Swollen tide.

Sometimes she would go by "Candy." Other times not. Depended on the person. Blood and knowledge. Depth of years. She kept a tight circle around her. Family was the only thing allowed inside. There was a viciousness to her voice towards others. Regular people. She smiled, becuase she always smiled. She swore she couldn't sing but she had control of her vocal tones. Pitch. Breaking confidence and hope in people who wanted her to trust them.

Her beliefs were born of blood and time. Calendars of birthdays she followed and understood. Mother and Father and what happend when they made love. The beauty of being born. A Mother's secretion. A baby with a name.

"What are your plans?"

"For when?"

"Later. Tomorrow. Times after that. Years even."

"I can't say. It doesn't exist yet."

It was a simple exchange of loves that brought us together. She wanted someone to add to her family, to build that small shape of baby faces that reminded her of her mother. There were dreams she had of being a young mother. Of staying home most days, leaving for the store or to take the kids to the park. Smiles and sex. Bedrooms and the empty garage to store the lawnmower and rusted tools.

My paychecks were substantial. My college degree was arriving soon. But I won't say this mattered. I won't say that she thought of our love as an investment.

I placed these things on a mantle and gauged their weight. What could last and what was about to expire. Love. Passion. Desire. It could be said that the man that can control his desire is a man that does not have enough. The point here is the control, not the shortage of desire.

Control.

There was an image in Candy's dreams of her future life, with a man that existed the way men used to. Strong and rough, hard working men that built things in the rain. Fences around the yard, basketball courts in the backyard. A man that hated wearing a suit but would look grand when wearing one. Everything she painted in her mind for herself was the world I wanted. To be this man was my own goal. To fit that shape. Ignore my faults and tendancies to assume the life I wanted.

But this could only last for so long.

My voice. It was too high.

One afternoon I spent making phone calls looking for work. Candy called to check up on me.

"Hello."

"Is that you?"

"Of course."

"You sound different."

"In a good way?"

"In a very good way. I didn't know your voice was so deep."

"What do I usually sound like?"

"You're sister."

Every morning I would need to remember this. Speak deeper. Lose the highs. Other moments added up as well, so my morning list grew.

Don't be so friendly, you're girly when you're friendly.

Don't hug your male friends.

Don't watch cartoons.

Don't call your friends just to say hello.

Wear dirty tennis shoes more.

Don't comb your hair.

Spend more time with your dad, less with your mom.

Don't groom yourself so well. Leave imperfections.

Don't be so shy.

This was a position I built for myself, to better myself. I had found a place I wanted to fit and there was this girl, Candy, who would watch over it to make sure I stayed with it. But she didn't know this. She thought this was how I had been born. That we were the same already. This experiment of mine, she didn't understand.

And so that was that. Her circle closed again.

Sometimes she would go by "Candy," sometimes not. It was saved for those of blood and depth of years. Now when we speak, I'm not allowed to call her this. She has a new name now. One she uses at work. On forms. It's on her mail. It is a name saved for those like me. Outsiders.