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beandelphikiHe braces himself, taking his hand off the pole to shift his backpack, and then puts that hand back beneath mine. Our fingers just touch, brushing lightly while the train sways. It's a completely innocent move. Well, all right, it's not. But we can say I didn't know that.
And later? Later we sit beside each other on the seats that have been freed. He moves the fabric bundle of his coat out of the way, so that he can slide his hand between us on the seat and press his fingers against my thigh. I don't notice. Well, I do, but we can say I didn't.
He's constantly making these moves, and I'm constantly not noticing. I'm always absorbed in a magazine he's lent me, or the music thrumming the headphone in my ear, or gazing out at the view through the smeared window as we travel across the city.
He takes advantage of moments he thinks I won't notice, like when I brush a crumb of dirt from my backpack, and he crawls his hand over the seat, a spider.
It doesn't have to do with me. Not really. I believe that. He's just got no one, and it's sad to think I might be one of the closest he has to someone special.
It's a careful balance, when to notice and when not to. I'm not sure what else I might try doing, so I perhaps ignore more than is reasonable to ignore. It's hard to say. There's an integrity to maintain here, a particular armour that is being oblivious. But I can't pretend none of it's there. It shows when you know too much, and such knowledge is incriminating. I risk such incrimination just by being his friend, I know that.
"You're queer," he says when we are on unmoving ground. "I know you are."
I don't know if friendships like this can ever have balance.
And later? Later we sit beside each other on the seats that have been freed. He moves the fabric bundle of his coat out of the way, so that he can slide his hand between us on the seat and press his fingers against my thigh. I don't notice. Well, I do, but we can say I didn't.
He's constantly making these moves, and I'm constantly not noticing. I'm always absorbed in a magazine he's lent me, or the music thrumming the headphone in my ear, or gazing out at the view through the smeared window as we travel across the city.
He takes advantage of moments he thinks I won't notice, like when I brush a crumb of dirt from my backpack, and he crawls his hand over the seat, a spider.
It doesn't have to do with me. Not really. I believe that. He's just got no one, and it's sad to think I might be one of the closest he has to someone special.
It's a careful balance, when to notice and when not to. I'm not sure what else I might try doing, so I perhaps ignore more than is reasonable to ignore. It's hard to say. There's an integrity to maintain here, a particular armour that is being oblivious. But I can't pretend none of it's there. It shows when you know too much, and such knowledge is incriminating. I risk such incrimination just by being his friend, I know that.
"You're queer," he says when we are on unmoving ground. "I know you are."
I don't know if friendships like this can ever have balance.
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-15 10:40 pm (UTC)That is really intense.
Awesome.
he crawls his hand over the seat, a spider.
I love this!
(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-16 12:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-16 10:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-15 11:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-16 12:21 am (UTC)Anyway, I think YOU are getting it worse. I said I don't think it has to do with me, right? It's just that he's desperate. Actually, the things he says in class to you are starting to make ME nervous. I think he should say something yourself...
(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-16 12:23 am (UTC)