Friends

Hugging Imogen is opening a jar that won’t open. You know the ones – where you spend ages trying to open it and someone else does it within a second. When you’re the one who can’t open it, you feel like throwing it across the room to open it that way but no, you can’t do that, people don’t just throw jars. Some just shove the jar to the back of the cupboard, making the seal on the lid even harder to break. Other people look at the jar and think you know what, I’m gonna get this open. It takes time to work out the quirks of the seal and where’s best to hold it, but eventually it opens, and everything’s worth it.

Finally, you think.

Hugging Jane is doing something perfectly for the hundredth time. You’d think by then it’d be perfunctory, but it isn’t. It’s not exciting, but there’s something special about knowing what to expect. There’s no awkwardness – you know where to put your arms; you know how long it should last and what to do when it’s finished; you know that after you both pull away, everything will be fine, even if all of five seconds ago, the world was falling apart around you.

It’s not exhilarating – it’s safe.

Hugging Ishu is a kitten crawling into your lap. Sometimes it’ll make itself comfortable there and fall asleep. On those occasions, you’re left with the feeling of quite joy and the sour, selfish thought of out of all these people, it chose me shooting through your mind before you can smother it. Other times, it’ll simply sit, unknowingly yet perfectly safe. Now and then, it’ll be hesitant. Sensing that you need that form of comfort that comes with closeness and companionship but not entirely sure how to give it. It'll approach you, slowly, gaze rather than voice asking are you okay? so you don't have to admit that no, I am hilariously un-okay out loud.

It’s reassuring, even in its unique temperament.

Hugging Elena is someone giving you a mug of hot chocolate; turning on your favourite movie; wrapping a blanket around both of you as they sit pressed to your side. Sometimes one of you will make a joke whilst watching the movie, sensing the other needs a laugh. Most of the time, though, you’re content in the quiet, able to understand that silence doesn’t matter when all you really need is someone there. The tightness in your chest fades almost instantly and you never need to worry about whether asking for that hug is too much because sometimes they feel exactly the same way.

It’s closer to the feeling of home than the one you get in your house.

Hugging Celia is people singing happy birthday to you. It’s awkward, and even though you’ve had it happen a few times, you’re not sure what to do. You’re better at being the singer, not the sung-to. But then you look at the faces, all the people whom you hold dear, and you smile because does it really matter? There’s cake in front of you and people around you who don’t care that you have no idea what you’re doing because they love you and this is how they’re showing it. Sure, it's just shy of atrocious and far too loud and ridiculously off-key, but at the end of the day, it makes you smile, doesn't it? You know that eventually you’ll have enough birthdays that you’ll know what to do, but until then, who cares?

You’ll understand eventually.

I wonder what hugging me is.