1. arrest
I walked into orchestra and set my ukulele down beside the trashcan, as I do every class day, and stretched my shoulders back, squinting at the board to see what scale I was supposed to have learned by now. A spunky little violinist with short hair and a leather jacket skipped in front of me, slowed down, and asked if I needed a hug.
In truth, my first instinct was to say no. The tactile defensiveness surged back up in my gut, and my brain clicked at the sight of her face, quickly categorizing her into the "haha, haha, not today, Shady" section of potential disasters.
She knew the answer before she had asked it. She walked towards me, her arms slowly stretching outward, wrists up. Like she was surrendering to arrest. And then, in this proximity, I sighed, registered her question, and answered it in an honest and resigned, "Why not?"
2. headlock
My brother snuck up behind me in the hallway while I looked for cereal in the cupboard. He chuckled, giving himself away as his little arms slowly crept around my waist. On instinct, I spun around and grabbed his wrist and put him in a headlock as he laughed and laughed and laughed, struggling to change his nearness.
"What are you doing?!" I asked ironically, which only made him laugh more.
"I just wanted to hug you!" he said.
My brother's nine-year-old hugs are typically violent and unsolicited. He squeezes as hard as he can for as long as he can, until the victim asks to be let go of. This is probably a healthy phase of development, but so far it has lasted his entire life.
I held him back at arms length. He tried to stop smiling and failed. "Please can I hug you?" he begged, erupting into giggles.
I looked at him sideways, testing him. He did nothing. "Alright, fine."
3. grace
"You did not speak to her with grace," Martensen said in a grossly accurate honesty which is always refreshing and never helpful. We sat beside each other on the windowsill, looking straight ahead.
"I know. I know that. I wasn't aiming for grace."
He shrugged, and walked outside, and I met him there, tossing my backpack against a brick pillar. It landed suddenly and fell slowly forward with a pitiable concrete sigh. Martensen laughed.
"Grace," I said, looking at where it had fallen. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me sideways, lifting his chin to rest it on my head, pinning my arms to my frame. He stayed like that for some time, not moving. Charlotte looked at us, puzzled, and said, "That doesn't look reciprocated."
"It's not," we said in unison.
I walked into orchestra and set my ukulele down beside the trashcan, as I do every class day, and stretched my shoulders back, squinting at the board to see what scale I was supposed to have learned by now. A spunky little violinist with short hair and a leather jacket skipped in front of me, slowed down, and asked if I needed a hug.
In truth, my first instinct was to say no. The tactile defensiveness surged back up in my gut, and my brain clicked at the sight of her face, quickly categorizing her into the "haha, haha, not today, Shady" section of potential disasters.
She knew the answer before she had asked it. She walked towards me, her arms slowly stretching outward, wrists up. Like she was surrendering to arrest. And then, in this proximity, I sighed, registered her question, and answered it in an honest and resigned, "Why not?"
2. headlock
My brother snuck up behind me in the hallway while I looked for cereal in the cupboard. He chuckled, giving himself away as his little arms slowly crept around my waist. On instinct, I spun around and grabbed his wrist and put him in a headlock as he laughed and laughed and laughed, struggling to change his nearness.
"What are you doing?!" I asked ironically, which only made him laugh more.
"I just wanted to hug you!" he said.
My brother's nine-year-old hugs are typically violent and unsolicited. He squeezes as hard as he can for as long as he can, until the victim asks to be let go of. This is probably a healthy phase of development, but so far it has lasted his entire life.
I held him back at arms length. He tried to stop smiling and failed. "Please can I hug you?" he begged, erupting into giggles.
I looked at him sideways, testing him. He did nothing. "Alright, fine."
3. grace
"You did not speak to her with grace," Martensen said in a grossly accurate honesty which is always refreshing and never helpful. We sat beside each other on the windowsill, looking straight ahead.
"I know. I know that. I wasn't aiming for grace."
He shrugged, and walked outside, and I met him there, tossing my backpack against a brick pillar. It landed suddenly and fell slowly forward with a pitiable concrete sigh. Martensen laughed.
"Grace," I said, looking at where it had fallen. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me sideways, lifting his chin to rest it on my head, pinning my arms to my frame. He stayed like that for some time, not moving. Charlotte looked at us, puzzled, and said, "That doesn't look reciprocated."
"It's not," we said in unison.
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