Human Sister
was lonesome and had come looking for me in Amsterdam. I explained how important it was for him to stay hidden until it was time for us to go home, but throughout the day he kept showing up wherever I went. I was concerned that he’d be recognized because, though he looked and dressed like a human, his skin was cool and, except for his hands, smooth like the skin on a frog’s belly, and I knew implicitly that he would respond oddly in social settings—too gently, too kindly. Additionally, he had no passport or other form of identification.
It was dark and rainy that night when Elio, Michael, and I arrived at the Red Dog, where we were to meet some of Elio’s friends. As Michael stepped through the door an alarm sounded, and immediately the three of us were being chased. Thick muddy water and huge, entangling plants that resembled the genetically modified plants my parents had seen in the Four Seasons resort on the moon rose up menacingly in the streets—had a levee broken?—making it difficult to run or even walk, and police boats and helicopters were closing in—
“No! Stop! Stop!” Michael’s shrieking and his vigorous shaking of my arm woke me.
I immediately took both of his soft, sensitive hands in mine and we kissed. We stayed like that—hand in hand and lips on lips—until he calmed down.
The next day, the state legislature ratified the amendment.
First Brother
Sara and the dog are within 10 meters of a predicted debarkation on a narrow, gravelly boat landing on the river’s north shore, across the estuary from the western edge of Penny Island. The dog stands at the prow, its front legs up on the convex edge of the raft, its nose turned windward. It sniffs.
The raft continues toward the landing. Pebbles grate on the bottom of the raft. To propel them forward, she applies force through the length of the paddle’s shaft to the edge of the blade, which is sunk into the river’s bottom. The dog walks on and around her legs, trips, then stumbles against her ventral trunk.
It is midday plus 1 hour, 4 minutes, 10 seconds.
Sara
A fter making my way through Customs at Schiphol the next summer, I saw Elio standing among a throng of people, waving. My chest filled with brightness, and I rushed into his arms. He seemed again to be the energetic, happy Elio I’d known and loved for ten years, though this summer he didn’t hold my hand or kiss me on the way home.
For the next four days we biked along the IJsselmeer through Volendam and Edam, once reaching as far north as Hoorn. Aunt Lynh insisted that we return home every evening, so each day we relied on ferries, buses, and trains to take us part of the way. On Friday morning, the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I heard a knocking on my bedroom door.
“Happy birthday!” Elio said, opening the door. “I made breakfast. Come see.”
Laid out on the kitchen table were waffles covered with maple syrup and almond butter, sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and minced almonds, then topped with pralines-and-cream ice cream. Surprised and delighted by this unusual breakfast, I ruffled his hair with my fingers and sat down to eat.
Our conversation broke off when I noticed he was staring at me. He extended his hand and interwove his fingers with mine. He smiled wanly, then said, “I’m really happy you’re here.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about my visit, especially since last summer.”
I’d resolved not to mention the prior summer, but the problem that had surfaced then seemed to be returning, whether I mentioned it or not. Elio had appeared happy and relaxed when I’d arrived five days earlier, but increasingly as the days passed I’d caught him staring despondently into the distance or watching me with a look that seemed full of pain.
He looked toward the cupboards, seemingly lost in thought. I kept silent, waiting, hoping he would share with me whatever was troubling him. Finally, he pulled his fingers from mine and said, “I can’t stay here right now. Let’s walk to the gym and go swimming.”
As soon as we got to the gym, he again seemed energetic and sociable, chatting and laughing with people he knew. He and I swam awhile, and when he pulled himself up out of the pool and sat on the edge of the deck, my gaze flowed, as did rivulets of water, over his chest and stomach, their beautiful rippled muscles heaving with each breath. I desperately wanted to glide my fingers over those muscles and hug him. But Grandpa
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