The Hand Job

I'd like to take a break from the soapbox to share a story from prepubescence. The Fall's forthcoming has surely forced this one to the surface.

It was early October, and I was just about to turn thirteen. I had signed up to go on the church youth group hayride. I had never really been on a hayride before, and had convinced myself that it was NOT going to be a good time, but it would keep me out of the house for a few hours.

Since it has been nearly two decades, and several details are now too fuzzy to recall, I'll just cut to the meat of this thing. The group was twenty thick on the trailer of a one ton truck stuffed with tiny hay bales, and we were winding through a field peppered with pumpkins and squash and scarecrows. It was a chilly fall night, and as the sun went down I found myself sitting real close to a girl that I just happened to have a crush on. I honestly do not recall if this was a result of some strategic play on my part, but most likely I did everything I could to be right next to her. We had covered up under a blanket near the cab of the truck. The moment was flawless; the sun was setting, our jeans were touching. We were perfectly poised to fall into each other. As we got more and more comfortable, we started holding hands. Hard. It was the most intimate moment I had ever shared with a girl. We were softly exploring each others fingers, tracing the curves of our knuckles. It was getting pretty heavy. I had never been so excited in my life. The further the truck took us into that dark field, the more comfortable we became with each other.

This went on for awhile. I knew every millimeter of her fingers. We continued to trace each others life lines, our fingers intertwined. I could tell that the ride was soon coming to an end, and I didn't know how to approach the situation after we left the bed of this truck. I knew for certain that if I didn't play my cards right, we'd never ever hold hands again. Just as I was mentally navigating what I could say to her, she pulled both of her hands from underneath our blanket.

My heart sank. My fingers were still locked together in this amazing grasp, and yet I felt the magic drain out of the fingertips. All digits went limp, the heavy rubbing slowed. I looked at my girl, and she had no idea what was happening. I looked at the guy sitting next to her, and knew immediately. I had been hand in hand with an older man. We had both believed that we were holding hands with her. I gotta say... regardless of the truth of the matter, it was electric. There was a charge between our fingers, a magic. A horribly humiliating magic. We never spoke of it again.