What Fiends are For

What Fiends are For

By Ofir Marom

“I want you to leave him alone.”
Bernice always felt a tinge of satisfaction when she heard Wendy Diamond’s voice; it was flat and dull, like an under-pitched bass note – not at all in tune with the rest of her features. Wendy’s well-tanned skin and light-hazel eyes gave the immediate impression of shiny copper. Head’s turned towards her, and then bashfully snapped away as if a metallic luster was gleaming intensely into their eyes.
“Look, Wends. Can we just forget about it please,” Bernice said. “I shouldn’t’ve brought it up. Just forget I said anything, okay.”
Why had she mentioned it? She knew. She new it would start a fight, yet…
“What?” Wendy said.
She laid her fork on the table next to the untouched salad. As she did so, Bernice caught a glimpse of her hand – petite and elegant. Her fingernails were painted dark green today; her nails formed perfect ovals. “You can’t say something like that to someone and then tell them forget it B.”
“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that-”
“Just that what?” Wendy snapped. She relaxed herself; leaned into Bernice and said with a smile on her face: “I’m happy B. Isn’t that enough?”
Bernice felt a jolt in her stomach as if an electric shock had been sent through her body. Words didn’t mean much, but that smile told the whole story. Just thin enough to be sincere; it lit up Wendy’s face like a furnace. Her tone was one of relief, like a traveler who had finally reached her destination.
Bernice took a sip of her beverage. It was a new invention in Café Spring – strawberry flavored latte. It looked delicious; pink in color with a thick wall of froth that promised wonders once breached. The taste: disappointing. Like communism, the idea was good thought Bernice as she placed the mug back on the wooden table.
“How are things with Richard?” Wendy asked, taking Bernice’s silence as agreement.
“What? Oh…fine… things are fine.”
Fine? What did she mean by that? That nothing had changed – that’s what she meant. When her and Richard did anything (go to the park, hold hands, have sex) It felt unnatural: Lets eat dinner out tonight; that’s what normal couples are supposed do; that’s what couples that love each other are supposed to do.
“Okay. I’m glad to hear it,” Wendy said, not wanting to probe further unless her friend gave the thumbs up.
And then…silence…both women looked into their plates, as if there was an answer to be found in their salads and coffee mugs. The low murmur of other peoples’ conversations; the gentle clash of forks on plates; a car outside hoots ferociously.
The pressure builds…Wendy buckles: “How’s the coffee? You’ve barely touched it.”
Bernice looks up from her plate into her friend’s eyes.
“Not great, actually.”
“I don’t know why you try out all these new drinks all the time B. Nothing beats a good cappuccino, you know.”
Bernice shrugged. I wanted to try out something new I suppose; she almost said it, but the words never came out. The silence returned and this time Wendy didn’t break it. Instead, she reached out and clasped her friend’s hand. The grip was soft, yet full of determination. This is what friends are for, thought Wendy; she felt bubbly inside, knowing she was helping a person she loved so dearly.