Left hand hates right hand, and so do I. They started out as equal partners, tied shoelaces, fastened buttons, clapped in unison, and picked up the papers that Nadia dropped on the floor on Tuesday and made her smile. They said they would spend the rest of their lives together and we were the best of friends.
Then right hand was holding the cup that spilt on Nadia’s dress and I hate right hand. It lives behind my back, dirty, cold and weak, and I’ve quite forgotten about it, so left hand said we might as well let it go. Left hand has grown strong and can do things on its own it says, read a book, use a keyboard, hold a knife, but right hand won’t stay still.