Hug

The difference is astonishing. The gesture is exactly the same. A hug.

Last night the hug was from a boy I think I know well but don’t. I felt his arms around me, tightly holding me, but I could feel that he did not want me there. In fact, the purpose of the hug was to make me leave. I clung to him as if my life depended on it. My hand slowly slipped away from my wrist, which was the hold that locked us together. Silently I begged him to want me there. It didn’t work and eventually I gave up trying to receive what was not being given.

I sullenly drove home. I remembered a very different hug from my brother.

It was after a high school 5k cross country race. I was 16 and emotionally unstable. Add endorphins and fatigue and you’ve got chaos. I crossed the finish line and started to cry. I’m not sure why. I said I felt guilty for beating two team mates when I didn’t deserve it, except I did because I ran faster. I was truly making a fool of myself. But my brother hugged me. I cried into his shirt and he held me together. In that hug he let me know everything was alright. I knew that I was wanted in those arms. I knew that no matter what; no matter how annoying, stupid, or silly I was, I would always be welcome in those arms. I would always be loved. I was safe.

A hug. The gesture is exactly the same. The difference is astonishing.

I miss my brothers.