I keep my hands to myself. It makes things easier. I pull my elbows in tight, cross my arms over my body, and take up as little space as I can. Everything I need, I carry with my own limbs, and I don’t have to worry about overstepping bounds if I never step outside of my own personal bubble.
In a crowd, this is especially useful. The festival I was attending with my closest friend at the time was over fifteen thousand people strong, and even in the little pocket of space we had carved out for ourselves, I tried my best to avoid bumping elbows.
We had been planning this trip for weeks; taking river walks, dining in mom-and-pop restaurants, and shopping during the day, singing ourselves hoarse and dancing until we dropped at night. She showed me parts of Richmond that she loved, and I followed with my camera and a smile wider than I had ever felt on my face. The day, shining with Virginia summer heat, flew by us faster than I could register. I kept carefully to myself the whole time, ignoring a fluttery feeling in my chest. We were cheering with the rest of the crowd as the night’s most anticipated artist made his way on stage before I knew it, and I never wanted to leave her side. The performer sounded exactly like the playlist she had made for the occasion, the one I had spent countless days listening to in anticipation of this very moment.
About halfway through the concert, a song began with the fast plucking of a guitar and lyrics I didn’t fully understand at the time. Most other songs I had memorized, but she told me she had to skip this one every time it came on her headphones, so I didn’t listen in solidarity. I nodded my head along to the music, eyes staying trained on the stage as they had all night, careful not to look too closely at her. But as silence fell over the crowd before the chorus, I snuck a glance to my left.
She was crying. Tears tracked silently down her cheeks, shining white with the stage lights. As the guitar and the bass crashed over us, something in me broke.
I tried to keep it down for so long, but some things have a way of escaping you no matter how tightly you hold them in. I wanted so badly to be able to go through life alone, my space staying mine and never needing anyone or anything to succeed.
But I needed her.
I needed her enthusiasm for all things beautiful and colorful, I needed her voice talking to me about anything and everything and her smile when I talked right back, I needed her laughter, and I needed her gentleness and care for every living thing (except bugs that flew too close to her). I wanted to wake up with her in the morning and join hands while we walked and comb my fingers through her hair with her head on my lap. It wasn’t something I had a choice to keep to myself anymore. She was crying and I was holding her and I felt warmer than I ever knew was possible.
She fit in my arms like she had always been there. I loved her more than I could contain in my own personal bubble, and going alone wasn’t something that I could do anymore. Almost unconsciously, I kissed the top of her head, squeezing tears out of my eyes as I clenched them shut.
She was my closest friend. And just as I learned how much I needed her near me, I knew that she could never be within my reach. I tried to memorize the way her arms wrapped around my torso, how her hair felt beneath my hands. But as the desperation in my lungs reached its peak, I pulled away, disentangling myself from her with a shaky laugh. My hands went back to my sides, elbows tucked in tight and heart carefully back in my chest. She turned to look at the stage, her profile illuminated with the white glow of the stage lights. I took a breath and drew myself back together and tried hard not to stare at how beautiful she was. The fluttery feeling beat against my chest in time with the drums.
I would find a way to keep it to myself.
*****
Originally from Northern Virginia, Daniel Golub is now a Bostonian college student studying writing and publishing. In his free time, he likes to hike and take photos, especially of whatever wildlife he can encounter around the city (mostly pigeons). He enjoys writing both fantasy and nonfiction, and has found to his delight that the two are not as dissimilar as they might seem upon first glance.
