An Imposition
by Claire Oleson

Shane was up to his thighs in the pond, moving pressure between his only two feet, thinking about his older brother, who had obliterated his femur to fine bone-snow just a month back. Skiing. Shane was lucky to have two working legs that were so pretty and so easy to use. He shifted his weight and basked in his luckiness. Weird to feel like this: to feel like what happens to your older brother is something that will happen to you eventually, that his whole body is a trailer for yours. This was not true, but Shane could not shake the gratefulness out of his legs. He wasn’t his brother. Shane was careful, borderline neurotic, thigh-deep in pond water, and not a skier. He was not whole because of luck; it was practical. Still: his legs looked good with his navy-blue running shorts hiked until they caught on his thighs and stayed there: bitch, lucky.