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LIFE AND DEATH
OLLY’S NOT ON the wall. He’s not even at a far end of the couch. Instead, he’s right in
the middle, elbows on knees, stretching and releasing his rubber band.
I hesitate in the doorway. His eyes don’t leave my face. Does he feel the same urge to
occupy the same space, to breathe the same air that I do?
I linger at the threshold to the room, uncertain. I could go to his traditional spot next to
the wall. I could stay right here in the doorway. I could tell him that we shouldn’t push
my luck, but I can’t. More than that, I don’t want to.
“I think orange is your color,” he says finally.
I’m wearing one of my new T-shirts. It’s V-necked and close fitting and, now, my most
favorite piece of clothing. I may buy ten more of this exact shirt.
“Thanks.” I lay a hand across my stomach. The butterflies are back and restless.
“Should I move?” He stretches the rubber band taut between his thumb and index
finger.
“I don’t know,” I say.
He nods and begins to rise.
“No, wait,” I say, pressing my other hand to my stomach and walking over to him. I sit,
leaving a foot of space between us.
He lets the rubber band snap against his wrist. His shoulders release a tension I didn’t
realize he’d been holding.
Next to him, I press my knees together, hunch my shoulders. I make myself as small as
possible, as if my size could belie our closeness.
He lifts his arm from his knee, holds his hand out, and wiggles his fingers.
All my hesitation vanishes and I slip my hand into his. Our fingers slide into position as
if we’ve been holding hands like this all our lives. I don’t know how the distance between
us closes.
Did he move? Did I?
Now we’re next to each other, thighs touching, forearms warm against each other, my
shoulder pressing into his upper arm. He rubs his thumb across mine, tracing a path from
knuckle to wrist. My skin, each individual cell, lights up. Normal, nonsick people get to do
this all the time? How do they survive the sensation? How do they keep from touching all
the time?
He tugs my hand just slightly. It’s a question, I know, and I look up from the miracle of
our hands to the miracle of his face and eyes and lips moving closer to mine. Did I move?
Did he?