Noa Urbaitel, a sophomore at CVU, has been writing since she could speak, which, as her parents can tell you, has been far too long. She loves writing poetry and has been told many times by her teachers that she has a gift for detail in her writing. This piece was hastily jotted down based on an exceptional moment during an otherwise routine morning at play rehearsal.
The Weight of Your Arm and The Sight of Your Eyes
by Noa Urbaitel
10th Grade, CVU
One time you put your arm around me, and it was one of the single best experiences of my life.
I couldn’t even begin to explain the way I felt when you beckoned me over, a look in your Hershey eyes, sheltered behind glasses (I love it when you wear your glasses, and I haven’t the faintest idea as to why). You murmured, under the swell of the music, ‘there’s room over here for one more’ and I’m sure I had a fierce blush, like always. But it didn’t matter, because your arm was still outstretched in an invitation. And you were still waiting for me.
There aren’t any words I know to portray the way your arm felt on me, your long fingers wrapping around my shoulder and holding on for dear life. Your shoulder was level with my ear, and it was almost painful to suppress the overwhelming urge to put my head on your shoulder. But I consoled myself. All in due time, was the mantra running through my head.
Describing how tentative I was to reciprocate would take all the ink and paper in the world. My hand fluttered behind your back. Not sure whether to place it on your shoulder. Then, I realized that you were just too tall for me to be able to do that. I racked my brain for other options, quick before the song ended. And I’m sure, that a hand placed listlessly in the air not two inches from your back looked quite peculiar to someone standing behind us. And when I came up with an idea, my brain screamed at me, too bold too bold, but I ignored it. I snaked around your back, and my hand hugged the place between your ribs and your hip. And I relaxed.
And when I looked at my friends, sitting on the bleachers upstage, my grin split my face. And I couldn’t show them just how excited I was, because your arm was still there, right in the place where my shoulder blade curves over. And my hand was still there, right in the place between your ribs and your hip. And they saw what was occurring and looked appropriately pleased for me. I was worried you had seen the exchange, so I looked back at you. And there you were, your Hershey eyes light behind your glasses, your freckles fading from summer, and your crooked smile.
And in that moment, I could’ve sworn that everything was perfect.