There is a place I like to go to when I am feeling like ‘knocking people’s hats off’ but it is not to the sea like Herman Melville, it is to a place much better. Much warmer and safer and certainly without the risk of drowning or storm. It is my favourite place in the world; it is the nook. The nook is technically not mine, as I am not the owner of it. It is not a public space to be enjoyed by all. It is not a geographic location I can run my finger over on a map. Certainly no tourists visit to take photos of and proudly display on walls or mantles or Face book. There is no night guard or hours of operation or off season.
The nook is that place on the body just above the armpit but below the shoulder and almost on the chest but not quite. It belongs to the man I love. Where when I lay down my head fits like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Where I feel love and affection and security wash over me like a warm ocean wave. Where the rest of my body melts over his like warm wax beginning to cool; a leg and an arm dripping over moulding myself into a human K, half beside half over his body.
The nook is the spot on someone that only is shared with their ‘person’. Maybe it’s their husband or wife or boyfriend or girlfriend or emergency contact person. It’s not a place that many people get to go to. It is the sign of true intimacy between two people, getting to fall asleep in the nook.
It is safer than a mothers’ bed to a child after a nightmare. And it is warm like fresh banana bread on a fall morning.
I have cried there, I have laughed there; I have had some of the greatest conversations of my life there. I have fallen asleep there, I have most certainly drooled there, and I have been comforted there. I have made plans there, I have plotted there, and I have come to sad realizations there. But whatever gamut of emotions I go through there, I want to go through them there and no where else. In the nook.
