Two Sisters

by Jeffrey Anderson

understand what was going on with Brooke. One minute she’d be dancing on air and figuratively, sometimes literally, lifting Leah up with her. She’d pull Leah into her room and ask her opinion about this or that outfit, pairing the outfit with her hair piled atop her head in a bun, tied in a braid (that was Leah’s favorite part—combing and braiding Brooke’s hair), gathered in a simple ponytail, or hanging loose about her shoulders which was how she’d always worn it till these latest changes. They’d visit the Teens department at Belk’s and Brooke would hold up all sorts of skimpy and revealing tops (clothes Momma would never let her buy let alone wear) over her still almost flat chest, sometimes pairing those tops with a hat or a scarf or a Puka-shell necklace. Leah couldn’t help but get caught up in Brooke’s outpouring of energy but even at times like these wondered where the old Brooke, the one with a swagger and single-mindedness and devil-may-care attitude, had gone.

  And then there was the dejected Brooke, the one prone to outbursts as had just happened or withdrawing into her own world of secret troubles and disappointments. This Brooke was new also. In the past, Brooke met disappointments with renewed determination and creativity, always looking for a way around the obstacle, never surrendering to the defeat in the long-term, even if it meant accepting it for now. Brooke never gave up. Now, it seemed she was daily, and all to a largely unseen force named Billy Alexander. Billy couldn’t by himself make Brooke act like this. There was something else going on, and Leah had no idea what. The worst part was, Brooke wouldn’t tell her.

  Two nights ago she’d snuck into Brooke’s room on the way back from the bathroom, to snuggle up beside her sister as she’d often done when they were younger. But Brooke wasn’t there. Her window over the porch roof was open on the warm spring night and the screen set off to the side. For some reason Brooke’s absence wasn’t a surprise. She’d been absent in so many other ways recently her physical absence seemed a natural development. Leah had slid between the covers of Brooke’s bed to await her sister’s return, which she never doubted. She hoped that return would occur before Momma knocked on the door in the morning and opened it to find Leah alone in Brooke’s bed. And she had returned, at some hour deep in the night. At first Leah had thought it a dream—Brooke’s arms around her, her lips kissing her cheek, her body full-length along hers. But then Brooke had pressed her mouth tight to Leah’s ear and said something. Leah, awake by then, could tell by the three bursts of air, measured and deliberate, pushed into her ear.

  A long time ago, after Leah had asked what spoken words were like, Brooke had pressed her mouth to Leah’s ear and pushed many bursts of air—some soft, some powerful—against her eardrum. The feeling of Brooke’s lips on her ear and the compressed air in her head made Leah giggle. Afterwards, Brooke wrote that was the Lord’s Prayer on the chalkboard she carried but rarely used since Leah had long since learned to read her lips. Maybe Brooke thought writing the title would help Leah hear the spoken words. For weeks afterwards, Brooke would speak long passages directly into Leah’s ears—news from the morning paper or the comics or from the Beatrix Potter books Leah knew by heart—trying first the right ear then the left. Leah could easily recognize certain common syllables from differences in the way the air making the word was compressed and the shape of Brooke’s lips on her ear. She loved that touch. But even when she knew the words being spoken, could measure the beat of the syllables against her eardrum, she could never understand what those words sounded like, what it would be like to receive words as invisible vibrations rather than visible shapes on the mouth or the page. They’d finally stopped the experiment when Momma caught them one day and told them in no uncertain terms that “Proper girls do not act like that!” Leah saw Momma’s scolding. Brooke’s frown settled across her face even though her back was to Momma. It was in that moment—Brooke’s descending frown without looking, not all their lengthy mouth-to-ear efforts—that Leah came to understand, as well as she ever would, what it was to hear spoken words.

  So two nights ago after Brooke’s return, her sister’s words were not heard but they were understood. They were not understood as sounds, never would be. But they were understood by the gentleness of Brooke’s lips against her ear, the secretive soft bursts of air on her eardrum, and the vibrancy, the shimmer emanating from Brooke’s body beyond her lips. And Leah also knew the cause for all this happiness, for she could smell Billy on Brooke’s clothes and skin. But knowing all these details didn’t solve the mystery of Brooke’s behavior, only deepened it. Where had she gone? What had she done with Billy that his smell was on her? And why did it matter enough to cause all these unprecedented changes?

