Two is Better than One

            I had told her I would arrive at her doorstep at six. Here I stand, 29 minutes after five, waiting in the rain, holding a blue umbrella in my left hand. I use my second hand to ring the doorbell. Her father answers the door. I glance at his gun collection over his shoulder. Uh oh. The second hand reaches itself out to firmly shake his hand. His daughter appears at the door. The second hand guides her down the slippery stairs to where my car remains idling. I scoot ahead to open the passenger door with my second hand, and then follow her into the car.

            We drive through town. One hand remains on the wheel while the second hand strokes and caresses her fingers. “Even though it’s raining, you’ve got your shine on.” Stupid. I mentally smack my head against the window. She smiles. We reach the roller rink. I jog ahead of her to open the doors. Surprisingly, my outstanding strength cannot open the doors with one hand. The second hand comes to the rescue. Close call.

            I slide my arm around her waist.  Using my second hand, I pay for our tickets, flaunting my wallet. She seems unimpressed. Note to self.

            I tie my skates tightly and quickly. The second hand reaches down to hold her laces while she knots them together. Brownie points. We skate out to the rink. I clumsily fall onto my face within the first few seconds. My first hand begins to break the fall. The second hand finishes the job. She must hold onto the railing from laughing so hard. This is too easy.

            Everyone starts circling together. We stick our first hand out and shake it all around. Next we thrust our second hand into the air and shake it all about. I love hokey pokey.

            The night comes to a close. I walk her to her door. She grasps onto my arm while my second hand protects us from the night’s shadows caused by the moon.

            I sit in my car. And thank God for giving me two hands.