"I just hope I'm still around when you're ready to admit it."
She left the roof then, reaching for her braid. It was loose and her hair hanging in a huge mass down her back by the time she made it to the stairs. I could only watch her, heart pounding like a drum inside my head. The only other time I'd heard about being spooked was some girl named Sookie in my dream and there was no way Willow could know about that.
Was there?
Willow
Effie Thomas was a librarian who liked to tell patrons to "shut the fuck up" anytime they got a little too loud in her library. She'd been admonished at least a half dozen times when she first landed the gig, but she was damned good at her job, and by the time she'd made head librarian, no one had the nerve to tell her to stop yelling at noisy patrons.
We were dorm mates for two semesters at NYU, sneaking booze we weren't old enough to buy and kissing boys we had no business knowing. I loved Effie like a sister. Or, at least, like I supposed you should love a sister, if you had one. Effie was also somewhat of a dabbler in transcendental meditation. "Hogwash," my mom would call it, but Effie, despite the filthy insults she flung at loud mouths in the Reference Department like a monkey with shit at a zoo, Effie happened to be one of the calmest, most well-adjusted people I knew.
But I was a little desperate, a lot annoyed and figured that my mother's standard "walk around in nature" remedy for de-stressing wasn't going to cut it this time around. I'd let Effie direct me if it meant I could find my center again.
"Breathe in, Will. Through your nose, releasing through your teeth." Effie sat up straight, her knees facing mine as we rested cross-legged on the plush rugs draped around my living room. She had her hair elegantly wrapped in an up do with jewel toned scarves twisted around her braids. It was an elaborate, complicated arrangement that Effie had never shared with me, likely with anyone. Her tank top was a little threadbare but so soft, and she wore red yoga pants that clung to her lush thighs like paint. She was beautiful, with wide set eyes and skin the color of wet sand, lips that puckered naturally. Effie was by default quiet, but could shatter the windows of any room with a cool, mean glare or that filthy mouth of hers when riled.
"You paying attention?" she asked, poking me with one long finger, the nail long and painted something she liked to call Bitch Red. "In and out. Easy breaths and when you are relaxed," she exhaled, and I smelled the hint of clove on her breath, "then and only then do you start your mantra."
Ah. That was a problem, or it might be.
"You have it, don't you? A mantra?" I opened my eyes, pushing a sweet smile on my face to lessen the blow that might come when Effie discovered I hadn't quite chosen my mantra. Not like I hadn't been thinking of and discarding idea after idea... I shrugged and the tall woman lowered her shoulders, tapping three of those nails on the hardwood floor at her side. "You serious?"
"I couldn't decide … "
"It's vital, Willow. Damn, girl, how many times I say that to you? Vital."
"I know … I'm sorry." Effie laughed at me when I dropped my face in my hands, rubbing my temples. "Nash has got me so … "
"Sprung?"
I jerked my head up, staring at Effie, mouth open a little. "That's probably the perfect word for it. Ugh." When I fell back, laying against the sofa pillows I'd tossed around my floor Effie came to my side, elbow to elbow with me as I watched the ceiling, not seeing the small cracks in the plaster or the dust bunnies collected in the old chandelier. "I never get stupid over men. Not ever."
Her laugh was warm, and as we lay there, side by side, I was reminded of late nights in our cold dorm when we'd huddle close together because the furnace never worked right. Effie sounded sweet, a little too amused which told me plainly I was about to be teased. "Well," she started, pushing me over so she could rest her head on the same pillow as me, "there was Micah Wiley sophomore year."
"Not fair, you went stupid over him too. Every girl with a pulse went stupid over Micah."
Effie snorted, waving those nails at me as though my accusation had zero merit. "Please. What would I want with some football player? He had nothing between his ears."
I moved my head slowly, eyes squinted as I watched my friend. "Who the hell cared?" She laughed again, shrugging away her denial. "No one cared if he could quote sonnets. It was that body … "