When was the last time someone hugged you? — @belleartmovementBelle ART Movement
Sitting there, with his big boots, big coat and big hat, all piled on top of his slim body, Jasper looks around, while stirring his coffee with a wooden spoon. He has been thinking about going to a coffee shop for quite a while and he finally did it. He was proud of himself for getting out of the house, but his eyes could barely stay open due to the harsh light of the mid-day sun.
He never realized that having no friends is considered to be weird in his 20’s until he met Amy. When he was a kid he thought that men are supposed to be lonely in their life, or at least that’s what his father kept telling him. “Listen to me, you can’t trust anybody. Do you think kids at school give a shit about you? They are your friends as long as you go there or as long as you can help them out. So, don’t even bother!” He would say, while sipping a beer in front of the T.V. His father was a cool dude, or he thought at that time.
Another thing that he didn’t realize it was uncommon is the hatred towards women. Jasper didn’t hate women, he thought he did, but he never acted out. He never thought of a woman as being a waste of space, as his father would tell him. “Kid, there are three things that matter: if she can cook, if she can stay silent and if she can handle kids. That’s it. Smart women are no wives.” He would say laughing.
Jasper was around six years old when he first found his dad’s stack of Playboys, it was probably the first time when he acknowledged that people are sexual creatures. At seven he knew something was up. He saw himself in a sea full of kids holding their mother’s hand, and where was his mother? Didn’t his father say that at all women leave at some point? Why didn’t their mothers leave?
Jasper takes a sip and starts drawing on napkin a few lines. He felt even more isolated here than in his house. Everybody was talking to someone, he heard laughter coming from behind him, so he took a look, only to see a teenage girl patting her boyfriend on his arm, cuddling closer to him.
Amy was the first person who hugged him. This was a few days ago and he could still feel her fingers brushing through the hair at the back of his head. He stood still while she wrapped her arms around him. Why didn’t his father tell him that people could feel this way? He wondered if his father was ever embraced. If he was, how could he say such disturbing things about women, about men, about people?
“Not a hugger?” Amy chuckled.
“N-No, not really. Let me try again, could I?”
He tried to wipe the image of the dirty magazines, he tried to shut his father’s voice in his mind calling women by any name in the book. Amy felt more real than any years he has lived.
Jasper looks through the window only to see Amy approaching. On his face appears a smile so large, almost maniacally, it’s like he wanted to laugh because he couldn’t contain the happiness. He likes the way she walks, he likes the little sparkles she puts on her eyelids, he likes that she always smells like a box of candy, and he likes the idea that she will hug him again. When she enters the coffee shop he gets up, his hands barely making it out of the sleeves. The anticipation he found to be the most pleasurable torture of them all.