Miri & Fern

Maybe you’ve wondered why I haven’t been posting much this year, and if so, you can blame these two girls. In honor of May, the beginning of summer and the end of those weird last weeks of school, meet Miriam and Fern, and the first little bit of a draft.

x.

O

When Miri looked in the mirror, she stared directly into her own eyes, and for a second, she believed she was truly seeing someone else there, someone who was both her, who she was before, and who she would become later. The dorm bathroom, under linoleum lights, was dull and uninspiring, but the moment, with a distant pop song playing in the hallway outside, and a fresh grassy breeze wafting in from the tiny screened windows on the eve of summer vacation made her feel like something was about to happen. Fern burst into the room, a smile on her face and a million things in her arms, and Miri felt her heart fizzle like TV static, like it always did.

“I think this is going to be a good night,” Miri said.

“It better be,” Fern said, her mouth half open and her face slack while she applied her eyeliner. “Last lake party until next year? Kind of crazy,”

“Thank god,” Miri rolled her eyes. “I hate this place.”

“Can you do these for me?” 

Fern was holding out one of her 99-cent sets of face gems, and Miri nodded, taking the tiny plastic sheet. She moved as close as she dared to Fern, as close as she could be without having their arms touch, and peeled the silver plastic stones one by one, placing them softly among the dappled freckles on her face. She could feel Fern’s breath, fluttery and soft, on her own cheeks.

“There you go,” Miri said, not moving away.

“What do you think?”

“Well,” Miri looked caught her eyes through the mirror, grinning. “as the love of your life I am biased,” 

“I’m still waiting on that proposal,” Fern said, and even though she was joking, even though their prospective marriage had become a platonic part of their friendship, Miri’s heart still rose. She watched Fern examine the gems on her face, taking her reflection. Jesus. “You sure you don’t want any?”

“Hmm?” Miri blinked, and Fern held out the plastic sheet.

“Ehhh, last time it was a whole face breakout issue,” Miri said, waving the gems away. She turned to the mirror again and helped herself to Fern’s makeup while Fern poured them wine from the 10-dollar bottle that she brought out from under her shirt, hiding it from the RA who patrolled the halls.

“Made it through junior year without getting caught,” Fern said, taking a sip.

“The drinking rules for underage drinkers are ridiculous,” Miri laughed, mouth half open while she applied mascara.

“Still not too late to transfer,” Fern said, referencing their favorite inside joke. Once, when they had both run into two separate hookups each in the dining hall, Fern had gotten high and imagined transferring to a giant school where no one would know her.

“If you do it, I’ll do it,” Miri said, happy that it was the truth.

“Cheers,” Fern said, holding out her plastic cup.

“Cheers. To Dr. Polacano, for bringing us together.”

“Oh my god,” Fern laughed. “ Dr. Polacano! How could I forget!” They tapped the plastic rims together once and drank.

“Do you think that we would have ever met? If we weren’t paired up?”

“Hmm,” Miri said, applying blush and casting her mind back through the past three years of classes, parties, clubs, and probable chance meetings.

“I mean we probably would have met, but probably much later,” Fern said. 

“I can’t imagine,”

“We would have wasted so much time! Making other friends?”

 Miri shook her head. Her life without Fern seemed impossible, illogical, a doomed inverse where the main tenant of her life was suddenly evaporated.

“Seriously,” Fern said, sipping and agreeing.

“No, but actually,” Miri said. “I can’t imagine a world in which we aren’t…us. I feel like I would have found you even if we didn’t meet then.”

“Yeah I probably would have to befriend you just so I could get a car ride to the lake,” Fern laughed.

“Ah yes, your one true love, Bishop Lake,” Miri said.

“Bishop Lake,” Fern said, “and you.” Miri was glad she had just put on a fresh layer of blush so her face was already red. Miri hoped Fern felt it too. Studying on the couches in the dorm lounge their first year, they didn’t know that they had the same bank PINs, but it felt like the two of them had found something vital in the sea of get-to-know-you games and drunken, nervous glances at parties.

“What do you think it is, about us?” Fern asked. She was smoothing down her recently waxed, thick eyebrows in the mirror.

“It’s like when you’re in a dream,” Miri said, looking down. “There’s no reasoning with it.”

“Hmm,” Fern murmured. They were quiet for a while.

“I don’t think I need a reason though,” Miri said.

“Me either.” The music in the hall played on, and Fern lit a joint, blew the smoke out the window, and passed it over to Miri.

“How’s Caroline?” Fern asked.

“The last time we hooked up she said we should go on a ‘real date sometime’,” Miri said.

“uh-ohhhh,” Fern laughed. “Now you’ve got a girlfriend?” It was a joke, but Miri swore she heard hurt in Fern’s voice.

“I think I’ll probably call it off,” Miri said, a little abruptly. 

“Oh?”

Their eyes met then. 

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Fern said.

Miri opened her mouth and closed it again. 

“Only because I thought you were happy with how things were.” Fern continued.

“Oh, I am, um. I am happy, I guess I’m a little itchy, that's all.”

“You mean antsy,” Fern said. Miri laughed.

“Maybe you’ll feel better at camp, with the leaves and the trees and your fellow ants.”

Miri sighed. “You know I’m only doing it to save up for our postgrad trip.”

“We are going to have So. Much. Fun!” Fern said, wrapping Miri in a hug and emphasizing each word with a squeeze that sent a little bit of wine down Miri’s arm. Miri bent down to kiss Fern’s elbow.

“So much fun,” she agreed, looking at them together in the reflection. The weed was already getting to her head a little, and she closed her eyes, feeling the hairs on her arm stand up.

“You cold?”

“A little,” Miri lied.

“I’ll get you a sweater,” Fern said, finishing her drink. She was gone from the bathroom before Miri could protest. Miri grinned to herself. She loved it when Fern did that. Often, they talked about how much Fern hated neediness.

“If you play all your cards, you lose,” she often instructed Miri. Between them was the only time it was different. Sometimes Miri tested the limits, asking for something and getting a little jolt of pleasure when Fern got it for her, like Miri was the exception to her rule. 

Sometimes she would check to see that Fern was in class, and then call her anyway. Miri would press the beeping phone hard against her ear, eyes closed, and imagine Fern checking her phone, excusing herself, and speed walking to the door, before the tone cut out and she heard a breathless, flustered, “Hey, what’s up?”

It wasn't one-sided, though.  Fern was always needing something; asking her to pick up some food, complaining about a strange pain in her knee that only popped up when it rained, curling around Miri, her hands on Miri’s waist, as she tried not to cry about something. 

“Here you go,” Fern said, handing her a cardigan. Miri pulled it on, embarrassed about how tight it was over her arms.

“Thanks,”

“We should head,” Fern said, offering Miri a last few gulps of wine.

Miri followed Fern out, into the night, pulling the cuff of the sweater to her nose to smell it when Fern wasn’t looking.