“It was possible to force a mind meld on an unwilling subject, but most Vulcans would be loath to do so, unless under the most dire circumstances. An exception may be the Vulcans of the mirror universe, whose ethical constraints, shaped by the savagery of their environment, were far different.”[i]
I am driving on the interstate heading west. Through the wintery trees and between worn guardrails, my path curves up the on-ramp. Carefully I check blind spots. Merging onto the road now heading south, I accelerate.
“Is ten.” he says “What? No, it is six…wait, what did you say Ryder?” I ask after half listening between packing lunches, making breakfast, hearing a baby cry. “Three plus three plus two plus two is ten, right?” he responds. “Um, yes, actually, that is correct.” I reply slowly as I add what he said…
A pure white pig sat in front of us. Round and still. Rory dipped her red paintbrush into the bright sticky colors of paint and began to stroke over the smooth surface. I whispered in her ear to add a dab here or there. To scoop another color into the thick bristles of the brush…
We are three months in. Last year at this time I had an eleven month old and a two and a half year old. Today was the first day I felt like things were finally gelling with three while working.