All Fours

by Miranda July

Each person does the amount of lying that is right for them. You have to know yourself and fulfill the amount of untruth that your constitution requires.

But we had once been close and so we could be again, though I shuddered to think what kind of cataclysmic event would be required to bring this about.

I wondered if I would continue with my work and then I realized that my work was all I had now. I had gotten it completely wrong—I thought I was laboring toward a prize, but the prize was right there, I already had it, and work was something I could do afterward, after I was no longer young enough to be beautiful and could no longer be wanted by someone beautiful.

Don’t gender my child.

Our constant transformation was a big secret, of course—for the world, even for Sam, we performed sameness.

“Am I talking to the walk-in or is your original soul back?”

Then still, with aftershudders.

Wasn’t this the great hope and folly of humans? That we were all so influenceable? Not weak or flimsy but actually interconnected at the root level, like trees—we took everything personally because it was personal.

A person with a journeying, experimental soul should be living a life that allowed for it.

I was older and could see my new path clearly, extending from tonight and ending when I died.

“The initial reaction isn’t the eternal reaction.”

“Well, one of my goals is to get signed up for cryogenic preservation. It may seem ridiculous, it may be impossible, but if it works out you get a second chance at having the youth that you wanted. That’s what I yearn for, a childhood that is authentic to me.”

I’d heard perfect pitch and he didn’t have it.