Hothouse

She is not yet awake. Dawn sprinkles rose-colored light into the room. The sunrise brushes her freckled skin, creating a luminescent glow upon her face. We lie on the floor and my eyes study her, but hers do not even flicker. She’s a late sleeper. Or perhaps I am just an early riser, constantly sinking into my crowded mind, never reaching a state of silence. She’s never had this problem. She allows her limbs to carry her wherever they wish to go.

“Just jump, Lina,” Julia would call from the river below as she ran out of breath from peddling the stubborn water. My hands clung to the old rope swing, feet planted on the ground. This sickening feeling roared inside of me. My best friend looked up at me from below, squinting as the relentless August sun beat down. She basked in the waters below, completely unafraid. She was perfect, but my knuckles were whitening from my death grip on the rope and my body looked feeble and pale from the two-piece bathing suit that clung to all the wrong places. She was perfect, and now she is slipping away.

You cannot tell from where I lay. You cannot tell by the way the strands of her chestnut hair fall over her forehead, or by the way her chest slowly rises and falls, sending delicate breaths into the air. You cannot tell, but things are not the same anymore. Our memories spill like blood over my bedroom floor. This is our first sleepover in months, but we used to have one every chance we got. We’re falling out. Falling away. Disappearing. My fears whisper to me like lullabies. I am closer than I appear. She will inevitably leave behind our childhood dreamscape, and there is nothing I can do. As I look at her, I wonder if it will be the last time. I know her ultraviolet

energy will linger like the smell of smoke in these walls, but I still imagine myself forgetting. Her face will still be held in my heart, but it will be a blur. I will no longer be able to recall the complexities of her hazel eyes or the patterns of her freckles. For now, until I can’t remember anymore, all I can do is try to untangle my soul from hers.

“Let’s live right next to each other when we’re grown up, Lina,” She lisped, gaze pointing to the sky. Our bodies spread out like peanut butter on that red and white checkered blanket that we laid across the grass. The Earth cradled our heads and we stared into the trees, the sky peeking through in blue splashes of light. “If our husbands don’t get along we can just leave them.” I laughed at that, the kind of laugh that erupts, that you can feel in the pit of your stomach.

We were young then, but now we’re older, our friendship carefully balancing on that sweet nostalgia. We are the ghosts of our younger selves. As we were laying under those trees, she told me everything, and all I wanted to do was listen. But one day, her stories and silly anecdotes were reserved for the other girls. The carefree girls. The funny girls. The beautiful girls.

Her face is still so peaceful as my mind floods with chaos. I will miss you, I want to say. I don’t want to forget. But she is sleeping and none of it will matter, no one will hear except the air that fills this claustrophobic room. But maybe the air is just as aware as me, listening to me as I listen to the world outside. The sun has risen higher, illuminating the entire room now. The contours of her face are no longer highlighted, but small, bright pieces blending into the incandescent world. “Julia,” I whisper to the air lingering around us. “Julia,” I say, so maybe someone will remember. She turns over in her sleeping bag, then, and I can no longer see her face.