The nearest willing hand

To be in a house brings a sense of familiarity and ease that I never quite feel in my own room, despite not knowing the owner and never having set foot inside before. But the permanence, the capacity, the clean-feeling furniture and the wide countertops make me instantly comfortable, ready to trust in the hardwood beneath my feet and the faces that sit around me. I feel as if I can say anything in this setting to these people and they will listen and laugh and tease no matter the topic - the true sign of friendship. We laugh at Jen's toes and I forget to sign my name; hands wander across shoulders; we have touch: we have trust. Physical contact is what lacks most in my life these days, for Ethan and I have plenty of cerebral communication but there is no hand-holding walking to class, no squeezes while washing the dishes, no singing while mincing garlic. I miss the simple expression of human contact but am too reserved to reach out spontaneously and invade personal space. We are all so guarded. But tonight a house sets us free. Perhaps it is the red lights of the security system, the perfect give of the couch cushions, the pizza in our stomachs and the chocolate smeared across our faces, the stories that will never leave the table; little moments of unity. I wanted to stay on the colorful stripes and watch the rabbits try to escape but the sprinkling rain and my toothbrush called me away. May the openness return unbroken.