Cold HandsHe was holding my hand.Cold Hands3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I could still remember the first time he had done so. That time, I could tell by his trembling fingers that he was nervous. I could tell by his cold, clammy hands -- that he was nervous, and perhaps afraid.
But not anymore.
I could not tell anymore.
As he was holding on to my hand, this minute, this second, I could no longer sense what he was feeling. His hands no longer shook, and was no longer wrapped in a welcoming layer of warm sweat. Or rather, this was not even holding hands at all, unless placing his palm against mine counts.
"Okay, what?" I gave in with a teary voice.
He and I both knew for some reason, that he wanted me to remember this moment as he slipped his fingers between mine, and squeezed my palm. The faint squeeze he gave felt like a heavy stab to my chest. He embraced me, and held me there, fingers still entwined.
It was dark and misty out in the neighborhood as it was night. The streets were quiet and lonesome -- there wasn't even a cat dancin