They had been called “bad nerves”.
He held his hands out as they trembled.
Looking at them with disappointment because he was not able to control the quake.
Twitching nerves that gave him away.
He would clutch his hands tightly together to hide the shaking, but the tension would only travel through the rest of him, making its way up to his throat – disturbing his words.
People called him “the nervous one” for not being able to pull it together.
And I’d ask, “pull what together, exactly?”
Did they want him to line them up in an orderly fashion?
Poised and proper, and to their liking?
I always thought that the flutter in his voice made him more real.
Struggling, like he was on the verge of something – almost breaking through.
Teetering back and forth – and that vacillating showed itself through his trembling.
I found that as he spoke I listened more closely to the words vibrating out of him.
Those words of his – reaching in – shaking me.