Hands

While I’ve been sick, I’ve been thinking about hands.

For giggles I’d downloaded Speed to watch because I just feel too crappy to go get movies so I’m just using the instant feature on Netflix. Anywhoo, I’m watching Speed and it suddenly occurs to me, Keanu Reeves is really freaking hot in that movie.

I get a lot of flak from people because I’m a fan of Keanu’s body of work.  Mostly, I just think the guy is underappreciated and for the most part I feel like even though he gets bashed on by my actor friends – I feel like his work is honest.  I feel like he is honest.

Which lends credibility to his performances and characters. But I digress.

It’s his hands, really, that caught my attention throughout Speed. In fact, laugh if you must, but I watched it twice just to see if I was right about a burgeoning theory about my attraction to certain men.

Obviously the face gets my attention, the body posture and confidence will then hold my attention. A willing smile will suck me into his space.  His ability to articulate and hold a two way conversation will inevitably keep me rooted for a time. A passionate drive for something – anything will inspire me.

But hands will seal the deal.

They don’t have to be beautiful hands.  They don’t have to be manicured or even rugged working man’s hands. They don’t need to be a certain nail bed or size. But they must be sincere.

I don’t believe hands lie. Hands are at the mercy of their master’s subconscious.  They respond to danger or to wanting because the subconscious mind responds.  They are threatening or comforting.  They support the function of everyday living, loving and the struggle to survive. They can be gentlemanly or roughish, heartfelt or heartless. They are, in essence, the extension of a man’s deeper understanding of the world.

When he reaches out to shake a hand, he is reaching out with his comprehension to test his own inner theories and see where he stands with the person who accepts the challenge of a handshake.

Ultimately, when I shake hands with a man he either tries to crush my bones (dominate me) or he gently holds my hand like a wilted flower (thinks I’m fragile).  Guys with hearty hands and grips that are conscious of me as I am – are usually the best matches for friends or lovers because they are aware on some level what I am about and they are okay with that on whatever level they are about.

Some women tell me they like men who work with their hands. It makes sense. Men who make a living by their hands in a way are shaping the world in some small fashion. Outwardly and with honest intentions so that everyone can see it.

The hands of musicians are attractive to me, because they lead back to the concept that the fingers of a pianist are dancing to the music of that man’s mind. A guitarist strums to an emotional feeling. Good or bad – his hands express it.

I loved watching Keanu’s hands.  They are tools of his trade as an actor.  He is a believable good guy, a poet or a warrior.  But he is not a believable bad guy like in Much Ado About Nothing, or Watcher because he couldn’t make his hands lie. Because I believe he is, sincerely, to the core, a very good man.  His hands say so. No matter which character he is playing.

Now I need to go back and test other movie and actors and study the hands of my guys friends and understand it better but as I’ve been here curled up with juice and crackers I am starting to wonder how long I have been subconsciously making these judgments.

When I think about it, is can be summed up like so.

I have to be able to trust the hands of the man I love, because I will put myself in those hands. His hands will cup my breasts, or pull the arch of my hips into his own. His hands will hold the fragile body of our child. Play music that streams through his mind. They will make love or defend or write poetry. 

When I’m not sick, I intend to go out and start shaking some hands.