Apr 2013
In the midst of my carefree, self-indulgent weekend, pushing down smoke with every breath, and searching concrete floors for something to lift me gently from ground, I met a guy at Emo's yearly "stoners holiday" concert hosting a number of Dj's and a half performance from Devin tha Dude.
Standing at the bar, and pushing back elbows to try and get a chaser for the half bottle of whiskey I had left, two young men appeared in front of me. One with curly, sweaty, brown hair, an angled face at every edge, and dark begging eyes- like a child's eyes as they ask to have ten more minutes before bed. The next guy came up behind his friend's right shoulder. His presences was lighter, but I noticed his sun-blonde military haircut looking as soft as it probably felt. His eyes were a shy green, matching his tattered skater v neck, and his small smile.
Before the sweating, curly headed man standing in front of me could get any words out the blonde boy, with the light presence said that he wanted to show me something. With no time to respond, he pulled his hands from behind his back.
His left hand was missing his index finger, and the four remaining seemed disproportionally long. Like the legs of a tarantula became his boney fingers.
His right looked swollen. In my daze I don't remember if he had three, four, or five fingers on his right hand.
His thumb and pointer were swollen huge; his palm was convex it lifted upward and took to the sole of my hand when I shook it--like a hug.
I, regrettably, had let out a small yelp when I first saw them.
His right reminded me of the large Mickey Mouse gloves that kids purchase from small stands at Disney World, and I didn't at first think it was real.
It was the softest hand I've ever felt.
He said it didn't hurt, he was born that way with 1% of his DNA amiss, and he could write and do everything else.
He put his hands away--folded them back up underneath his arms against his chest.
We kept catching each other's eyes briefly before I let mine flutter to lose his gaze.
And I didn't know what to say as his friend spoke in the background of my thoughts to my best friend.
I had so much trouble looking at him the rest of the time. After seeing his dimly lit eyes looking like they were seeping with some need for reassurance.
It wasn't that I thought his hands were ugly, and I didn't have the normal flight feeling; wanting to get away from a random guy I met at 1 am.
I even thought he was cute; his surfer necklace, soft smile and his seemingly huggable personality.
I was scared that if I looked at him he would see the, most likely unwanted, pity seeping from my eyes too.
I wanted to apologize for my initial reaction, but didn't know how. I was so stuck in my thought process. I can't, for the life of me, remember his name.
Standing at the bar, and pushing back elbows to try and get a chaser for the half bottle of whiskey I had left, two young men appeared in front of me. One with curly, sweaty, brown hair, an angled face at every edge, and dark begging eyes- like a child's eyes as they ask to have ten more minutes before bed. The next guy came up behind his friend's right shoulder. His presences was lighter, but I noticed his sun-blonde military haircut looking as soft as it probably felt. His eyes were a shy green, matching his tattered skater v neck, and his small smile.
Before the sweating, curly headed man standing in front of me could get any words out the blonde boy, with the light presence said that he wanted to show me something. With no time to respond, he pulled his hands from behind his back.
His left hand was missing his index finger, and the four remaining seemed disproportionally long. Like the legs of a tarantula became his boney fingers.
His right looked swollen. In my daze I don't remember if he had three, four, or five fingers on his right hand.
His thumb and pointer were swollen huge; his palm was convex it lifted upward and took to the sole of my hand when I shook it--like a hug.
I, regrettably, had let out a small yelp when I first saw them.
His right reminded me of the large Mickey Mouse gloves that kids purchase from small stands at Disney World, and I didn't at first think it was real.
It was the softest hand I've ever felt.
He said it didn't hurt, he was born that way with 1% of his DNA amiss, and he could write and do everything else.
He put his hands away--folded them back up underneath his arms against his chest.
We kept catching each other's eyes briefly before I let mine flutter to lose his gaze.
And I didn't know what to say as his friend spoke in the background of my thoughts to my best friend.
I had so much trouble looking at him the rest of the time. After seeing his dimly lit eyes looking like they were seeping with some need for reassurance.
It wasn't that I thought his hands were ugly, and I didn't have the normal flight feeling; wanting to get away from a random guy I met at 1 am.
I even thought he was cute; his surfer necklace, soft smile and his seemingly huggable personality.
I was scared that if I looked at him he would see the, most likely unwanted, pity seeping from my eyes too.
I wanted to apologize for my initial reaction, but didn't know how. I was so stuck in my thought process. I can't, for the life of me, remember his name.
