March 2010. My spring visit to California. Me and my sister and brother are together for the first time this year, for the first time since my diagnosis. Steven meets Katy and I in San Francisco for the drive to South Lake Tahoe. I want to walk on the beach together, but a storm is coming. We hug outside Katy's house. I feel an umbilicus, a cord extending from where we three stand on the street, pressing together. The cord extends up and down. It satisfies my longing for designation of a momentous occasion.
March 2010. My spring visit to California. Me and my sister and brother are together for the first time this year, for the first time since my diagnosis. Steven meets Katy and I in San Francisco for the drive to South Lake Tahoe. I want to walk on the beach together, but a storm is coming. We hug outside Katy's house. I feel an umbilicus, a cord extending from where we three stand on the street, pressing together. The cord extends up and down. It satisfies my longing for designation of a momentous occasion.
