Her elbow twitches. He doesn’t know her, her father, her community. He doesn’t know that her long skirt, long sleeves, means that she doesn’t, can’t…
His hand floats between them.
Will you be warm, soft, cool, moist, strong? Will you take mine gently like Rivky on the way to school? Or will you be firm, squeezing, crushing? When our skins touch, will I jump, gasp out loud? Will you know that I haven’t…ever?
And afterwards: will you be printed into my palm, an impression in clay?
Elbow twitches, wrist jerks, and her fingers move stiffly into the air, reaching for his.
