<\/p>\n
Camilla climbs the steps up to her apartment, back aching. The day had been long\u2014all the days are long\u2014but she\u2019s going home. Away from the New Jersey public school system, and thank God for that.<\/span><\/p>\n She has been looking forward to it all day. Leela was home\u2014had been for almost a month now, since her pipes had burst\u2014and Camilla had given her a book to read, anticipating her opinion. Four years ago, Leela would have said something obnoxious, something juvenile. Something like <\/span>\u201cDesire\u2019s a stupid name for a car.\u201d<\/span><\/i> The kind of thing Camilla had been given to say when she had been young, and the kind of thing she had worked hard to quit saying. <\/span>Stop<\/span><\/i> saying. Leela should have known better, though; she and Camilla were the same age.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla is punctual, and at five minutes to six, her key slides into the front door. She doesn\u2019t have the opportunity to open the door herself\u2014Leela gets there first, grinning. Despite herself, Camilla smiles back.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHow was your day?\u201d Camilla asks.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt was fine. Did some coding for work, screwed around on my phone. I read that book you wanted me to.\u201d Leela\u2019s glances off to the side. She\u2019s lying, and Camilla feels that familiar acrid burn in her throat. Still,Camilla\u2019s home. The familiarity of it makes her magnanimous, and she indulges Leela.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh?\u201d Camilla says, \u201cAnd what did you think?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The book was <\/span>A Streetcar Named Desire, <\/span><\/i>by<\/span> Tennessee Williams; Camilla had thought the language would be easy enough, but it required two or three readings <\/span>at least<\/span><\/i> to properly grasp. Existentialism beaded off of Leela, but Camilla rubbed it into her skin like sunblock. Leela was more into short, happy little stories and self-contained TV dramas.<\/span><\/p>\n She knew exactly what Camilla thought of <\/span>that<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt was interesting,\u201d Leela hedges. \u201cI liked the bit about wanting magic and not realism.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla suspends her disbelief. \u201cWhat did you like about it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela shrugs, looking at the white paint behind Camilla\u2019s head. \u201cI want that too. The world kind of sucks, Cam.\u201d She lets out a half-hearted laugh. \u201cYou know. Wars, famine, my pipes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThose aren\u2019t comparable.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI know,\u201d Leela says. \u201cThat was the joke.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou didn\u2019t get to the end, did you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Leela\u2019s the picture of innocence, and Camilla isn\u2019t buying it.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou didn\u2019t get to the end. Blanche chooses magic over realism. She goes insane.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh.\u201d Leela scuffs her shoe against the ground, and laughs again.\u201cYou know how I feel about tragedies, Cam.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla sighs. \u201cI know. I wanted you to enjoy it anyway.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI tried to get you to watch <\/span>Community <\/span><\/i>with me, how many times? You never even saw the pilot.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla interrupts. \u201cDidn\u2019t you stop watching it? I didn\u2019t think you still liked it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela deflates, just a little. It catches Camilla\u2019s eye. Like watching the sun go behind a cloud. \u201cIt just didn\u2019t seem as interesting anymore,\u201d Leela says.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cProbably for the best. It wasn\u2019t very good.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela stares out the window. \u201cYeah. That\u2019s what you kept saying.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla sweeps into the common area of the apartment. The walls are a stark white, and Camilla prefers them mostly plain; there is a print of <\/span>Nighthawks<\/span><\/i> on one wall, and a framed grayscale of the Parthenon on the other. Aside from those two concessions, the walls are bare.<\/span><\/p>\n It is drastically different to Leela\u2019s; when she had last visited, there was barely any wall on display. The place was so plastered in posters and pictures and prints. Hello Kitty, Banksy, <\/span>Sailor Moon<\/span><\/i>, Slipknot. Leela wasn\u2019t picky.<\/span><\/p>\n What Leela had always been was sentimental. She had cried when the pipes had ruined so many of her decorations, and Camilla had had to dry her tears. That something so trivial could break Leela\u2019s heart\u2014Camilla couldn\u2019t understand it. They were just posters.<\/span><\/p>\n Still, she had been there for Leela. Camilla is a good friend.<\/span><\/p>\n Now, Leela hovers over the dining table\u2014square, practical, wooden\u2014and gestures to the plates there. Leela clearly set them up earlier, and Camilla is pleasantly surprised.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI made dinner,\u201d Leela says, voice bright.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cReally? I thought it was lunch.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela rolls her eyes. \u201cWhenever you try to joke with me, you always sound so cheesy.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOnly the best for you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cClearly.\u201d Leela gestures to the food. \u201cIt\u2019s just something my mom used to make for me when I was little. Khichdi. Hopefully it tastes okay.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla sits on the edge of the kitchen chair, and Leela joins her on the other side of the table, thrumming in anticipation. Camilla takes a bite; the khichdi is warm, and slightly bitter. It has the same consistency as oatmeal, and tastes of clarified butter, lentils, and rice. It is also incredibly salty.