About A Girl

When it comes on now, I think of you,
and remember the first time I realized
you weren’t just another teenage boy
who played juvenile pranks
such as sneaking up behind me
and giving my pony-tails a strong tug,
or stealing my school bag and
making me chase you around the school
before you’d return it.

That afternoon,
a whole bunch of us had gathered
in somebody’s living room,
chatting, joking, and laughing;
you picked up the guitar
and started playing
something I didn’t recognize then.

But at that moment,
when I looked at you,
the usual cheeky grin you wore
was gone
as you concentrated on the chords
you were playing, in the midst of
the din of chatter and laughter
around you.
Your face – for the first time,
I saw you serious.

I looked at your arms
cradling the guitar,
and then I noticed your hands,
as if for the first time.
Your hands …

I couldn’t take my eyes off your hands.

There and then I realized:
those were the hands of a man.