The ‘thwack’ of the aluminum and steel reverberate up her spine, little shudders along each vertebrae. He laughed it off, after all the car is his pride and joy. No harm shall come to it. “I’ve taken to parking by feel”, he said matter-of-factly. She’d noticed. She could still feel a slight shaking from the impact. But explicit trust (and knowledge that the car was the most important girl in his life) made her certain that ‘parking by feel’ was the way things should be done.
Doing everything by feel had become a way of life during his brief interlude into her world. Going to the movies, by feel. Eating Japanese, by feel. Getting around fifty million awkward conversation points at a wedding, by feel. It was nice whilst it lasted. She liked the attention, the constant hum of something exciting stirring between two seemingly opposite bodies. She had presumed that he felt the same, there was little to point to anything different. There was so much happening by feel. And if he would park the precious car by feel, then certainly she could manage her relationship by feel too.
But there was something missing, there was no feelings. Despite the constant feel of things, of people, of places, of moments, there was no feelings to take them any farther. She had been duped by the false sense of what feel actually is. Feel is nothing more than a lack of attention to movement. He only ever demonstrated a lack of attention to his movements. She had spent so much time being impressed by feel, it shattered her when she realised that she had mistaken them for feelings – which is really all she’d ever hoped for.