Nobody takes it into account, it is suppressed everywhere . . .” —OCTAVIO PAZ CONSUELA shouldered her skin of air like an overcoat as she and Sissy said their good-byes. Stepping out into a swirl of color and movement, she whisked herself away. Gliding smoothly through the air, she landed on her own windowsill in no time, feeling impish, like Peter Pan visiting a lost-childhood room. Consuela crawled into the bathroom and wrapped herself in its steamy, familiar warmth. Stepping out of her skin of air was hardly an effort. She strung it on a paper-wrapped hanger and placed it in her bedroom closet, padding back into the bathroom to fetch her own skin before her mother came in to check on her. The Flow was amazing, but she was glad to be home. Consuela glanced at the tub. She hadn’t actually finished enjoying her bath. The air was still thick with lavender and steam. She couldn’t’ve been gone too long . . . The tub quickly filled with the splash and sluice of warm water. Although she doubted she could feel the temperature, there was something soothingly real about the smell of a hot bath.
