A man forgets to complain about an old injury.

A brother picks up a family nickname.

Twins are strange.

But all of them together, laid end to end in that cold bathroom, made a shape I could not unsee.

When I finally came out, I told him the migraine was bad, and we lay down, and we slept back to back, a careful handspan of empty sheet between us, and I stared into the dark all night.

And as the first gray light came up at the window, there was only one thought in my mind, vast and impossible and refusing to be dismissed.