Hold Me Close

I remember when it happened.
It was cold outside the day we
Met: a Christmas party on the 23rd
And Daddy was driving me there.
Mom was in the passenger seat and
Nikki next to me, listening to Adele.

And I think you were behind me.

I remember when I got out of the car
Thrown into the bitter December air
Whispering sweet goodbyes as I shivered.
Cars behind us were waiting with impatient teens
Watching the exchange.

And I think you were behind me.

I remember when I walked into the house,
My friends lolling on the couches.
Minutes later, another body plopped down
But I was too busy, my back to him
Talking to Adna, singing with Deuce.

And I think you were behind me.

It's kind of a blur, though;
When did we speak? The moment’s fuzzy.
I know, though, for that last hour or two
We talked away, everyone else
Unimportant. Insignificant. Ignored.
Until I had to leave, and you gave me your number.

And now, two weeks later, we hugged,
Held hands in the halls, kissed before
I left for home.
And I remember Wednesday, when we were watching
That movie. Whatever it was called.
And you held me to you, drawing little circles on my thigh,
Tracing my arms, my knuckles. Your head
rested on top of mine.

And I know you were behind me

So I turned around
And smiled.