Thomas means the world to me. As amateur filmmakers, we have a special connection, valuing art and constantly maintaining creativity. Sometimes two artists who work together experience a certain amount of friction. Our friendship strains when our artistic inclinations lead us down different paths, but both of us strive to keep it together, through the turbulence. We hope to benefit from each other’s talents and viewpoints, so we avoid arguing out our differences.

During the summer Thomas and I saw “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”. It was an amusing film that made us feel good about the entire evening. Our discussion afterward revealed what each of us had learned from the film. The night was warm, but not muggy, and I felt a positive energy in the air. Two artists walked home feeling a connection between them and hoped for their own artistic success.

Thomas reached for my hand. I love him, I care for him, I respect him, but that’s where it ends. I have no secret plans or hidden desires about our pursuing a sexual relationship, and I admit I felt awkward with my hand in his. I didn’t let go but my hand was relaxed in his grip. I worried what people thought about us as they passed. If a lesbian friend walked by, would she think I was now dating a man? If a producer saw us, would he think I was sleeping with Thomas? These thoughts put me in the grip of paranoia. I wanted him to let go but didn’t tell him so. I simply complied and walked, trying to maintain the appearance, at least, of tuning into the conversation, while scanning passersby for familiar faces and longing to make it home quicker than I possibly could. Thomas held my hand all the way to my apartment.

The next day, though the holding hands ordeal was over, I still paused to analyse the situation. The memory, at least, was comforting, and I thought of the moment when Thomas reached for my hand. It was nice, I recall, yet I knew how uncomfortable I really had been. My mind was playing tricks. I started to worry about our friendship. Did my body language reveal how unwillingly I received his offer of warmth? Had I hurt him?

This made me wonder about the whole phenomenon of holding hands, why we do it, and what we get out of it. Is holding hands only appropriate for couples? Is it a display of possession? Is holding hands a conscious decision or just something we feel the need to do? These questions caused me to examine my own past relationships, and the role handholding played, to find some answers.

My last long-term relationship ended five years ago. We were in love. He was gorgeous and smart and I was so proud to be with him, but our relationship was rocky. We were too old to be each other’s first love, but too young to know how to deal with the sheer strength of our connection. There was love, but in that love, there was vulnerability. The times our relationship was stable and we were happy with each other, we would hold hands. When we had stopped fighting and playing vicious games, when the moments between us felt so balanced and I was so hopeful, I would reach for his hand, and he would take it willingly. We would walk proudly, holding hands casually, now and again. We never did it for very long. Whether our hands were tired or too hot, we’d naturally part and seem to separate emotionally as well as physically, our thoughts about the things and people we passed by once again our own. Now I wonder if we did not maintain the connection because ultimately we were not meant to be together, or if were we not proud to share what we had with everyone we passed.

Thinking of that relationship the day after Thomas had held my hand, I realized the positive effect my last long-term relationship had on my perception of the world and those people in it, though my memories of him are selective, and include some terribly hurtful words and actions. Still, I do remember holding his hand as an act of calmness. Now I noticed people walking down the street holding hands, especially older couples, and wondered that they had not lost the love. Are they comfortable with one another, like old friends? Was that the answer? Do they hold hands just because they always have? I looked at obviously new lovers and saw them unaware of how the world looks at them, or were they showing off their love by holding hands?

Since my last long-term relationship, I have come out as a lesbian-identified bisexual and whenever I see two women or men holding hands as they walk down the street, I give them an acknowledging smile. I suppose I smile because I feel safety in the common bond between queer strangers, or perhaps I respect them for being brave enough to display their affection in public. Either way, until Thomas held my hand, I never considered that same-sex couples might hold hands for no political reason, and just for the sake of showing their affection for one another. Somehow, this seemed wrong and unreal.

While I was coming out, I fell in love with a woman. In the end, she and I were never more than acquaintances and co-workers, but the experience helped to convince me that my lesbian feelings were real. My crush let me believe that I could be in love more than once in my life. Yet, for two years, the duration of my imagined love affair with this woman, I never once received her love in return, or felt she had even an ounce of interest in me. When we walked together, I pictured holding her hand, kissing it, feeling her sweat on my palm. It was no more than a fantasy, and though it never became a reality, holding hands was something I wanted to do, because it was Melissa.

The simple fact of holding hands with Thomas that night was that under no circumstances would it turn sexual, mostly because we had different sexual orientations, but also because we knew that our dreams of success as filmmakers would be ruined if we had sex. With other friends the decision has not been so simple.

Eventually I got over what most called my “obsession,” and actually I did end up dating a woman, albeit briefly, a slightly awkward situation in not-so pleasant circumstances in our lives. She had been a close friend and as we drew closer in friendship our mutual attraction grew. When we became lovers, the boundaries at which friendship start and relationships begin were messed up. I loved her; no more than before, but now we were having sex. Casual sex, but not meaning, let’s go over to each other’s house ‘cause we’re “horny”. Our casual sex seemed more like a love affair, or was it two separate things, sex and friendship? Whatever we had was confusing and undefined. Still, we’d talk on the phone, go to romantic movies, watch television in each other’s arms, and yes, one day we felt so comfortable with our attraction that we walked down Bloor Street holding hands.

Holding hands was special because it was something we both wanted, and to my mind we felt the same way about why we were doing it. Maybe our actions were spur of the moment, but still, I wanted everyone to know that she was my “girlfriend.” I wanted to show that I was a proud lesbian. I was adamant that queers have the right to hold hands in public. No one made a comment. No one even looked. I wanted a reaction and got none. There was so much political angst in the moment of holding hands that I had forgotten why I reached for her hand in the first place. What place did Lisa have in all this? She was, after all, the object of my affections, the woman I was so proud to be with. Was she my lesbian lover? My best friend?

We stopped having sex to save the friendship. It’s been a struggle to return to where we were before the sex began. Several months after our brief fling I can now say honestly that I love her and I’m glad that we’ve maintained our friendship despite the pain, misunderstandings and our differences. I still sometimes look at her and want to kiss her, but for the most part I appreciate her as a person, and as a friend.

Recently we were walking on the boardwalk on a beautiful, clear, Indian summer night in fall. We laughed, we complimented each other, and we talked about our hopes and dreams as if we were two friends who never had any complications in our friendship. It was a moment made for holding holds, but I didn’t visualize it. I didn’t think about it. I felt like doing it, but I didn’t do it. I kept thinking that if we walked hand-in-hand I would eventually want to put my arm around her shoulder, have her head on my shoulders, feel and smell her hair, and what would people see us as? Two lesbians? Two close friends? Or that we were still not at a comfortable point of our friendship?.

I want these memories to be warm and pleasant. Holding Thomas’ hand in paranoia has taught me that showing public affection shouldn’t be about the thoughts of total strangers around us. They should be moments to hold close and cherish. They make me smile and I realize how special certain people have been in my life. I remember and I think about any future I may have with them; I reflect on my past feelings for those friends and lovers. Either way, no matter what people around us see or think, we know what we feel.