by Michelle Reale

Cece knocked hard on the door. She knew LaRue was in there. Waiting for an answer, she curled the toes of her bare feet. She could feel the small ribbons of the chipped grey paint on the wooden porch sticking to the sweat on the bottom of her feet. She hoped LaRue would answer in her bra and panties, the way she usually pranced around in the heat. Cece liked how LaRue didn't care who saw her.

The screen door whined. Cece looked up and smiled. She was rewarded. LaRue held herself around the waist, like she was cold or coy. Cece, sweating in the thick August humidity, knew that LaRue was neither.

"Hey," LaRue said, softly, tentatively, like a question.

"It's a done deal, Rue." Cece didn't trust herself not to cry. "We are so out of here."

"You knew it was coming, Cece. I told you so." LaRue's voice had a soft edge, but an edge nonetheless.

Then:

"When, Cece? When do I lose the best babysitter I ever had?" The emphasis on "best" made Cece uncomfortable.

"Friend, too, LaRue, right? Best friend you ever had, not just babysitter."

Cece waited for confirmation. "Anyway, four months, tops. My parents think they can sell right away.

"Christ," LaRue said in what sounded like disgust. She brushed something off of the bottom of her feet. They were filthy.

LaRue stepped aside and finally let Cece in. Cece looked at the soft upper flesh of LaRue's arm, the light blue veins, marbling the white skin, and the shadow of stubble under the arm. Cece felt a rush of excitement and fear. Vulnerability is everywhere, she thought.

Cece was sixteen and the neighborhood and all that happened in it was Cece's entire world. She'd met LaRue and her husband Billy when she was almost 13 and immediately sought them out as friends. They accepted her. They were virtual outcasts in a neighborhood of immigrants, plaster of Paris Blessed Mother's in nearly every front yard, immaculate, though small twin homes. Their home was conspicuous from neglect, but Cece loved it. She felt like such a rebel sitting with LaRue on the front steps. She began babysitting for their sons, Tommy and Josh when she was 14. LaRue was friendly with the neighbors who stared at her long, white legs in denim shorts, gauze peasant tops, and bare feet. She smoked brown cigarettes that she would draw long and hard on, while the Italian women shook their heads in disgust. Their house was a comfortable mess, a place where you could 'let it all hang out'. Billy's Playboy magazines lay indiscriminately around the house---kitchen, bathroom, playroom, uncensored and well thumbed. Their pet rabbit, Hocus, a big brown lump that seemed to turn up everywhere had the run of the place. This, in particular, disgusted Cece's parents, who had labeled the family "disgraziati" the moment they moved into the place. Shortly after, her parents begain talking about moving . Cece thought they'd live there forever. "More trash will move in, goddamn it. All sorts. We've got to get out while we can." Cece wondered where she would ever fit in.

LaRue lights a brown cigarette and inhales deeply. The house felt stuffy and smelled like wet dog. Cece could hear the boys playing upstairs, all clang bounce and high pitched squeals. LaRue sat and smoked, at times oblivious to Cece sitting in front of her. Hocus nibbled at the corner of a Playboy magazine and simultaneously let loose a volley of poo nuggets. LaRue wrinkled her nose, cigarette poised, body glistening with sweat.

"It's not the end of the world, Cece. Your parents won't go far." LaRue seemed tired, lazy, as though her mouth were acting out of orders, not of her own volition. "Don't over think it, Cece. It is what it is."

"Rue, I don't want to go. I can't explain it. I want to stay close to you. We're friends, right?"

"Kiddo, let me give you some advice. The situation" (she made quotes with her fingers, the slow burning brown cigarette still in hand) "you think is all cozy and comfy today becomes your cage" (again, the quotes) "before you know it." LaRue attempted to snap her fingers but appeared to change her mind.

"You will be o.k.--do you hear me?" LaRue said this without any conviction. You. Will. Be. O.k. The emphasis did not help. 'She doesn't mean it," thought Cece.

Cece wants to cry but thinks better of it. Crying always exhausts her. She feels numbness start at her toes. It spreads. Everything Cece ever thought different and exciting is connected to this home and the four people who live here.

Keys jangle in the back door. Cece wipes the sweat off the back of her neck and looks up. LaRue's husband Billy, shuffles through the kitchen. The clank of the car keys hitting the countertop makes Cece jump. Billy walks past them with a long slow stare at his wife. He merely nods at Cece. He looks exhausted and grimy. He grunts and makes the slow climb of the 8-hours-a- day worker upstairs to where the boys are.

"Billybaloney," LaRue says in a low voice, and blows a strong stream of smoke straight up at the ceiling. The boys become silent upstairs. Cece finds the silence as disconcerting as the noise was.

The rabbit huddles in a corner, one brown shoe and a sock with a frayed heel lay nearby. A dark, wet spot spreads around Hocus. It will eventually dry, despite the extreme humidity. The spot it leaves will become a larger part of the rug's history. The spot it leaves will be in good company.

Cece gets up, feeling like she has been in that living room forever. No one has checked on the boys since has been there. LaRue focuses her eyes on Cece as if suddenly remembering she'd had company for the past half hour. Cece wonders why they have so little to say to one another today. She tilts her head and looks at Cece, opens her mouth, then closes it. Something will go unsaid. For now. She doesn't get up, even as Cece opens the screen door to leave. The heat outside is degrees cooler than inside and Cece wonders how endure without air-conditioning. Cece takes a deep breath and raises her hands above her head and blows out. Five houses down she sees the "For Sale" sign on their immaculate patch of grass.

LaRue stands out the screen door and calls out, angrily: "I worry about you, kiddo, I really do. You've got to learn to handle things You never were good at that!" Cece feels the scorch of the sidewalk on the bottom of her feet. She hops towards her house on one foot and then the other in search for a cool and quiet place out of the heat.  

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