Under His Canopy of Fish

During our junior year of college, Will taped 50 squiggly worms to his bedroom ceiling, suspending each one on a bit of fishing line. Their little glow-in-the-dark eyes turned into constellations when the lights were off. Will cooked a lot, smoked too much and rarely let us see him upset. He is my best friend. Once, when the world felt like it was closing in on me, I slunk into Will’s room and under his sheets. I didn’t say a word; neither did he. He let me lay as long as I wanted. The stars looked extra wiggly that night. — Teigist Taye

Cheering Me On at Cheers

“I’m coming to Boston,” my sister declared days before my 23rd birthday. I had a honeydew-sized tumor on my adrenal gland and needed surgery. A newlywed with a demanding job, Shannon flew cross-country and moved into my Holly Hobby-sized apartment. We reverted to our childhood selves, bingeing on potato skins at Cheers, dancing on the floor piano at F. A. O. Schwarz, giggling like schoolgirls. When I awoke post-surgery to Shannon’s hand on my arm, I felt safe, at home, even in the sterile recovery room. The pungent ammonia, incessant beeping and searing pain couldn’t compete with my sister’s calming presence. — Amy Paturel

Our Second Severance

I woke in recovery after abdominoplasty. Fertility-drug twins had torn my abdominal muscles, necessitating repair. I’d craved the biological connection of children, having been abandoned at birth by my own mother. I passed my fingertips over my abdomen, and my breath caught. The surgeon had cut away loose skin, fashioning an imitation belly button: a tiny twist no larger than the nail of my pinkie finger. The spot where I’d been joined to my mother — my only evidence of connection to her — lay in some hospital waste bin, my mother gone all over again. I cried for days. — Jillian Barnet

Decade-Old Discovery

We “met” in college in Poughkeepsie. Paige was from L.A.; I was from N.Y.C. The night we first spoke, I felt like we had known each other forever. Paige admitted that she felt an instant familiarity, too. Several months later, at home after graduation, I was going through old papers when I found a letter I had written at age 11 from camp in Vermont. Apparently, I had just shared a canoe with my “really great, awesome, funny friend Paige,” with whom I now share a loving relationship, more than a decade after writing home. — Catherine Borthwick

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