• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 03
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Of All Coats, My Own Fits Best

Because we dress for the weather and not for season. Or maybe it is the other way around. Because my thermal indicators on land and at sea are broken, unable to navigate the peculiarities of my temperature and take no account of my fear of water, even though my dreams, since the age of eight, have been consistently focused on saving a friend submerged. I hold my breath until my lungs burst. When I surface, a warm coat is held out to me by someone whose features I cannot distinguish. I have always wanted to know something of other worlds, I have wanted to escape my own dispositional vagaries. With appreciation to all of the shapeshifters of the world, I confess I am not one of them. By the edge of any body of water, I know who I am.  Within my coat, worn like armor, and with my eyes agape, I appreciate the unique talent, but one that is, ultimately, though not regrettably, lost to me.