SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue 1 - Journal - Page 77
SINE QUA NON
“I learn from the best,” I say. He's given me too many pasta lectures. “There's extra.”
“Okay,” he says, standing up and shuffling toward the kitchen. Not “Thank you,” not
“I'm sorry for turning into a hedgehog and not helping you with dinner,” but right after
transformation he's a bit testy. I'll let him get a plate, and when he's halfway done eating, I'll
ask about the potato casserole recipe, and remind him that chewy chocolate chip cookies are
the best. He'll say no, crispy, maybe we'll smile for a moment, and I’ll ask if he’d like to sleep
on the couch.
In the morning I’ll wake to the smell of my brother making gingerbread waffles or
banana pancakes, shuffle to Jules’s door, and ask if they’d like to join us for breakfast. We’ll
sit at the table as our lazy Saturday selves and I’ll remind myself that families and bodies are
always forming and re-forming, that change is the only certainty, that flexibility might be the
key to happiness.
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