Gayle was sipping a soft drink, waiting for me at the cafeteria underneath the life-size blue whale at the Natural History Museum when I arrived. There was an empty plastic sandwich container before her on the table. She didn’t smile as I descended the staircase into the huge hall lined by dioramas of sea life, and I realized I must be late.
     Where have you been, Daniel? she asked.
     I thought I was on time, I said looking at my watch, which said five to one. I’m five minutes early, Gayle.
     You’re an hour late.
     I thought we said one.
     Why would we say one? We said noon. The train gets in at eleven thirty, we meet at noon. That’s how it always is.
     But...
     I was going to point out that we had never done this before--met in the afternoon, just the two of us--but why bother? I realized, suddenly, that I had to deal with this person, my sister, for a whole day. Why hadn’t I prepared myself?
     Meanwhile, Gayle was looking at me expectantly. I wasn’t responding. I wasn’t playing my part. Her eyes fell and she said, Whatever, let’s go see the butterflies.
     In one of the great halls of the museum they had erected a huge, arched structure that looked like a bomb shelter, except made half of glass. We showed our special tickets, walked through several doorways reading lists of do’s and don’ts--step carefully, don’t touch the butterflies’ wings, check clothing before exiting--then we ducked through panels of cloth hanging in the final doorway. It was very warm and humid. There were trees and bushes, a stone path, even a gurgling fountain, and butterflies flitting in the air, crawling gingerly along branches--purple, yellow, pink--like dreams. Carefully, we walked in. There were a few children here, but they were taking soft, quiet steps like their parents.
     Gayle looked around, smiling serenely, marveling. I watched her and tried to bring myself up. I watched the butterflies, telling myself, Look at these beautiful things, and wake up. But my underlying thought was, Look alive for Gayle. Don’t worry Mom and Dad.
     A few minutes passed and we found our way to a corner where there was a cluster of butterflies of different colors crawling over each other on the glass.
     What’s the matter with you? whispered Gayle.
     What do you mean?
     You’re not yourself.
     I’m fine, Gayle.
     She looked at me incredulously.
     I’ve been working a lot. I’m just sort of worn out.
     I thought you were only working one day a week.
     Had I told her that? I had forgotten. Um, yeah, I said. That was just temporary, though. I’m back to a full schedule now. Been working a lot.
     And you don’t have to shave for work anymore?
     What do you mean?
     You look like you haven’t shaved for four or five days.
     A butterfly alighted on Gayle’s sweater and began to fan the air with its wings.
     What do you want to know, Gayle, really?
     I don’t want to know anything, but Mom and Dad are worried sick. Mom thinks you’re on drugs or something.
     Why does she think that? I asked.
     Shh, said Gayle. You were weird on the phone.
     I haven’t even talked to her on the phone. She’s been avoiding me.
     You were weird to Dad, and to me. You didn’t sound like yourself. Why don’t you just call Mom and reassure her?
     I told you, she’s avoiding me.
     Call and force her. She’s worried. Have you broken up with that girl yet?
     I thought for a moment. This was the first time anyone had put the question in those terms--breaking up. No one ever even referred to Ana and me as a couple, come to think of it. Either they didn’t mention it, or they used vaguer terms out of embarrassment.
     No, Gayle, we haven’t broken up.
     I didn’t know why I lied, didn’t know if it would make things easier or harder.
     She’s...not going to be...
     No, Gayle, she’s away. I said looking back to the butterflies.
     Gayle was quiet for a long time. Then she said, Come on. Be careful. You’ve got butterflies on you.
     If Ana was right for me, and her name starts with A, then B would have to be male, like the hurricane, Benjamin. C, female, Cassandra, D, David. E, female, Eve. Frank. I paused a moment and wondered what that meant about Frank. G, Glenda, Henry, Isabelle, J, male, Jack, Kaye, Larry...M would have to be a female name. Marlon wouldn’t fit. Marlon doesn’t work in this system, so I must have made the right choice.
     Marlon was in love with me. Why pretend he wasn’t? But he didn’t fit. If Ana was right for me, then Marlon couldn’t be. The M has to be female. Maybe I could explain that to him and put it to rest. I could forgive the phone thing. When was that? I hadn’t seen him since.
     I looked up and Gayle was watching me. My hands were held out, as I had been using right for female and left for male as I counted out the alphabet.
     What? I said.
      Gayle just watched me fearfully.
     I thought you had gone to the store, Gayle.
     I got back ten minutes ago.
     Why didn’t you tell me you were back?
     Her look became desperate and tears glittered in her eyes. I’ve been right here, Daniel!
     Oh. Sorry.
     I wondered what time it was. I glanced out the window and the light looked like late morning. What time do you leave? I asked Gayle.
     Four.
     Should we go to a movie or something?
     You haven’t even eaten.
     I went to the kitchen. On the counter were bagels and milk she had just bought. I ate a bagel and asked her to call for movie times. I don’t remember what we saw, I must have dreamed my way through it. I needed Gayle to leave. Systems were revealing themselves to me, most of which I can’t even remember, and I longed to be alone and to concentrate. But, I reminded myself, I couldn’t let myself slip and do anything more to concern Gayle. She had to give a good report to Mom and Dad. Not to worry, not to worry.
     Tell them not to worry, all right? I mean, I’m okay. I’ll take care of this, you know, just don’t worry Mom and Dad. Promise?
     Gayle nodded, her expression all knit up. Anger, concern. Again, there were tears in her eyes. Her sweater had a silly butterfly pattern. I had a flash of high school, where we were outcasts of different sorts. I dressed well and had my drama friends. She dressed like she dresses now, and had her brainy friends. Why didn’t she have a family of her own now? She so looked the part of a Philly mom.
     Come to think of it, she had been wearing a different butterfly sweater the day before. She must have bought them special for the trip, and had been waiting for me to compliment her. Regret cinched my heart, and I tried to quickly drum up a compliment, but it was too late.
     Really, Gayle, I’m fine. I just need a little rest.
     She turned and marched down the steps into the subway. She swung her backpack from her shoulder, and hugged it.
     Why did they send her? I wondered. She had no words to tell me she loved me. We had no words.

VESTAL McINTYRE was born and raised in Nampa, Idaho, attended Tufts University, and now lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Open City, as well as several anthologies, including the forthcoming, M2M: New Literary Fiction.