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla chews carefully, taking her time, drawing out the moment. Leela\u2019s on the edge of her seat; Camilla has to fight her smile.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWell?\u201d Leela asks.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla swallows, and Leela\u2019s eyes follow the movement. \u201cIt\u2019s too salty.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela\u2019s mouth jerks downward, her eyebrows knitting together. The expression is on her face for less than a second, and then she\u2019s smiling again.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWould it kill you to just tell me you liked it?\u201d Her tone is light.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m honest. It wouldn\u2019t do either of us any favors to lie,\u201d Camilla says.<\/span><\/p>\n Leela glances again out the window. Sometimes, Camilla thinks she enjoys looking at the window more than she does Camilla. It wouldn\u2019t be unprecedented; the window overlooks a park. There are children outside, laughing. Leela is sunny. Immature. Camilla is an English teacher. Like seeks like.<\/span><\/p>\n Still, Leela is smiling, and Camilla can\u2019t bring herself to rebuke it.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAnyway,\u201d Leela says, \u201chow were the kids today? Did they like the Shakespeare?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDid they <\/span>ever<\/span><\/i>. You know kids and Shakespeare. They get along like a house on fire.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c<\/span>Cheesy<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTo answer your question, though,\u201d Camilla continues, \u201cthey hated it. They do every year. No matter how I try to get them to appreciate it, they never see it for the masterpiece it is.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela\u2019s smile is sympathetic, and Camilla feels a stab of vitriol. Leela doesn\u2019t understand it either. Despite Camilla\u2019s best efforts, she remains blind to beauty. For her to even look at it, it has to come in neon and announce itself with trumpets. Really, she\u2019s no better than the children.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla doesn\u2019t say anything, and chooses instead to stand and put her bowl in the sink. It\u2019s still half-full, and Leela\u2019s eyes track her every movement.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHave you tried\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYes, I have.\u201d Camilla\u2019s words are clipped. \u201cI have tried everything I can think of, and probably everything you can think of, too. It\u2019s no use.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cRight. Right, well, you know I enjoy <\/span>Twelfth Night<\/span><\/i>, right? Maybe they\u2019ll grow into it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela only enjoys <\/span>Twelfth Night<\/span><\/i> because of <\/span>She\u2019s the Man<\/span><\/i>. Camilla doesn\u2019t mention it. It\u2019s still better than nothing. Maybe one of these days, she\u2019ll get Leela to read <\/span>Othello<\/span><\/i> or <\/span>Hamlet<\/span><\/i>. Leela can grow, at least. Leela <\/span>has<\/span><\/i> grown. It\u2019s better than nothing.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMaybe they will.\u201d Camilla\u2019s voice is sandpaper, even to her own ears. Leela cringes away from it, which might hurt if it wasn\u2019t so commonplace. Camilla adds, offhand, \u201cI\u2019m proud of you, at least.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela looks up from where she had busied herself in her food. \u201cYou are?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla does her dishes, and does not look back to see Leela\u2019s face. \u201cI am. You\u2019ve gotten so much more sophisticated in the time I\u2019ve known you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s all the Camus you keep making me read.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cExactly. You listen to me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI listen to you.\u201d Leela\u2019s tone is indecipherable; Camilla doesn\u2019t concern herself with it.<\/span><\/p>\n Leela finishes sometime later and does her own dishes, scrubbing by hand with the exact right amount of dish soap and the exact right amount of force. When she\u2019s done, she remembers to shake her wet hands over the sink before reaching over the linoleum counter for the hand towel. She\u2019s been learning. It gives Camilla hope.<\/span><\/p>\n The two of them sit together on the couch, which is functional, gray, and sprayed liberally with Febreze. Both of them reach for books. Camilla doesn\u2019t keep a television set out, mostly as a way to get Leela to read more. With some satisfaction, she realizes that Leela has picked up <\/span>Streetcar<\/span><\/i> again. Camilla herself thumbs through <\/span>To Kill A Mockingbird. <\/span><\/i>It\u2019s what her class is covering next.<\/span><\/p>\n She can feel Leela shifting on the couch next to her, knows that she is staring out the window. It\u2019s getting late, though. The children have gone home. And it\u2019s hard to see the dark outside with the lights on.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n They had met in the dark, under the streetlights. College students at Boston University, both young and stupid enough to be out so late. Leela had been thumbing through comics outside of a lecture hall<\/span>,<\/span><\/i> The Catcher in the Rye<\/span><\/i> abandoned next to her.<\/span> Camilla had read <\/span>Catcher<\/span><\/i> for\u2014God, what class had it been? It had been years. She barely remembered, but whatever it had been for, she had loved it. Leela was sitting on a bench outside of the library; Camilla had come out of a study group. Leela\u2019s face was so close to the pages that her nose nearly brushed them. It was charming; it hadn\u2019t soured on Camilla\u2019s tongue yet. Camilla had asked her about <\/span>Catcher<\/span><\/i>, and Leela had complained\u2014Loudly! With enthusiasm! And some part of Camilla had crumbled away. Camilla\u2014young, stupid Camilla\u2014had argued with her in the street, and that was the beginning of their friendship.