The Other Half of My Heart

Minni’s heart soared as the small plane’s wheels lifted from the ground. She loved being up in the clouds with Keira, Mama and Daddy, looking down on the lush carpet of ever- greens, the never-ending blue-gray ocean, and the rugged mountain peaks. Gliding, like a bird on the wind.
Keira sank her nails into Minni’s arm. It hurt, but Minni didn’t pull away. It wasn’t often that she got to be the brave one.
People who didn’t know Keira thought she wasn’t afraid of anything. After all, she’d been the first person on the Jefferson County gymnastics team, boy or girl, to execute a double front flip without a trampoline.
But Minni knew her sister better than anyone, and after
reading out loud in front of others, Keira’s next greatest fear
was of riding in the tiny single-engine plane. She only ever got into Daddy’s Cessna 172 out of loyalty—because she prized being together as a family more than she feared falling from the sky. She had told Minni this when they were curled up in their giant zipped-together sleeping bags, lying under the stars on the back deck, listening to the ocean waves pound the rocks like the earth’s heartbeat.
The engine’s rumble filled Minni’s head, and her chest vibrated along with its purring. The crowded space inside the four-seater smelled like gasoline. Daddy must have spilled some fuel on his pants or hands, which were covered in grease more often than not. Mama said the skin under Daddy’s nails had been permanently turned black. “Just like half my heart,” he would always reply.
The plane bumped over a rough patch of air, and Keira’s nails dug in a little deeper. Mama’s voice crackled through Minni’s headset. “The Sisters are out today.” She pointed to the Olympic range.
The two mountains were actually called the Brothers, but their family called them the Sisters. They stood side by side, connected at the hip. The taller one the family had dubbed Minni, and the shorter one was Keira. Minni gazed at the twin peaks, dusted with patches of snow even in late June.