Gemini Return to Earth

Alba Sarria

As my brother plummets to earth I catch him, squeezing his waist between the golden radiance of my arms, pressing my face into the powdery stardust on his chest. The galaxies still cling to him. Tiny planets spin like marbles in his curled oakwood hair, his cheeks are kissed by the sunset sky; rosy, flushed, tender as the divine pink flesh of an oyster. We are humans at last, able to roam the earth, at last. Every year father allows us to visit Gaea for a month. She is ripe now, her fields plump with flowers, and the onslaught of late muggy May heat clings to her fuzzy rolling sides like hungry children. Summer is desperate to erupt. Helios yearns to pull the sun a little closer to her.


Now standing in front of me, staring at the last splash of sun across the dimming sky, Castor stirs. His breath is the ghost of a sigh, too delicate for joy. Our time here, though peaceful, is always the pale shadow of what we can no longer have. The stars above are cold, even with Orion and The Rainy Ones at our flanks we always starve for this; the wilderness of the Earth. Her forests, lakes, rivers, fields, oceans, rich wildlife— the thrill of the hunt.


“Race me,” he whispers, or maybe he thinks it. Our minds are now a muddied link of thought and heart beat. Our immortality has left us half- fused; two independent minds who share consciousness in the same space; bodies who can feel what the other has felt, no matter the distance.

Our bodies take off, tearing through the grass like bulls, charging into the thick forest we’ll live in for the next month. His feet strike the earth like a comet and I feel the faint tickle of grass between my toes. My hands came up to our– my side, clashing into leaf after leaf, sending tidal waves of green behind us. I feel like I’m swallowing the world whole with every breath. I peek at my brother taking in those same gasped breaths that leave our throats raw. In and out it goes, stuck to my rhythm, pumping life through our veins like gold. When he looks at me I see it, in our mind-space, and 

feel that silent adoration. He loves what we have become. He loves living. We are one and two all the same; Castor and Pollux but Gemini and inseparable. The thought makes him shiver. His toes churn deep into the grass as we slow, clawing dirt under his nails. He knocks on my palms with his fingertips, feeling the repercussion of my senses fog his.

“I want to hunt.” So we do. Yes, anything for him and I and us. We hunt until the world is a blur of colors; green and brown and grey and pink and red and red and red. We hunt until there’s nothing but stars and rushing shadows and the moon hides from our savagery. Our thirst for boars floods. Being back on Earth is disorienting, still, after so many years. To see him see me seeing him running, firing an arrow, or climbing a tree is like looking into endless versions of yourself in a mirror. I miss space, where we are simply an “us,” dormant as the fetus we once were. But he loves it here, and as we lay down on a hill under the ceaseless armies of stars above I start to enjoy this too.

Maybe we’re no longer stuck in the same sleepy comfort of our constellation, but I’d missed watching moonlight slip across his face like a wedding veil. He’s beautiful down to the starry freckles sprinkled over the arch of his nose and the way his smile is never quiet even on either side.

He’s a wonder of parts; long sinewy arms, tanned even after a millennia in the sky, legs firm enough the straddle a horse nude, but subtly abundant in warm soft flesh, always muddied from rolling head-first down hills and leaping into agea bubbling ponds. His lips are generous and rumpled where mine always feel too full and severe. I can never keep my eyes off his. They’re like almonds, richer than Gaea’s womb and flecked in gold. He was the mortal of us, but there has never been a man more godly than him.

Philatos,” I call to him, letting our pinkies curl around each other like knotted snakes. Most beloved.

“When we get back I’m asking father to put us in the same body. We can wander here all year long...”

I laugh but worry wriggles through my stomach like an army of millipedes. “We’ll see.”

I hope he denies. But the longer I hold Castor the more I forget why that would be a bad idea. His head sings of our souls falling through one another until we’re unrecognizable and one and I fall prey to his fantasies.

Maybe... Maybe it would be okay.