Head Over Flats - Andrew 2

I fell in love with Andrew again late one Friday evening. It had been two years since I first fell for him, and I think for the most part, I’d managed to get past it. Where that initial magnetic spark had been, there was now a deeply seeded mutual respect and (for me, at least) a slow-burning sort of attraction.

It was Friday night, I was home, being responsible. An early morning commitment had kept me from joining my friends on their night out. I also had reason to believe my ex, Trent would be there and I was anxious to avoid seeing him.

My phone rang around 11. Andrew was borderline incoherent, but I managed to ascertain that he and Mac were downtown, very very drunk and in need of a ride. Fifteen minutes later, I found the pair of them slouching against/into a hedge in front of an office building. Mac could barely walk, but we maneuvered him into the back seat. I gave him the option of puking out the window or into a Nalgene bottle from my gym bag. To his credit, he did neither.

Andrew ran through the highlights of the night in his candid, straightforward way as I drove them home. He told me about how I would have loved the music, and hated the girl that Trent was hitting on, how I would have laughed at his (Andrew’s) dance moves. As he rambled, I realized that he had put a great deal of thought into what I would have thought, had I been there. Which was odd, and terribly endearing.

I remarked, “I’m sorry I missed out.”

“I’m glad you rescued us.”

He made it sound so noble.

I meant to say, I have your back and support you as a friend.

I wanted to say, I think we both know I would do anything for you.

I actually said, “Hey, I got you.”

He reached out with his left hand. I thought he was fumbling for the radio or something until his fingers laced themselves through mine in a gesture so presumptuous, so intimate and so welcome. It was a little uncomfortable, as I was driving stick shift, but I didn’t want to let go. Every millimeter of skin where he touched it was alive; millions of tiny electrical impulses shouting that this is what real connection feels like.

“I got you, too.”

"‘Tis the human touch in this world that counts,
The touch of your hand in mine,
Which means far more to the fainting heart
Than shelter and bread and wine:

For shelter is gone when the night is o’er,
And bread lasts only a day,
But the touch of the hand and the sound of the voice
Sing on in the soul alway."

(Dr Spencer Michael Free)