SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue 1 - Journal - Page 73
SINE QUA NON
Isobel started crying because I was crying, then Ernie was crying and holding us so we didn't
break into pieces.
***
There are moments with my brother that I want to bottle or capture in a snapshot and
pin to the wall so I can remember this iteration of his shifting self before he changes. Those
are the people I’d like to move in with me, but I must remember the other incarnations of my
brother would come along as well.
I'm not that bothered by my brother becoming a hedgehog. I've imagined worse things.
I worry I'll get a call from the police asking me to identify the body attached to his wallet.
I worry I'll get a call from his neighbor in the apartment complex explaining there’d been
a strange odor for a week. I worry I’ll get a call from somebody at the hospital about a fatal
car accident. Do other older sisters feel this same kind of paranoia that makes them wonder
whether they should invite their brothers to live with them (again) or stay as far away as
possible and count on the families they’ve built from shared dinners and smiles and help
fixing the leaky kitchen sink?
“What do hedgehogs eat?” Isobel calls from the living room.
“Cheese crackers,” I call back.
***
If my brother were not my brother I'd have thought he was a flat-out asshole. Now he's
an asshole with a cache of shared memories and our parents' initials tattooed on his ankle. He
got Isobel to eat fettuccine with pesto and tiny tomatoes when she was two, and in that phase
where she only ate peanut butter balls for a month.
I also understand the benefits of switching bodies, relaxing into the self that you feel,
like I do when I become a sloth that sleeps in the sun to rejuvenate. The difference is that I'm
not pouting. Usually. After each of our parents died I wanted to become a turtle, retreat into
a hard shell and rest, but I couldn't. I had a kid to care for, I had a funeral to plan, I had to
decide what to do with my folks' bills and worldly belongings. There was no time to turtle
myself.
The co-op’s shared meals mean I can’t live in isolation, and tired as I am after work,
chatting usually has benefits. Miriam started the co-op two decades ago, renting out parts
of the house after her husband passed away, her five kids moved to different states, and she
needed to build a new family. Isobel and I live in three rooms on the bottom floor and share
a bathroom with Jules, who lives in the other three rooms. Miriam lives in two rooms on the
top floor and shares a bathroom with Tad who has the other three rooms.
Miriam believes in getting to know people, which means before signing a lease there's a
two-hour-long dinner interview. You bring a side dish, and make sure you don't mind eating
with everyone else three nights a week. Jules doesn't cook because they host, have the biggest
dining room, and would rather do the dishes which everyone else hates.
***
The marinara sauce is easy--one can of diced tomatoes and two of tomato sauce, add
basil, oregano, garlic, and chopped onion, let simmer for thirty minutes while cooking the
pasta, and make sure the garlic cheese bread doesn't burn. I sit at the kitchen table, listen to
Isobel play with my brother, and rub my legs. Sometimes that soothes them.
When I have a flare, it affects my limbs. Those days are stressful, the pain and loss of
balance, so I rely on my cane and the wheeled walker I keep at the office. I try to explain to
people how my strength comes and goes like tides. Some days I feel normal. Other days my
energy is out to sea.
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