Grade two. Seven, I guess. The man next to me at the movie theatre is brushing my knee with his finger tips. It could be accidental. I don't move. I even, I suppose, say what the hell. And soon his whole hand is resting on my knee. And I can tell his hand is shaking and when he starts moving toward the top of my shorts he's hesitant, slow, and I'm still concentrating on the movie too - like freeze frame editing, quick cut to car chase// * quick cut to the painfully slow travels of The Hand// * car racing around corner, squeal of tires, head down// * cut to lingering fingers on inner thigh close to knee// * alleyway, cars predictably knocking over garbage cans crash, glass shattering// * near the top of my shorts now, one finger only inside the band, slowly heading back down... And the theatre was so dark. I liked his warm, slow, tentative hand. I move my legs, just slightly, and he gets up and leaves very quickly.