Gorgon

“Sister,” Mithra repeats, still stunned.
I lean over her shoulder and type into the search engine. From the results I select a photo of two girls (ages twelve and fourteen). The bigger girl stands, demure, in a dark blue pantsuit. The smaller one wears a violet dress and grins happily.
“She’s pretty.”
Funny thing is, whenever someone says that, I know which one of us they talk about. And it’s never me.
“Her name means ‘flower’ in Japanese,” I add, somewhat pithily.
Back then, my name didn’t mean anything. Maybe that is why I now call myself after a Gorgon.