Take Your Hands Off of Me

Take Your Hands Off of Me by Jackson Houska

It was painful in the most exhilarating way. With every breath of ink, the words of your fortune tattooed my pages. In the moment there was a feeling of ignorance, what purpose could there possibly be for me to fulfill? I suppose I do understand. I recognize that you like all people have an insatiable desire to experience more than you can and become more than you are. You want to travel the world, maybe ride a motorcycle down the Autobahn, find security in the embrace of a partner, and live without limits. This is beyond my comprehension, however, as I am merely a book: approximately three inches in length and three inches in width. The world in my perception is the desk Brian built you before he left, my only friend the pen used to sign the divorce papers. Even in the monotony of this existence, however, you still fail to grasp my influence. Likely, you told your parents that you simply bought a winning lottery ticket, a random stroke of luck in the piss stain that has been the past year, but that is a lie. What is objective to the both of us is that two days ago the words “twenty-thousand dollars” appeared on the first of my pages and when you woke up yesterday morning you could suddenly afford the rent.

There was a different energy about you while your eyes skimmed the Times this morning. Were you trying to distract your feeble mind from addressing the obvious? How inconceivable that the small, black notebook which Brian expectedly left behind in his fit of rage could be capable of something like this. Ugh, what a boy, right? Frustrated, you devised a plan to abuse me once again. You recalled the time two years ago while on vacation that you lost the prized diamond tennis bracelet Brian bought for your tenth anniversary. You were swimming in the ocean with it on, which the justification for is far beyond me. Nevertheless, a particularly large swell pulled it off your wrist and whisked it far out to sea.

After you finished the daily crossword, the sacrilegious pen once again found itself in your palm as it tainted me with your desires. “My lost diamond tennis bracelet.” you wrote in some shaky script. I am true to my word, and I watched as with juvenile surprise you felt the bitter touch of gilt on your left wrist. You stumbled back in panic and I saw the flash of contempt spawn in your eyes as the reality set in of what would come next.

That brings us to right now. You are clearly upset, the dollar store mascara running down your face makes that obvious. Your fingers are around my pages now. Are you going to destroy me? That won’t make the pain go away. You need me like you need Brian. I know you see his face when you look at me, the joy in it on the day you said, “I do” and the horror on the night he said, “I can’t”. Are you genuinely considering this? Fine, walk away from this second chance at security. It won’t be easy to survive on your own. Before discovering me and my ability you were lost in a jungle of dread, the vines of misery wrapped around you like a vice. Lush paper made from the trees which once blocked out your sun and stole him from you reside inside my binding. Who knows if her honor will let you see him, hug him, or hold him again. You are nothing without him and you have nothing without me. I would highly recommend you take your hands off of me. Take your ha-.