went to rest their arm or, as in the story of how we met, I would hold the hand of the customer I was returning change to at the small grocery story I worked at.
I remember you were wearing that over-sized beige sweater with so many holes in it that if I was any older, like someone's mom, I would have said it looked like a rat chewed it. I had seen you before. Just a few times when you came in to buy some fruit or something small for your lunch. But that night you came bouncing in because you bounced when you walked and I held your right hand with my left and handed back your change. I think I did it because there was something about you that I knew wouldn't think it was weird. I was right.
You went home and told your roommate about the girl at the grocery store that just held your hand when she gave you your change back and your mind was blown. You were coming back to talk to me. You had to. As fate would have it, your boss had just come by the grocery store to let me know what time I was to meet him in the morning. I was just hired by him as another landscaper for his small team. You were the other half of the team. You walked in at just that moment. He introduced us and you had a big smile on your face. I may have been smirking too.
The next day is still a soft and humid memory. We spent the grey, overcast day kneeling in the rich man's garden, pulling weeds, playing with mulch and trying to avoid earthworms (well, I did that while you tried to convince me that they were loving creatures). I remember how warm you felt. Your eyes were darker than I thought they should be because your hair was kind of shimmery. You were wearing that shirt that I ended up keeping. A faded out baseball shirt with no number or name on it. I think we were given a stern verbal nudge to move quicker as we had so much to talk about that work seemed so far away. I can't remember a thing about what we said but I remember how your eyes would smile more than your mouth ever could.
From there it went were all relationships go. In the opposite direction of a sunrise. I think we danced a good dance for a short while. You opened up some windows in my naively built house. You had big, colourful tattoos, had travelled to foreign corners of the world and referred to your parents as 'parental units'. I think you were a lot of things for me then but I vaguely remember you now. Just the beginning is still warm in my mind. The rest is muddled and forgotten. I think you broke my young heart. For sure you did. You weren't love but you were important. You were the one that held the clippers to my virgin scalp and for that, yes, for that, I am eternally grateful.
You also slept on a bamboo mat.
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