Tuesday, September 13, 2011


Hands are funny things.

They’re more like an emotion than a body part. Not in the sense that you can say

“Well, I really feel hand today,” or “I’m a bit too hand, maybe later” or “I’m so hand right now I could clench these fingers into a fist and give you a knuckle handwich!”

Hands are like… Leaves, on a tree.

No, no, they’re like rays from the sun

No, wait, they’re like.. They’re like poetry, in motion. They are a language in themselves, an ethnicity we carry unbeknownst to ourselves, a bit of a universal language

Where this (wave) means hi, and this (middle finger) means fuck you and this (thumbs up) means either good job or ‘I’m hitchhiking and can somebody please take me to Alberta.’

Other hand signals aren’t so clear, like the frantic panic-wave (panic wave) that can mean anything from ‘ew, who cut one’ to ‘oh my god, a wasp/bee/conservative!’

And there’s my personal favourite. The hide.

I use it a lot. I used to use it to cover my nose when I laughed, because I had the unfortunate habit of snorting. Then I used it to cover my mouth when I smiled because an obnoxious prat from high school told me I had crooked chipmunk teeth. Now I use it to hide behind when I see you walking up to me, because I know the look on my face says more than I ever will. The look that you can’t control because, when you look at someone and your soul speaks the words ‘oh, there you are,’ you can’t control your face anymore. When your heart beats so hard and fast you know if you didn’t have a ribcage holding it in, it already would have jumped into the other person’s arms.

I cover it when I’m with you and am suddenly taken with the thought of a world without you, because I’ve never thought that about anyone else and felt like I’ve been kicked in the chest.

I cover it when it’s just us, you and I, and I’ve had too much to drink and you’re getting there, too, and if I don’t stuff my hand in my mouth I know I’ll say something foolish. True, but foolish. Those words are one and the same for me, most of the time

Because I know that telling you I miss you might be true but is definitely foolish.

Hands.. are funny things. They’re vessels of feeling, when there is no word to describe your anger or frustration or compassion. They create emotional sounds of silence, from an angry fist shake, to a sad wave, to outstretched arms that say

‘I’m here. Come get me.’

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