10 02 2008

In 1968 we boarded the Bergensford, a Norwegian ship filled with smorgasbord and people. I spent the passage vaguely ill, uneasy, trailing my older brothers. One brother, 16, fell in love with gorgeous Benta; one brother, 14, fell in love with physics experienced as he hung from our porthole palm outstretched with ping-pong balls that would be sucked up to the top deck where they bounced around, a new kind of rain. And then the hurricane hit. One brother, 16, turned green and cabin-bound and one brother, 14, turned Houdini, escaping to stand at the rail, buffeted, magic, half human.



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