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tank and the bangas - hands lyrics

i spent an hour watching the way people hold hands
the way palms meet palms
the intricacy of fingers laced around other fingers like a fine stitching of some worn fabric
i spent an hour watching hands

the first was a young couple
i watched the way his hands waited in the air, hers complacent to her side
i watched as he grabbed hers, locked it around his fingers
like an overprotective father holds on to the innocence of his daughter
and just like the overbearing of a father and the rebellion of a child

she was resistant
held his only for a moment, then she would let go

she did this at least several times. i would watch them
i would laugh in my mind, but soon it was not so funny
the way her fingers would drop his after holding them so quickly
never tightly
never did she hold his back
i could just imagine how much she was holding back
he never got the hint, though
he just kept finding her fingers, locking them in his grip
it let me know that he was in love
alone

this woman and man let me know that their entire relationship could be summed up
in the way she kept letting go of his hands
soon, there were another set of fingers and thumbs, mid+20s
i could tell by the entanglement of nubs that they were still new in love
hands dangling in the air, swinging backwards and forwards like swings
like not a care
something about the swaying, the way they head each other’s hands, let me know that it wasn’t so serious
but it was getting there

i watched them
i could tell by the lightness in the grasp that if she wanted to go there, he was just as ready as her hands

third couple
i could see the possession in his middle finger
i could see the same hands he used to hold hers what presently maybe had been across her face before
the same fingers that were tied into a knot around hers had simultaneously been around her neck
i could see the excuses she made for him in the way she bit her fingernails
it let me know that she grew her patience in other places

i never looked at her face, but i could see the rock in her palm
i could see the ownership in his fist
because he never, never held her hand
he carried her wrist

third couple wasn’t a couple at all
it was one set of hands
her companion was a cell phone
she was not connected to another human at this present moment, she was busy
sharing her attachment to an iphone
texting fingers, probably wishing they were touching another human’s collarbone
there was a young man
a stranger
homeless, a drifter
fingernails filled with all the dirty things people in subways forget on their seats
palms crammed with excuses for spare change, fingers long as the highways i’m sure he’s walked on

he tells her that he’s heading to alabama
he doesn’t ask for change
she’s surprised
he extends his hand
she is as hesitant with her life jacket as a christian is to a jehovah’s witness
finally, she latches on
her grasp is faint, her grip is weak
wipes her hand on her black book sack after he leaves
the stains won’t show there

the fourth set of hands were my favorite
they were different from the rest
hands were creased like the ones in his pants and were filled with lines like maps
i’m thinking, i’m thinking that showed where they’d been
he would occasionally lift hers to his mouth to taste the sweetness of their time together
they walked slow
their hands did not fidget
never uncomfortable with the space or the silence between them
held each other with such a closeness, i could not tell where their hands would begin and end
no need to swing them while they walked
they were comfortable with the certainty of the journey
they were in this together, not letting you slip through my hands, wrapped around each others’ triggers
olden age, twisted in skin and palm and fingers
there was something about the way their hands were as certain as their steps together
interwoven like a fabric, hands entwined like the material in sweaters

i watched them the longest
thought that, thought that i could learn the way to hold on from them
thought that, that maybe the secret to longevity was hidden in the maps in their hands
and that maybe
just maybe
i wouldn’t be that girl that let go of that stranger’s hand
so quickly

if i take your hand in mine
would you let go
or hold on, for sure?

i’m waiting at the bus stop
tell me, will you stop for me or go?

- tank and the bangas lyrics

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