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla thought Leela could have been so much more than she was. It was painful to see. Leela was special\u2014Camilla could see it in her smile. Could see it in the Hopper prints Leela had bought for her apartment, for no other reason than because Camilla liked them. If Leela ever became all that she could be, she would be perfect. Instead, she clung to ignorance and distraction, wielding them like a child\u2019s blanket against the world, a piece of flimsy material. Camilla could help her see that, surely. Leela would thank her for it.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla glances at Leela, who is fidgeting with a loose thread at the hem of her shirt. Leela isn\u2019t reading\u2014her eyes skate restlessly around the apartment, scarcely glancing at one thing before moving to the next.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n How does it look to her? There isn\u2019t much in the way of furniture. Just the couch and a low table, the kitchen off to the side with its steel appliances and plain white countertops. A black metal lamp in the corner, gooseneck hanging over the two of them on the couch. The almost bare walls, the corners free of cobwebs. The entire place smells like lemon polish\u2014or it would, if it hadn\u2019t been for Leela\u2019s cooking. The remnants of it hang in the air, and Camilla\u2019s stomach turns.<\/span><\/p>\n Leela\u2019s fidgeting grates against Camilla\u2019s nerves. She tries to ignore it. Next to her, Leela drags her feet up on the couch, and curls into herself, resting her head on her closed fist. Her eyes skim across the book. They land on the window. She taps idly on the armrest of the sofa, and sighs. She looks up toward the ceiling, and then at the goosenecked lamp, but her eyes flicker back to the window.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla snaps. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing outside.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Leela asks.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s nothing outside. Quit looking out the window.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela frowns. \u201cWhat? Why does it matter where I\u2019m looking?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou should be reading. Are you going to actually finish the book, or are you just going to keep moving around? It\u2019s annoying.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela\u2019s head snaps toward her, something hostile on her face. It passes almost as quickly as it comes, and Camilla\u2019s lungs expand again.<\/span><\/p>\n Leela looks away. \u201cSorry. I can go to the room, if you want,\u201d she says, putting her feet back on the floor.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla lets out a breath. \u201cNo. It\u2019s too early to sleep. And besides, I want to know what you think of the ending.\u201d She nods at the book and lets a smile curl her lips. It\u2019s almost an apology.<\/span><\/p>\n Leela sighs, again.\u201cYou already spoiled it, didn\u2019t you? Blanche goes insane.\u201d She pauses, contrite. \u201cI\u2019ll finish it. It would feel like abandoning her if I didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ll enjoy it,\u201d Camilla says. \u201cI know you will. I loved it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leela smiles back, and it\u2019s a wavering thing. It carves Camilla out, makes a hollow in her stomach. Camilla <\/span>wants<\/span><\/i>, and she wants without target. It aches inside her and bleeds into everything. Camilla wants, and Camilla consumes, and Camilla devours.<\/span><\/p>\n One day, she will reach between Leela\u2019s ribs and draw out her heart. She\u2019ll eat it like pomegranate, tear into the arils with teeth and let the pulp dribble down her skin, seeds be damned. The sugar will coat her mouth, the red juice of it will be bright and tangy, with the barest taste of iron. Leela will laugh with the id of it, and Camilla will be able to feel it in her own bones, echoing along her collarbones and dancing through her vertebrae. Camilla <\/span>wants<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n She shakes herself out of it\u2014the ghost lingers in her chest\u2014and she reads. Next to her, Leela is completely still, posture perfect.<\/span><\/p>\n They read together for some time. Well, Camilla reads. For all she knows, Leela may as well just be staring at the book. It doesn\u2019t matter. Time passes, and the world outside gets darker still.<\/span><\/p>\n Eventually, Camilla closes her paperback. Leela\u2019s eyes are on her immediately, her fingers glancing against the cover of her own book. Camilla gestures toward the single bedroom with her chin, and Leela shuts her book, not meeting Camilla\u2019s eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n Just as they stand, Leela\u2019s cell phone begins to ring. Leela looks apologetically at Camilla, and answers it.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHello?\u201d She asks. \u201cYeah, you\u2019ve reached me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n A few moments go by before Leela hangs up with a \u201cThanks, I really appreciate it.\u201d Something uneasy settles in Camilla\u2019s stomach.<\/span><\/p>\n Leela turns to Camilla, grinning. \u201cThey\u2019re almost finished with the repairs. My landlord says it should only be a few more days.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla stands at attention. It takes focus to keep her expression from shifting\u2014she must have failed, somewhere, because Leela\u2019s brows start to furrow. Camilla\u2019s chest hurts\u2014she can feel her pulse in her ears\u2014but she snatches at the pieces and holds herself together.<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla only says, \u201cIt took them long enough.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey,\u201d Leela smiles, \u201cAt least this means I\u2019ll be out of your hair sooner.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Camilla looks at Leela\u2014her hooked nose, her high cheekbones, the slant of her smile\u2014and cannot swallow. Camilla only has a few days left\u2014the thought wrenches. She berates herself, but Camilla turns away all the same.<\/span><\/p>\n