Fingers and Hands

7 parts: Long distance power, The softest touch, Attack hugs, Reassurance, The platonic need, First romance, and The kind hand

Part 1: Long distance power.

If you count to the equivalent of the decimal 4 in binary on your hands you end up with your thumb, index finger, ring finger and pinkie pulled down and your middle finger extended.  Yup. One zero zero. 4.  Curiously, as I was thinking of this a song by Vava was playing on Pandora.  I checked to see what it was.  The title of the song?  “4”.  Is she flipping me off? Gee whiz Vava! Control yourself!   Btw, the song is in mandarin, I think. She doesn’t actually say “4” in a language I understand. The song.

This morning I saw a sticker of an anime character in a car window.  It looked like they were peeking out mischievously with their middle finger raised. What a lovely way to share your day with everyone else on the road. Yes, sarcasm.

On the way home a car was in the wrong lane and kind of forced its way in between two other cars.  A hand reached out and I thought, “oh no! Another finger!” but no.  It was kindness.  It was a wave,  a thank you.  So much nicer. So very much nicer.  Why couldn’t the anime character be doing that for perpetuity?

When I was a youth I discovered curse words and the dreaded middle finger. It was a thing to play with.  I would frequently flip off my friends. They would return the gesture and we would laugh.  Rarely was it actually used in anger.  Later, we learned how to use it in anger.  It wasn’t so funny anymore.

The funniest middle finger was my mother’s. If a joke or comment was made at her expense, she would whip that thing out and extend it fully.  All other fingers in her palm and that lone, longer finger sticking as far out as possible. She would waggle it at you with a pretend sneer. Her face showed fully that she thought she was doing something naughty and she was enjoying it. Giggles would frequently follow. 

I don’t use my middle finger for that kind of communication any more. 

Part 2:  The softest touch

I work the crosswalk in the morning.  It’s not very exciting.  Someone walks up, I make sure traffic stops. I walk out with my stop sign.  I say “good morning” or “hello” or we have a short conversation and then I wait until the next person comes along. But there are highlights. Some students are always cheery and happy to see me.  Some parents will have something nice to say. One family in particular is nice to see. A mom, her first grade daughter and a younger son that’s not in school yet, come by most mornings. After the daughter is dropped off, the mom follows the son back to me. When they reach my cross walk he stands at the edge and just waits patiently. As soon as I can, I walk to him and extend my hand.  It’s give me five time.  But our give me five is different. He slowly reaches up and places his tiny little hand in mine and looks up and smiles.  Every day.  His little hand is always cool, dry, and so soft it is indescribable. We stay like this for a couple of moments. I then say, “have a nice day” and he removes his hand and walks off with his mother. It brings a glow to every morning. 

Part 3: Attack hugs and fist bumps

I was attack hugged by the high fiver’s sister today.  I was walking over to the lounge at recess and the next thing I knew I felt a tiny impact to my left hip, arms reached around, hands gripped my pant leg and a tiny smiling head appeared near my waist looking up. A big squeezing hug. And then she’s off! Gone.  There are four girls that will attack hug me. First, third and two in fourth grade. It used to be that I would have to pry one of them off me, but she’s gradually mellowed out and will willingly detach herself when asked. A few years ago there was a kindergartner who would attack hug me from straight ahead. It was a full on bull charge.  Let’s just say his head was at just the right height. OOO, hurts just thinking about it. He got me at least three times. I since mastered the quick hip swivel to get my hip forward and protect myself.  Now-a-days the boys want to fist bump.  Sometimes it hurts a little, but not like the head butt to the crotch.   

Part 4: Reassurance

In our 18 years together Katie and I did a lot of hand holding.  My fondest memory is when we would just sit and watch tv. I would frequently be sitting up at the end of the couch, Katie would spread out with her legs over mine and my left hand would rest on her hip. She would reach over with her right hand and we would just stay there. There might be some slight finger waggles, but it was a calming, reassuring, quiet hold.  Hours. 

Part 5: The platonic hand

Sometimes I see friends holding hands and they always look so happy. 

Before Katie, I met a woman online. When I visited Seattle I would stop by and visit her. She quickly made it clear that she was not “interested” in me, but we got along quite well and became good friends.  We would talk about all sorts of things, share dinners, go for walks. One day as we walked at Alki Beach she asked to hold my hand.  We did and it was comforting, nice and by golly, I think we were mostly smiling.  Yes, we stayed platonic. I was sad when our friendship ended. 

Part 6:  First Romance

I met my first “love” my freshman year at Eastern Washington University. Let’s call her “E”.  She was the dorm neighbor of a girl I was friends with and had a crush on, “S”.  At some point late in the year “S” got a boyfriend. I was crushed but we were still friends and I would hang out in her dorm room. One day “S” was gone when I dropped by, but “E” was there. We started chatting and she was moving around the room and I looked at her and I thought out of the blue, “I could marry her”.  

She didn’t come back the next year. She moved to Puerto Rico to be a nanny.  But before she left we exchanged addresses and began corresponding the old fashioned way. We both wrote poetry and we shared our life stories and wrote about life and philosophy and religion and everything.  At one point we wrote a poem together, writing a line each back and forth until we had a full poem. Somehow, it was like long distance intimacy.  One day in the spring she came back to visit and I was smitten, but she left again.  Correspondence continued.

I switched schools, took a quarter off and started at the University of Washington in January. At this point she was in Utah, still being a nanny.  Around August I stopped getting letters from her.  One night in early October at about 10:00 PM my roommate knocks on my door and says, “a girl just called, asked if you’re here and then hung up.” 

An hour later there is a knock at the door.  My roommate comes to my room again.  “There’s a girl at the door for you.”  I walk out. “E” is standing there. Heart flutter.  “Can we go for a walk?” she asks.  “Yes”.  We walked the neighborhoods in the cool dark, our hands intertwined as one. 

Two months later we met for an evening together. At the end of the evening she says, “I’m leaving for Turkey tomorrow.”  I never saw her again, but I know she’s married, lives in Turkey, and translates Turkish novels into English.  She’s pretty cool. 

Part 7:  The kind hand

This was not long after “E”. It was when I was still attending the UW and I had not yet met my first wife. Probably still heartbroken over “E”. I had stayed late near campus studying and was heading home.  Dark. A little damp.  I was standing at the bus stop on University Ave “The Ave”.  There were a few other people standing with me, all quiet.  One was a fellow, maybe in his early 20s.  Looking at him, it was obvious he had an intellectual disability.  I smiled at him, said “hello” and he smiled back. A bus comes by. Some people get on. Now, it’s just me and the fellow waiting.  He walks over to me and asks if he can hold my hand. I look at him.  He’s emanating kindness and needs to hold my hand.  We stand next to each other, holding hands at the bus stop on the Ave for at least 5 minutes.  No words are spoken.  My bus comes and I pull my hand gently from him and say “good bye, have a nice night”.  I never see him again.  

Did he need me to comfort him and hold his hand? 

OR   

Did he recognize my need and step up with an open kind heart?  

To this day I am not sure, I really don’t know.  I do know the memory is still strong in my heart.