The rope is heavy and old. The strands are stiff and a little painful to grasp. This is rope that was made for leather gloves and calloused hands. It's as big around as two of my fingers and strong enough to be used for lifting a small car.
I think about the men who use rope like this on ships at sea, on farms, and at war. Rope like this is used to be close to blood.
I look down at my smooth chubby hands that have spent the years of my youth touching the smooth keyboards of computers and the controls of video games, and my stomach quivers. Manhood slipped past me, and now I wonder if there is any use in me at all. In the event that electronics and toys ever become useless, where will I be?
When I look at the empty space in the bed next to me, I don't have to wonder for long if it's because I traded manhood for a life of juvenile curiosity without the sacrifice callouses of hard work.
I won't blame anyone else for this. It's just what I have to live with now. It isn't pretty and it isn't something that can be fixed overnight, but I pray to God that one day I will find my real worth.
