Momentitos

I’d known Grace for about a day when she said I could hold her hand.

We were sitting by the pool at my hotel. I’d been telling her about a conversation with my hypnotist: that sometimes the thing I miss most about a relationship is having someone to cuddle on the sofa, and that it seems a shame men don’t often do that with their friends. I took her hand and we carried on talking.

I’m not quite sure what to call the affection between us. “Platonic” feels close, but I’m not sure it entirely fits. I wasn’t trying to work out where it might lead, and I didn’t feel any pressure to turn it into something more. It was good to be close to someone.

We’d met in a bar while I was travelling in Mexico. I’d told her I wasn’t looking for a holiday romance, but it would be nice to spend some time together. She seemed comfortable with that. Somehow she persuaded me to go to karaoke with her.

She got me to sing, then refused to do it herself. I’m still deciding whether to forgive her. We laughed at some truly painful performances. I managed to spill a drink on her, which she was remarkably forgiving about. Two older Australian women kept telling us what a cute couple we were. We laughed about it.

The next day we spent five hours at the pool. We took photos and joked with my friends back home that we were getting married. I also showed her the first draft of boy; broken. It’s a fairly personal introduction to someone you’ve just met. She said it was beautiful and thanked me for sharing it. She told me about her mum, who had died, and the work she’d done with her mum’s books. I was grateful she wanted to share that with me.

Grace said something that has stayed with me. I’m paraphrasing, but her point was that our lives can look very different while being shaped by many of the same feelings and experiences. I’ve always loved meeting people from other cultures because I get to see a different way of living. There’s something just as moving about the familiar parts: recognising a feeling, a hope or a loss, even when the story around it is very different. It makes the world feel a little less lonely.

We’d planned to meet again that evening, though by then we were both tired. I happened to be having dinner near her gym, so she came over while I finished eating and we said goodbye. I had no idea whether we’d see each other again.

I think of Jill, too, and the tiny Midwestern town where I was briefly treated like a local hero for giving her a lift home.

Jill was one of three sisters I’d met. When one of them left the other two about five hours from home, I offered to drive them back. They offered me a bed in their hotel room in return. I spent one night in the room with both sisters, sleeping in my own bed, then stayed with Jill and her dogs.

Her mum thanked me for getting her home. Her cousin lived next door and welcomed me with a beer. We sat on the porch, and I felt like I’d wandered into an American sitcom. At the town’s two bars, I was the Englishman who’d brought Jill home. A few people seemed never to have met anyone from England before. The town was tiny, a bit redneck-esque, and I bloody loved it.

Jill and I shared a bed with her dogs and cuddled. Nothing sexual happened. I remember how nice it was to feel close to someone without any sense that we ought to do more.

Jill had let me into her family and her town. Grace had let me into a more private part of her life. I remember both as a kind of welcome.

I do wonder why I find this kind of closeness more easily with women. Most of these encounters begin in a setting where attraction is possible. Maybe that makes it easier to be affectionate, or makes me more confident that someone wants to spend time with me. I don’t know why it feels harder to find the same openness with men I’ve only just met. I’d like to.

Some of my best memories from the past year are with people I may never see again. Not all of those connections were expected to be brief. There have been people I thought would stay in my life, and one who helped me understand where I was and what I wanted to change. Sometimes I wonder whether these encounters help me build the life I want or leave me with more to miss. I haven’t worked that out. I know I don’t regret them.

I still want lasting love, with all the ordinary days and sofa cuddles that come with it. I also want to be open to a few good hours with someone whose life has briefly crossed mine. I don’t know whether I’ll see Grace again.

I’m glad I held her hand.