Author's Note: Another brief preamble to a longer story, entitled 'Chasing The Elusive C'. That one weaves adventure, drama, romance, and spirituality together to make an epic. In most basic form, it chonricles the chase of two lovers pursuing their skittish third partner across the United States. Hopefully I will be able to divulge a chapter or two soon, but seeing as I am withering away as a living human being I can make no promises.

What Your Palm Said To Mine

You walked as if you thought that the traffic was about to disconnect from the asphalt and direct itself between us. It did not seem thus inclined, really, for the hour was not a peak in Manhattan scurrying. My fingers were numb from restricted blood flow while (unknowing) you clutched my left hand with all the force of a tourniquet and led me on. The colors of fall foliage and vandalized steel bounced past like so many insignificant frames in a movie. I wondered if you would notice an open manhole before we fell inside it.

“Nickie, where are we going?” I asked you lightly as I turned my head this way and that in confusion.

Your answer did not come as we continued moving through the trickle of pedestrian traffic. Maybe it was because I called you that nickname; then again I was the only one allowed to. My tennis shoes fumbled with a crack in the sidewalk and my hand yanked at your arm when I tried to regain my footing. This changed the dynamic of our walk. You turned to me and waited with you sharp black eyes patiently drilling holes in my skin and I rearranged my stork legs. Grace must come naturally to Asians for you never seemed to struggle with your own appendages. I straightened and nearly knocked noses with my sudden motion in the constricted space between us. My watery blue eyes spilled across the obsidian glass of your own ocular organs and unconsciously I held my breath. Satisfied that I was mobile, you turned and marched on. I felt my cheeks flush as the people cast us peculiar looks. We were everyday freakshows in our black wardrobe. You, the tall man with so many tattoos in your pale golden skin and I with my rhinestone bracelets and conspicuous white head.

“Nickie-“ I tried once more, dragging my feet to slow our two-man parade.

You stopped, cocking your head like one of our dogs, and then turned to grace me with a questioning look. I opened my mouth to finish my question but was not given the opportunity. Suddenly you were there, pressed up against me in all the wrong places, with the finger that bore the ‘k’ of ‘Punk’ over my lips. You stood on tiptoe and leaned in until I could count your eyelashes. New York vanished to be replaced by almond-shaped pools of white and black. I felt cowed and bit my lipring in shame.

“Shh. I don’t want you to get lost.” You said softly, as if it were a secret.

The smile that followed as enough to strangle any protest and I merely nodded. Our bodies parted ways save for the linked hands and then we were off again.