You told me once that you could feel the exact moment when a tsunami was forming at the bottom of the ocean. There was a sort of unease in the ground, that you could feel it crawling up your legs and filling your lungs with tension. You told me it was some kind of hereditary trait your family developed over countless years of turning the land of our moon. I liked to imagine that I too had supernatural senses. I made believe that my eyes could follow the weaves of a fluttering duskfly or that my head was shaped just right to pick up the alien signals. If your face was telling the truth (and it always was), you never picked up the jealousy behind my weirdness. Mel, on the other hand, could always develop some logical explanation for my weird imagining of the day. I guess intelligence was her hereditary sense. All my parents gave me was a bilingual tongue and a knack for empathy. Though I guess there are always worse situations to be born into.
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