The curious thing about identical twins is that each one always seems to have some idea of what the other is doing or thinking.
So when Emily first got the idea that she liked John a little bit more than just as a friend, her sister Jayne knew, of(more) course. And likewise, Emily knew that Jayne was absolutely infatuated with John but would never have done anything about it, would have been too mortified to speak to him about anything less meaningless than the weather.
So all the while Emily was going on dates with John, out to dinner or to a movie or to the pier or some other sterotypically love-saturated destination, Jayne would curl up under a blanket and read a book and allow herself to cry a little-not too much, not enough that anyone could tell.
But Emily could.
And naturally she didn't care.
And so when John would show up to pick up Emily, Jayne would open the door. And when John would grin and say 'Hi, Em!' in that rich baritone voice that she ached for, she'd look down shyly and correct him, "Jayne."
Once he was impetuous enough to not pause and wait for this correction, and drew Jayne into an embrace, dipped her down and kissed her.
She was shocked but she seized the moment and kissed him back, passionately.
She hardly knew what she was doing as she followed him out into the waiting, gently growling car.
When they arrived at his house she realized what was going to happen. And her features twisted into a lustful, anticipatory grin.
Later, while he was still bucking under her, moaning out 'Emily, Emily" and while she was gasping on top of him, she looked down and quietly, shyly corrected him:
In the West Bank city of Hebron, there are grape arbors in the back yards. Even in winter, the vines are lovely, green and lush, making one sigh with the beauty of having this scene to look at every day. And the grapes that this arbor produces, juicy, dark, tempting.(more) We marveled at how easily the vines seemed to grow, clambering up the poles and stakes like lithe, green acrobats.
Unfortunately, none of the Palestinian families, who own these vines, will eat the fruit.
They're afraid that the Israeli settlers who live nearby poison the grapes, in an attempt to harass and intimidate these families. So the fruit are left to rot on the vines.
One of the men tells us, "When the settlers first came, I tried to be a good neighbor. I brought them fruit from my own trees. But they just threw rocks at me." As I listen I am overcome with sadness and I feel like I might start crying.
We're in the back yards for a reason. There are many streets in Hebron that are actually closed to Palestinians. In order to go to their homes, these citizens must take a round about route, climbing up steep hillsides, instead of the direct streets. So we're being taken up these steep hillsides, going the roundabout way, to experience what the locals experience. Some of the members of our group are elderly, some have a fear of heights, but the stronger among us step up to help the weaker. I imagine its like that for the Palestinians of Hebron also.
I am not making any of this up. You can go to Hebron and see this for yourself. Don't forget to admire the arbors if they haven't been cut down.