  These same questions pressed on Leah now, as she lay on her bed this time, earlier in the evening, her lights on and Roscoe beside her, but the same darkness of not knowing engulfing her. There were many things in her world that she did not understand, things other people took for granted that she might not ever understand. But Brooke had never been one of them. The rest didn’t matter as long as Brooke was clear. But if Brooke joined the ranks of the unknown, where would she be? What would she know?

  Leah closed her eyes. This simple action placed her in another realm, immediately and seamlessly. With her primary connection to the world around her suspended, her body and consciousness fell into a familiar bright abyss. To keep from falling too far too fast, she spread her hand atop Roscoe’s belly. His skin was warm, his thin fur there unbelievably soft. She imagined the world she now occupied as warm like his skin, lined with that soft fur. She felt a gentle rhythmic thumping to this world. It was the beat of life and promise and welcome.

  She descended deeper into the bright abyss. She wasn’t frightened. No harm had ever come to her here, in all her visits. The place had always welcomed her, and in it she was queen—the good and gracious queen from the picture books, with the glowing robes and her hands clasped at her waist and a gentle and loving smile beneath her blond hair radiant under a golden crown. As the queen she could go anywhere in her kingdom and be greeted warmly.

  So she went to her stables. They were all white too. You didn’t see them until you were there. Then you saw them. The horses, all white, emerged from the white stables that had emerged from the white background. The horses did a sort of light-hoofed prancing dance, together and coordinated yet separate and distinct, each movement its own note yet collectively all the movements, the mincing prancing steps forming a visible music.

  She raised her hand and the music stopped. She asked the lead horse, “What would it take to ride?”

  The horse said, “Ride? What is that?”

  “To climb on your back and be carried around,” Leah said.

  “Ahh, you mean fly,” the horse said.

  And suddenly Leah was flying, maybe on the horse’s back but she saw nothing beneath her, nothing carrying her rushing through the white and brilliant air. She held her breath at the rapid movement but knew she was safe, knew her kingdom would not betray her.

  The horse set her down on the beach. “There you are, Your Highness. I must return to the others. You know how they are.”

  Leah nodded, and the horse was gone.

  She knew she was on the beach not by any water or waves cresting. Her world was a sea of white. But there was a dolphin standing beside her. He was all white too, but she could see him. Maybe no one else could, but she could.

  “How was your ride?” the dolphin asked.

  “Flying,” Leah said.

  The dolphin laughed. “Lead Horse has such singular pretensions.”

  “Pretensions?”

  “Wishes beyond his abilities,” the dolphin said.

  “Yes,” Leah said. “And you?”

  “I swim the seas, Your Highness.”

  “And stand on the beach.”

  “Only for you, Your Highness. My legs work only in your presence.”

  “And you’ve known that long?”

  “Long as I’ve known anything.”

  “And the others?”

/>   “They stay in the water, Your Highness, as has been decreed.”

  “By whom?”

  “By you of course.”

  “When?”

  “At the start of time.”

  “And this cannot be undone? The others can’t ever stand?”

  “A royal decree has never been undone.”

  “Not even by me?”

  “By you least of all.”

  Leah didn’t understand how this could be, but the dolphin seemed so sure. “Take me for a swim.”

  “It’s flying,” the dolphin said.

  “That’s what the horse said.”

  “But I’m telling the truth.”

  And suddenly Leah was flying again, through the brilliant white water, the waves cresting, the sea swallowing her.

  Brooke lay down on the side opposite Roscoe on the bed.

  Leah opened her eyes but for just a moment didn’t seem to be seeing—or seemed to be seeing too much, her eyes aglow with some hidden light or secret. Then she blinked once and focused on Brooke’s face just inches from hers, her sister leaning on her elbow and looking down.

  Brooke’s eyes were tinged in red but dry. She smiled at Leah in their oldest immediate connection. Then her face grew contrite. “I’m sorry, Leah. I know you weren’t listening. Even if you were, it was O.K.”

  For a second Leah couldn’t imagine what she was talking about, then she