girl, be the renee to my roe

Friedrich held out the cigarette to her, a small spark of light between them, but Ida shook her head and didn’t take it. It felt almost like rejecting an olive branch, like not accepting a wordless apology. An apology for what? There were many rifts between them, gaps which would not be bridged by a cigarette, the thin, white stick not strong enough to walk across the divide between them on. Instead, it became yet another small rejection, another hurt and she felt further away from him, shoulder against shoulder, than she had done an ocean away.

“I stopped. It’s not good for the children,” she explained.

“The children,” Friedrich hummed. He had his forearms braced against the balustrade of his small, bare balcony. “They’re cute. They look like him.”

“He’s their father. I didn’t clone myself.” And besides, Betty looks just like me. Same hair colour, same eyes.

It was dark outside, as dark as it could get with the lit street light right beneath the balcony and she could see a handful of stars in the black sky above them. Friedrich didn’t reply and Ida regretted not accepting the cigarette from him; taking a drag would have calmed her, would fill the silence between them, heavy as the smoke curling out of Friedrich’s mouth.

“And mother didn’t say anything about the house?” She asked after a moment. “About why she left it to me?” That had been the only thing in her mother’s will; that the house by the woods was to go to Ida; everything else would be shared equally between the siblings. Not that there was a lot to share or many siblings left to share with.

“She said that she wanted to show you something there. She said it a couple of times, actually, those last few weeks. You should have been there,” he accused.

This time Ida was the one who didn’t answer him, instead leaned against the rail so that they were facing each other; or rather looking past each other. Friedrich, down into the street and Ida through the glass of the balcony door into the dark flat behind it. What could she tell him? I live halfway across the planet. The children. Work. It all sounded like excuses, even to her, cheap and lacking.

“You don’t remember it either, do you? None of it.” Friedrich stubbed out the cigarette against a flower pot, the plant inside withered and dead.

Ida shook her head. “I can’t remember anything. Not a single summer. I don’t know what it looks like, what we did there… nothing.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Isn’t that weird? How is it possible that it’s all just… gone?”

“I don’t know." Friedrich answered curtly, he clearly didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

Ida pushed off the banister. “I should go check in on the girls.”

"You live like a male," Harriet complained and infused the word with more disgust than Magdalena had previously thought possible.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, from where she was lounging on her bed, feet still in her boots, dangling off the side so that she didn't get dirt on her sheets. Instead, flakes of dried mud were tinkeling down onto the ground in front of her bed.

Harriet crowded in on her, looming over her with playful strictness, arms crossed and then uncrossed so that she could point at Magda's boots. "This, for one."

"I'll take 'em off. That 'feminine' enough for you?"

From her own bed, Samantha snorted loudly. "It's not just that. You have no pictures. Only boring clothes. No make up. Your bed-making barely meets regulation standards."

"I didn't know you've got a whole list. This feels like a dressing down."

Samantha and Harriet exchanged a look and a nod. "It is."

Magdalena toed off her boots, which hit the ground with a thud and a small explosion of mud on the ground. She straightened up and crossed her legs, watching the two other women fully now; alright you've got my attention.

"This is not like a prelude to a formal complaint or something? You're not trying to get rid of me? My masculine way of living?" There was a laugh in her voice that masked something she didn't want to think about; some age-old insecurity she had convinced herself she had left behind in the sky, escaped from it like she had escaped from the bounds of the earth.

"Nah," Harriet responded and grinned, revealing perfect pearls-on-a-string teeth.

"Not yet," Samantha said, darkly and then winked, a quick flash like  that of a rugged-charming male lead in a Hollywood movie and who's masculine now?

"Alright? So what is the reason for this?"

"Bullying, mostly," Samantha replied.

"Aw, Shortcut! Don't say this about me. I'm mostly confused and bullying only comes second," Harriet explained and then she nudged Magdalena's leg to the side and dropped down onto her bed.

"Aren't you worried about your virtues if you sit on my masculine bed?" Magdalena drawled but enjoyed the warm press of their knees against each other, something which felt suspiciously like the ever illustrious 'female friendship'.

"Not currently. Just stop living like some monk who relinquished all her possessions to the church."

"Or the United States Army Air Force, in this case," Samantha corrected.

"Fine... I'll try my best to show some personality with my commodities."

Samantha wrinkled her nose like she did over the mess hall food every evening. "You sound like a damn commie."

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