Cracked Knuckles

            Quietly, sitting in the middle of class, I take my hand and make a loose fist. I then take my other hand and push pressure on it causing my knuckles interrupt the teacher’s lecture with a shattering crack.

“Emma!” the teacher exclaims in shock to the noise.

“Sorry,” is my automatic response and sunk into my chair embarrassed while seeing all the other classmates’ eyes fixed upon me.

            I always crack my knuckles. I rarely even notice when I’m doing it. I’ll be sitting down or walking and casually crack them without realizing I’m doing so. The only time I notice that I’m cracking my knuckles is when someone points it out or if my knuckles fail to make the snapping noise because I already cracked them not too recently.

            My mother always scorns me over this. Ever time she catches me doing this action, she’ll remark, “Stop that! You are going to ruin your hands!” Rumor has it, that if you crack your knuckles an excessive amount, you can get arthritis and thick knuckles. I keep hearing mixed comments about that theory. I hear that it is either true or false, but I don’t care enough to do research on it. I enjoy the feeling and sound of cracking my knuckles and it has now become part of my everyday life.

            A few weeks ago, this boy Chris in one of my classes decided to ask me on a date. We agreed that the date should be today. He picks me up from house and we go dine at Fridays. While we wait for our food to arrive after we ordered, he takes my hand and starts lacing his fingers through mine. He takes my small, delicate hand and is playing with my fingers looking at them. “You have musician hands. Do you play the piano?” He comments still examining my fingers. Chris is a musician himself. He plays various instruments including the banjo, so it took me by surprise when he mentioned that I have musician hands.

“No? Is that bad?” I respond.

 “Not really, your hands just seem overworked,” he says nonchalantly while sipping his ice tea.

            I take my hand back from him and stare at it. For the first time I see that my hands look rigid and most likely due to cracking my knuckles. My hands that I thought were thin and small now leave me self-conscious. I place my hands in my lap since I do not want him to stare at them anymore. I’m thirsty, but I don’t even want to grab for my drink.