Rob Thomas' Hands

He was a singer.
His voice was modulating and it created a stir in her.  A stir that I would never, could ever replicate.  He could combine words with song and sounds and it was a distinct disadvantage to me...if ever he rolled up beside us as we walked on a sidewalk and he showed up in a horse-drawn carriage or a taxi or a limousine (most likely scenario) she would scatter away from me and leave me staring at her back as she rode away with him.

I got it.  I understood.

And I loved the little girl reaction he created, the visceral thrill, the clench in the throat, the heart beating....I could never do that.  I was too familiar.  I had faults.  We had arguments and disagreements. We had history.  He had albums and had never had the pleasure of talking to her.  He may or may not have even noticed her.  It was his loss, according to me.

Meanwhile,  she actually rose and descended each day for me, and stayed as bright as a planet.  He was her fantasy.  I was perhaps an annoyance.  Maybe that's too strong.  But maybe I was a known object.  A non-singer.  I didn't certainly enjoy the celebrity status and I get that fact.

I'm not really sure.  I just never heard her talk about anything so exhilarating to her, certainly not any other men except maybe Harry Connick Jr and I guess I could live with that...he's a bit dreamy.  but there were no other subjects that created the dance of her eyes and her pitch in her voice notching up except him.

So when she finally got to touch him, touched his hands...at a concert that she frequented around her birthday...it was probably at the very least interesting.

She had a sun in her world.  A star.  And she exulted in the possibilities.  She warmed to the fantasies and she, for a very brief but intimate moment was with somebody that she felt impossibly unattainable.  But she had him, albeit briefly.

I only could wish that she understood that that ebullience was what I felt every day...without even touching her.
But I will continue my mere writings...without a song or sound.  Perhaps these will form the skeletal frame of fingers that might replicate the structure of a hand that might be clenched when absolutely needed.

Don't know.