Laying head to toe on the tiny sofa was how it began. I found out that an hour before the sun comes up is the coldest part of the night. And it was then that we realized the thin sofa afghan held no heat as we draped it long ways over two bodies turned away from each other. The pitiful square of a blanket was only meant for one. So we tossed and turned, head to toe. Cold arms draped over hairy legs. Bodies weren’t meant to fit this way. The cold, the sleeplessness, the wondering about this foreign object who didn’t even exist in my world before tonight. Toss and turn, sleep will never come while possibilities lay unexplored only millimeters away. But finally the game ends as one voice takes the plunge—

You can come up here if you want.

Pause. These words hang in the air, the only thing spoken all night. They play over and over in my head as I climb slowly, carefully to the other end of the old sofa, to the place that we delayed all night. And as we lay on the sofa head to head, toe to toe, I wonder why we even bothered with the silliness of toe to head. No one should lay cold and alone when warmth is a sentence away.

You can come up here if you want.

Now, the quiet, slow adventure begins. Strong boy chest folds over my rounded shoulders, stubbly chin presses on my lonely neck. A living breathing boy blanket covers my coldest skin. Our doll parts begin to fit together like a puzzle that was always there.

Pause. Timidly, big arm drapes over my small, tired waist. Pause. Slowly. My tiny fingers and glittery nails trace invisible lines up and down brown boy arms. Fingers so slow that they barely move. Bodies shift, settle deep into each other’s grooves. Legs move, streeeeetch, careful of the other’s space, gradually align and interlock. A moment’s rest as we lay very still. I can feel light, rhythmic breath on the back of my neck. But such stillness is irresistible with so much surface flesh left to explore. Small fingers travel down to boy hands, tracing each brown finger with excruciating detail. Every well-worn crease of fingers and rough skin around bitten nails is touched and memorized. Turned over, palm to palm, big fingers mimic tiny ones and point up to the dark window. Pushing ever so slightly, boy hand pushes back. Fingers bend down and intertwine in kiddie prayer fashion. Two separate hands, two different sizes, the only two sexes folded into one...