Contact

1.

I close my eyes and wait, listening to the shuffling of feet around me, the grinding of footsteps on sandy pavement. The air is cool and the light easy on my closed eyelids. I am in the shade of a dogwood tree, sitting on the wooden planks that wrap around the sandbox. I hear my friends approach, and I hold out my open hand, a nervous smile of anticipation flickering across my lips, my eyes still shut tightly. I don't want to give away my nerves so I will my face to remain passive. I cringe as I wait for contact, my shoulders growing imperceptibly tense, waiting to recoil. I am at their mercy. Manya goes first, placing something small and fleshy in my open palm. I can hear her giggling slightly as I roll it around in my fingers, feeling its damp body and thin, woody stem. I know what it is, but I smell it to be sure. As with most things, this is a game I want to win. The cloying sweetness of the odor pierces my senses, and I withdraw my nose quickly. “One of those weird berries from that tree?” Everyone laughs and says yes. I hold out my hand again, and Clara’s soft hands place another object in mine. It’s warm from her hand and smooth to the touch. I press it in my palm, and it bends beneath my fingers, and as I smell it I am reminded of kindergarten. “Is it beeswax?” And Clara laughs and says in her nervous, quiet way, that it is. This was the game, and we would all take turns being the guesser while the others sought out chalk and rotten acorns and even the occasional worm to try to perplex and alarm the guesser. 

2.  

It seems perfectly understandable to be wary of touching unknown objects, but my aversions to physical contact do not stop there. While many feel completely free to interact with others through touch, I cannot say the same about myself. Sweeping hugs, a caress of the face, or even a kiss on the cheek in goodbye faze them no more than a pleasant summer breeze, whereas I grow nervous at the prospect of physical interaction. How long should hugs be? Is there a standard measurement? I am always aware of that barely perceptible moment at the end of a hug when one person pulls away a millisecond before the other. After this, both are eager to disentangle nonchalantly and go about their business. As for a parting kiss on the cheek, nothing would give me more anxiety as a child. When my parents’ friends would leave after visiting, there were always the few whom I knew to watch out for. Allen, my dad’s long-time colleague had a beautiful wife almost twenty years younger than him, and his goodbyes were as predictable as they were uncomfortable. He would not leave without drawing me into a hug and planting a large wet kiss on my cheek. My brothers, however, escaped with nothing but a disciplined handshake. After awhile, I learned to conveniently use the bathroom at the precise moment of his departure so as to avoid the uncomfortable ritual entirely. I preferred not to engage in this awkward dance in which I did not know my part. 

3.

Sitting at advisory breakfast in the first week of freshman year, I was enjoying some scrambled eggs when suddenly a girl I barely knew sat down on my lap. She put her face right next to mine as she spoke. Baffled, I said very little, attempting to react normally to the situation. I was uncomfortable, confused, and even a little bit angry at her. Internally fuming, I told myself I would never presume to act as if I were close friends with someone whom I had only just met; this was behavior that I reserved only for my closest friends whose trust and familiarity I had established over many years. Was I missing something, some cue, or conversation that had passed between this girl and me that would prompt her to think we had developed such a close relationship? I began to wonder if all the social norms I had come to take for granted were completely invalid in this new and unfamiliar setting. To enter another person’s personal bubble with so little regard for their wishes felt to me like the ultimate form of trespassing. Is there anything more your own than your body? 

4.

The sun is warm and steady, and as I stand on the edge of the short beach, I imagine a thousand tiny photons burrowing their way through the layers of flesh on my back, through my organs, and continuing out through my stomach. Behind me I hear the sound of pounding feet on sand and the swishing of swim trunks rubbing together. Manya and Matt dash past me, splashing into a dive as they brave the cold water of the brown lake in front of me. I follow, a little more slowly, unfamiliar with the lake and the sensations that await my feet below the surface. Together, we swim briskly across the lake to a rocky outcropping that lunges stoically out over the green water below. Grabbing onto slippery rocks, we pull ourselves onto the steep bank, crawling vertically and grasping at tree trunks and roots to reach the top, while avoiding the barbed wire meant to discourage such activities. We have only just met, but Matt offers his hand from above me, asking if I need help. I say no thank you, and I can tell he is surprised when I pull myself up using a tree branch. We reach the cliff’s edge and look down. Manya jumps first, then I follow without hesitation. I know the trick is not to overthink it. Water somehow still manages to invade my plugged nose, and both parts of my bathing suit fly up as I sink in a cocoon of fluttering air bubbles away from the light. Matt follows behind me, and we swim onward until we reach the edge of the dam. The water at the top flows gently over our thighs in a flat, uniform layer, but forty feet below is only a shallow pool, studded with mossy rocks and tiny rapids. We sit on the edge, but not too close. The white light warms our bodies, and we sit and bask as we catch our breath. Matt is close, and as he turns to look at me, I spy a small smudge of dirt on his cheek. It is the most natural movement in the world as I reach out to wipe it from his cheek, and in doing so, feel the softness and warmth of his skin. He blinks and smiles. “Oh thanks,” he laughs.

5.

It is nighttime and the music sends vibrations through the small screened-in porch. My head is beginning to spin and I can feel the heat radiating off my body. I am in his arms, and our faces seem to blend together. I can’t discern where his body ends and mine begins, and I do not want to. My hand in his, we lead each other into the house, so dark and quiet. I jump onto the counter, and he follows me, grabbing my waist as he pulls me close. Everything is new, and my heart is dancing as it did on the clifftop, only this time, I have never felt so safe.