Hands

Madison at night, where the drunks emerge to sway to their tipsy tango, where hobos cuddle outside shopfronts for warmth in the sub zero winter. We avoided the busy main street to avoid the rowdiness, choosing instead a quieter, parallel street. On the way to your car, we talked about your work but I wasn't really listening, for you reached over and commented on how cold my hands were. That's the way it is, I said, freezing hands run in my family. In astonishment you rubbed my fingers between your own toasty palms, and I let you. Then I stopped you by interlacing my fingers with yours and we were holding hands for the first time, and you let me.