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  • I don't know when this was taken or where it was. I must have been five, you six. We are barely a year apart. Or what Mom calls an "accidental accident". She says she couldn't say no to Dad and that I should practice saying no to men.

    "Be smart, don't have two babies because your Dad and I -- we were babies."

    We were American babies, the first in our entire family. Darling as we were, we would be alien to those people. To our kin who we would never connect with. To our parents who would not speak our tongue or understand our sullenness. And to each other eventually, though we are spitting images of each other.

    But that would be years from now. This moment, right here is enough.

    Unknowing we entered the world, not to fear ourselves and each other, but to hold hands, sand in our eyes, wind in our hair.
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