Holding Hands

The Otter had given up on dating. He was beginning to think there was no other Otter in the whole entire world who would take him as a mate even though he had always thought (and even his own mom used to tell him) he would make a pretty good mate to some otter someday. The other otters of the world just didn’t share his vision, I guess.

The Otter, named Ollie, always thought it was inevitable that one day he’d be a grown-up and everything would just kind of be sorted out. He’d have a job, he’d have a house, he’d have kids and he’d have a wife. Ollie always thought it would be nice to have that special someone you could hold hands with as you slept so neither one of you could float away.

But alas, the pastoral life was not in the cards for Ollie. Instead, he lived in a one-bedroom apartment just outside of swimming distance from his city’s downtown, making it difficult to socialize very often. It wasn’t that Ollie was sad about not having all the things he thought he’d have, it’s just that he remembered wanting them, and the memory is what’s painful.

There’s a reason, probably several, that Ollie didn’t end up with the things he always dreamed of. Relationships didn’t work for good reasons and also for bad, he never quite made enough to save for a house but he owns his apartment, and as far as kids, well Ollie’s still thinking about adopting.

It was pretty close to Ollie’s birthday, a big one, he’d be over the hill this year. He was happy, overall. Roof over his head, food on the table, some occasional hangouts with local friends. All of it good, all of it nice, all of it fun. But late at night Ollie’s mind would drift off into different corners of the universe, places both near and far. But he never stopped wishing for there to be someone next to him, whose hand he could hold, just so he wouldn’t drift away alone.