It’s not easy, but we manage. Take the other day. George had to finish writing an article, so I just sat and stared at the wall to limit my share of brain power. I managed for all of five minutes before I began contemplating the various ways the universe might end. I could see George suddenly twitching his head trying to think, so I quickly turned on the TV to an old episode of Cheers that I had watched at least a hundred times. Gently it flowed over my brain as I mouthed each word of the script like a mantra. Then I replayed it again and again until nearly zombified when I felt George’s hands on my shoulder. “I’m done,” he said. “Your turn.” I gave him a quick scowl. He had used it way too long, but he did have a deadline. All I wanted now was a couple of hours to lie on the sofa to finish reading my novel and maybe doing a KenKen puzzle, nothing too heavy. George retreated to the bedroom for a nap. It felt good to think again, as our brain decoded the words on the page and turned them into ideas and sensations. I could hear the author’s voice inside me, calling up images of Hester Prynne emerging through the prison door, next to which a rosebush grows. As she walks toward the scaffold, the crowd murmurs at the scarlet and gold letter “A” stitched on her chest and then …nothing. The words were now jumbled symbols of unknown origin. “George!” I yelled. “I can’t read with you dreaming in there. Cut it out!” George mumbled from the bedroom, and as the power came back on, I resumed my reading. Once, we tried reading the same book together. We curled up on the couch and began to read. While we understood the words, they just sat there, with nowhere to go. It’s probably because we don’t use our brain the same way. George is more right brain, while I tend left. But there are times when we do manage to work as a team. We decided to put together a backyard playset, complete with two stories, ladders, and a tube slide—at least that’s how it was supposed to look. George was taken by its rugged sturdy design and elegant playfulness. We laid out the plans and parts in the living room, taking turns applying our brain to the task. As one of us read and interpreted the instructions, the other would saw and assemble the pieces, often in new and creative ways. Slowly it came together, though it didn’t look quite like the one in the showroom. It was then that a dim sliver of thought hit us simultaneously. We don’t have a kid and we don’t have a backyard. Not that we cared. That evening, we sipped our wine and admired our handiwork, its beams, ladders, and slide at odd angles like some crazy modernist sculpture. Sometimes less is more and one brain is better than two.

Gene Twaronite is a Tucson poet and the author of ten books, including collections of poetry, short stories, and essays as well as two juvenile fantasy novels. His latest poetry collection is The Museum of Unwearable Shoes (Kelsay Books). Visit https://thetwaronitezone.com.