Brandt's twin sister Naomi was in a coma, had been for months, and she wasn't ever going to come out of the coma. A Dr. Patel informed the family early on that there was little hope. They stood over Naomi's bed, marveling at how still she looked. Naomi never sat still, was always moving at a frantic pace. She liked to get things done and quickly and constantly. Her husband, Clay, loved to joke that the only time she ever stayed put for more than a moment was when they exchanged their wedding vows and even then Naomi hopped from foot to foot while the pastor intoned about love and obeisance and that which should never do them part.

After the doctor left the room when they found out the gravity of Naomi's condition, the family—Brandt's parents, Clay, Brandt's wife Brenda, and his brother Brennan—hovered around Naomi, staring at her lying in a sort of state, trying to decide what to do. His mother and father argued about what was best and Clay chewed on the inside of his mouth and wondered how much time he was expected to spend at the hospital each day and Brennan was bored and staring at his phone, praying for a text message from his boyfriend. Brandt slipped out of the room to find Dr. Patel who was at the nurse's station, leaning against the counter, staring at his cell phone.

Brandt tapped Dr. Patel on the shoulder, leaned in, and whispered, "When you say there's little hope, just how little are we talking?"

Dr. Patel removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. "Do you want the truth?" he asked. Brandt nodded. "There's really no hope," the doctor said as he put his glasses back on. "If you'll excuse me," he said, and off he went.

Naomi had been driving to work. She was speeding through traffic, switching from lane to lane, just trying to get ahead even through Brandt had warned her, countless times, that the fastest way to get through traffic was to stay in your lane. She was applying lipstick and changing lanes and talking on her phone, speaker of course, when she ran into a semi. She had a little car, a Mazda Miata she called Throwback, and it was mostly crushed, as were a great many of the bones in Naomi's body. She was in a coma but doctors had set her damaged bones, those that could be set, in the operating room. Her bones would heal. The rest of her wouldn't, at least according to Dr. Patel.

When Brandt returned to the room, Clay was looking at his watch. "I better get home," he said, his face reddening with the shame of someone who rightly understood he was about to do something wrong but was going to do that wrong thing anyway.

"Go fuck yourself while you're there," Brandt said and Clay laughed, awkwardly, his mouth emitting a high-pitched sound, like a hungry little bird.

Brandt's parents shrugged, but did not look embarrassed which was not surprising. He had never known them to possess an ounce of shame. "We are heading out," his father said. "We'll check back in soon, seeing as she's just lying here."

"Are you leaving too?" Brandt crossed the room and kicked the chair where Brennan was now sitting. Brennan looked up from his phone for just a moment. "Dude, I don't have anything better to do, not until like, nine."

A drink. That's what Brandt wanted, something stiff, something that made him grimace until his teeth numbed and his cheeks became waxy with perspiration. It was going to be a while, though, before he got that drink. He could just tell.

Brandt sat on the edge of Naomi's bed and began poking her to see if she would stir. She lay as still as ever, eyes closed, her dark hair framing her face. He sighed, and poked her one more time for good measure. He had seen a movie once on a women's channel, and a doctor had said it was a good idea to talk to coma patients, give them something to live for. Brennan was still staring at his phone, his fingers moving furiously every minute or so. It would be awkward, Brandt decided, to talk to his irrevocably comatose sister while someone else was in the room, so he reached for the remote and turned on the television and started watching Sports Center and hoped Naomi didn't have to stay in limbo listening to sports statistics and color commentary.

As he stared at the screen, Brandt kept trying to find the words to say to his sister. He kept trying to feel some essence of her still sparking beneath her skin and bones. They were twins, after all. They were supposed to be intimately connected. Or at least, that's what everyone around them expected. Brandt couldn't quite say if he felt that intimate thing with Naomi but he was the only one who would stay with her, he knew that much. Eventually, Brennan left. He had to meet a guy, not his boyfriend, about a thing, nothing his boyfriend need know about. Alone with Naomi, Brandt marveled, once more, at how still she was, and how strange the stillness cocooning her was. He stood, his knees cracking, and crawled into bed with Naomi, stretching his body along hers. She was warm which meant she was alive even if her brain wasn't. Brandt closed his eyes, slowed his breathing to match hers, covered her hand with his. If he tried hard enough, he thought, he might slip away, and join Naomi wherever she was and maybe, when he found her there, he would feel something.

Roxane Gay's writing has appeared in Best American Short Stories, Best American Mystery Stories, Best Sex Writing and many others. Her most recent book is the New York Times bestselling memoir HUNGER.

Read Abagail Guinn's and Hannah Kauffman's 2½ Questions interview with Roxane.

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