The small of a woman’s back is a place of familiarity. Grasped ever so gently in a crowded room, her body language will tell the entire story. If the offending grasper is an unwanted approach, he will be greeted with a stone cold glare so fierce it can make a raging river stop dead in its tracks. The wrong man will know when he has entered a forbidden zone uninvited and go back from whence he came with his tail tucked embarrassingly between his legs.
But he who is welcomed to this small nook in her spine will be blessed with the radiance of her smile and the imperfect perfections that make up the beauty of her face. She will sense his presence just by touch and knowingly turn to accept this oh-so familiar hand placed ever so gently upon her back. Her frame will relax as she finds comfort in his grasp.
The small of her back was a haven for me. Somewhere for my idle fingers to playfully dance across her spine like early morning raindrops descending from the heavens. Each time I saw her across a crowded room and approached from behind while she was in mid-conversation, my subtle way of interjecting was to place my hand on the small of her back and wait for that knowing turn. That reassuring glance. That sense of tranquility that we all aspire to obtain one day, at least once in our lifetime. (If we’re that lucky).
Very few people will notice such a simple exchange. The intimacy contained within that one mere gesture. The amount of history between he and she and that sacred place just above her waist. Who would ever imagine that two people could say so much without even uttering a word. That’s the beauty of this silent communication between you and I, it conveys a lifetime of memory in a matter of seconds, even in a crowded room where only one person listening.