Left Unspoken
PG-13. 01/24/2005.

Sometimes Kori dreamed things that came true, but only her brothers knew about it. The rest of the Circle thought she was an unremarkable girl with a birthright; Chris and Doug saw deeper, and didn't tell. The dreams were their little secret, something never talked about outside the safety of blankets. It was as if the power might be gone, if exposed to the light of day.

The twins slept spooned together most nights, hip to hip, talking to each other in their own silent way, identical hands covering each other. Other nights Kori would wake them with gentle nudging, until they pulled apart, groggy, and let her slip between. "Bad dream?" one of them, or both, would ask, and she'd nod into a bare shoulder. Usually if they waited she'd tell what she saw. "I saw you in a cage, Doug. Don't bring your bong to school tomorrow." Or at the very least, "Keep Deborah off the bridge this weekend." And they'd do what she said, no questions asked.

But one night she came to them weeping like a child, and nothing--not whispers, not soft kisses nor strong arms, could calm her.

When she had quieted, they asked her, but she wouldn't answer. "I love you both," she told them, and fell into exhausted sleep.

It worried them, not knowing, but she needed sleep for the next day, so they didn't try to wake her. They'd ask her again when her birthday was over.



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