​Thanks for returning the favor

It was your left thumb. Your thumb was how I knew.

I remember so much about the night we met. I remember what I was wearing. I remember which one of your 5000 baseball caps you had on. I remember your eternally rosy cheeks. I remember that the only reason I was there was to have a drink with someone else. I remember that it was my best friend who had been pouring those drinks. And I remember that by the time the other guy left and you walked in, I was feeling like what little shreds of a filter I carried with me were too heavy. And then I saw your hair.

You walked over and I said a silent prayer that you were older than you looked because you looked like you were barely old enough to drink. You stood next to me. To my left. And those shreds turned into dust.

Now I don’t remember what exactly was said, you’d think I would. But I remember feeling wobbly, pretending I was less steady than I actually was, and reaching out my hand. My left hand. I remember it finding your left. And I remember what I was so sure were the three most important things I would ever learn. You were 30. You were single. And I absolutely could not feel my face.

And that was when I felt it. I wobbled, your hand tightened on mine. I discovered that I in fact could not feel my face. And then I felt it. Your left thumb. Gently rubbing the top of my left hand. I will always remember the gentle caress of your thumb on my hand. I’d known you for maybe 30 minutes and that thumb just stopped me in my tracks.

“Wtf is he doing?” I thought to myself. “Is this…what is this? Is he being sweet? I’m a millennial, that’s not a thing. I was expecting a week-long situationship at best. What do I do with myself? Do I return the favor and rub his hand? Do I smile and thank him? Do I tell him that even if he threw a drink in my face and walked away right now, the only thing I would remember 10 years from now is his cheeks, his hair, and his damn thumb?”

Your touch was as calm, as gentle, as steadfast and reassuring as I would soon find you to be. That touch broke me. It broke me in the best way possible. It broke me open and wrapped itself around my jaded heart. And that’s where it’s stayed. In this place that I knew I had never really protected. That touch was warmth and compassion and acceptance and elation. And love. So much love.

Love had wrapped itself around my jaded heart and love, I would soon find, would protect it. Our love. Forever.

I will forever reach out my hand when you instinctively reach out yours every chance you get. But it’s your right hand that I look for. I know your left one. We’re old friends. Your left one is engraved in my memory and my once-jaded heart.

I will forever stand proudly by your side, reaching out in anticipation of the touch of your right hand, the gentle caress of your thumb. I’ll forever stand proudly by your side, content in knowing that every day I get the privilege of loving and being loved by you.

So when you’re holding my hand in yours and feel the gentle touch of my left thumb on your skin, know that it’s just me, saying “I love you. Forever. Thank you for returning the favor.”