Twins
We were born holding hands. The same amniotic sac held us, our shared world safeguarded. Our first trauma was not being born, but the cruelty of doctors who undid our clasp to bathe and weigh us before handing us to our crying mother. She understood without means that we were bound as close as Chang and Eng. We did not finish each other’s sentences nor feel each other’s pain, but even as we split our time during their eventual divorce—one at father’s, the other at mother’s—we would each sleep turned instinctively toward the other, hand outstretched in offering.
Photo credit: nv
I love this. Especially the last line.
This has a terrific first sentence. I loved it.