Mecora did not want to get up. Mom had prepared another, dull, boring breakfast (flatcakes, always flatcakes, without any topping because they could no longer afford it). There’d be nothing to do, no one to see, no one to talk to, no one to share clothes with...
Nothing.
Her mother opened the door. “Come on, Mecora, I don’t want to have to go through this again.”
“So don’t.”
Her mother sighed. “Mecora, I will if I have to. Make it easier for both of us and come eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“The only reason for that is that you just laze around all day and never go outside. You really need some fresh air and new friends.”
“Why should I get some new friends when I still have some?” Mecora retorted. Everyone tried to tell her to get new friends, as if she could just cast the old ones off, and forget them!
“It’s always good to make new friends, Mecora. It makes you a better person. I always thought you were too clickish with those three anyway. Come on, just say to yourself, ‘I’m going out to have fun today.’”
“Nothing’s fun anymore. Not without my friends.”
Mecora’s mother changed her tone. “Mecora, would you like me to come in and drag you out?”
“No,” was Mecora’s terse reply. Lips pursed, she tossed aside the linens and strode toward the door. She barely even looked at her mother as she went out to the table. She thumped down on the chair, glowering at her brothers. They were suddenly very quiet.
“That’s better. Tomorrow morning we’ll work on your mood.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be worked on. I wanna be just the way I am, because there’s no point in being any different.”
“I find that very hard to believe.” Mecora’s mother put a plate of two flatcakes before her, and said, “Eat.”
Mecora looked at her mother, and decided she didn’t feel like resisting this morning. She could save her energy and really resist the next day. She tried not to think about the flatcakes as they dried out her mouth, tastelessly sliding down her throat.
Finally, there was nothing left on the plate. She stood, and went back to the bedroom, intent on going to sleep again.
“You’re not going to bed again,” said her mother.
“You’re right, I’m not,” replied Mecora, but she flopped onto the bed anyway.
About an hour later, her mother came in again. “I thought I told you not to go to bed again.”
“No, you didn’t,” replied Mecora. “You just told me that I wasn’t going to bed, but you were wrong.”
“Quit the wordplay and get up! I’m sick and tired of battling with you! I’m about ready to put you out of the house.”
That shocked Mecora. The tone meant more than just being out for the day, but being out, period. “Wh— wh—”
“Don’t wha-wha me, girl! I don’t particularly like sharing a bed with such a sourpuss, and I don’t particularly like kicking you through your life. Maybe if you lived on your own, your survival instincts would kick in.”
“I doubt it.”
“So do I. That’s why I haven’t done it yet. I love you too much.”
Somehow, that drained the fight out of Mecora. On the other hand, she couldn't return the sentiment. Instead, she went to her drawers to try to pick out something to wear for the day.
The door closed, and Mecora began tossing various shirts and tops and skirts and dresses out onto the bed behind her. It was all too pretty, too eye-catching, too bright for her dark mood. And, she supposed, they all reminded her too much of her friends. Lots of the clothes she’d tossed behind her were ‘borrowed’ from them.
Finally, she reached the hand-me-downs from her mother that had been buried since her mother had last done the laundry-- dingier, less colorful things. Almost randomly, she chose a tunic and a skirt and pulled them on.
She came out, and her mother didn’t give her a second glance. “You’re making progress, Mecora. What are you going to do now?”
“Who says I have to do anything?”
“I do. Now go, so I can clean this place without you in my way.”
“Yes, Mother,” she droned, and shuffled out the door.
High above, the sky showed blue through the leaves, and the glint of sunlight flitted through them. Birds sang, and insects chirped, and Mecora even smiled a little. But it hurt to smile, hurt inside.
A few Vle passed by on their business, but no one said ‘hi.’ She decided that was probably best— she wasn't sure how civil her reply would have been. She wandered away, not really taking notice of where she was going beyond making sure she didn’t bump into anyone (never mind the fact that the town was seemingly as dead as if it were still dawn). And then she wondered why she was being so kind.
Suddenly, she found herself at the statue.
Burn.
“Lonely?”
Mecora whirled. A girl a little younger than she stood there in brightly colored clothers, smiling sweetly. “Are you new here?” asked Mecora brusquely.
Somehow, the girl didn’t seem fazed by that. “Yeah, we just moved in. We were the only ones left in our town.”
“And it doesn’t bother you, that all your friends are gone?”
“Well, of course! Did you have some light friends, too?”
“Correction,” said Mecora, bearing down on the girl, “I do have light friends.”
“Oh, well, that’s what I meant, I mean, of course, since they’re probably still alive...”
A moment of awkward silence passed before Mecora relaxed and spoke again. “So, I suppose you want to be my friend, now.”
“If you want. It looks like you could use one.”
“Who needs friends? They just get taken away, or they die of depression. You don’t want me as a friend. I might die tonight.”
“Well, if you don’t want me as a friend, just say so. Gee whiz.” She began to walk away.
“No, wait. I’ll try it. Meet me here tonight, and we’ll go to the party.”
“Okay! I’d like that. See you tonight!” She skipped away happily, leaving Mecora to wonder if she’d really done the right thing. They’d never even introduced themselves.
The girl was at the statue, waiting as promised. “Hi! I should have told you my name before skipping away. I’m Relie.”
“I’m Mecora. Shall we go?”
“Sure.” As they started walking, Relie asked, “Why the statue?”
“My friends and I used to meet there to watch the guys working in their shops. It kinda became, you know, our spot.”
“What’s so interesting about watching a bunch of guys working? It’s not like you’ll ever grow up to be a leatherworker, or a sculptor, or a blacksmith.”
“That wasn’t the point. You’ll understand someday.”
“Oh.”
The music was as loud as it always used to be, but the crowd wasn’t. They danced, but it seemed to Mecora that they did so without any real attempt to innovate. They simply moved, back and forth and around and around. Mecora moved toward the pub, almost by reflex.
“What are you going that way for?”
“Some beer! Don’t you drink beer at parties?”
“Heck no! I like to be able to dance and then remember it all in the morning.”
Mecora was torn, but in the end she went for the free glass. As Relie watched, she chugged it. “Okay, let’s go dance.”
