Free The Way We Bared Our Souls by Willa Strayhorn Page A

steak knife she’d used.
    I shuddered involuntarily at the memory. I couldn’t handle any more knife imagery that evening. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and breathed deeply.
TranquiLo.
For an extended second the perfume of Kaya’s bedroom brought back memories of sleepovers, late-night psychic readings, intimate secrets, and laughter that erupted volcanically whenever we were together.
    “It sucks that we’re not friends anymore,” I said suddenly.
    “We’re not friends anymore?” said Kaya innocently. “Then what am I supposed to do with all the bracelets I made you at summer camp?”
    We both smiled. We had always shared a borderline cheesy sense of humor.
    “I’m serious,” I said.
    Kaya shrugged. “My current lifestyle doesn’t exactly support a wide social circle. By the way, did my mom happen to frisk you when you came in?”
    “Nah,” I said. “She only asked to neutralize the three grenades I was packing.”
    At that moment Kaya’s mom knocked on the door, and we both started giggling. Mrs. Johnson had obviously been creeping because we hadn’t heard her approach across the aged floorboards.
    “Kaya?” she said. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine, Mom,” Kaya said. Then, quietly to me, “Ugh.” We heard footsteps retreat reluctantly down the hall.
    “Man,” I said. “You’d think one of us would’ve sensed her presence. Aren’t we supposed to have psychic powers?”
    Kaya and I used to visit a psychic once a week. Santa Fe was full of people eager to read our palms, predict our rosy futures, and above all take our allowance money. Kaya liked all that pseudo-mystical stuff. And for my part, I just found what psychics had to say more interesting than what Mom’s favorite Catholic priest intoned on Sunday mornings. (For-give the sacrilege.)
    “What?” said Kaya. “You didn’t know she was out there? I did.”
    “I was too busy, um, reading your next-door neighbor’s mind. Chester isn’t sure how to tell his wife that he’s leaving her for his llama trainer.”
    “Makes sense,” said Kaya. Her tone was flat, and I got the feeling she was done joking around.
    “So you’ve got a problem, huh?” she said. Maybe I was psychic after all. “Not that you don’t deserve every happiness,” she continued, “but most girls, as you must know, would kill for your problems. Which span the spectrum of midfielder to point guard to quarterback.” I wasn’t sure if I deserved all that, but Kaya was allowed to be hurt that I hadn’t been around. I hadn’t tried hard enough to hold on to my friend.
    “I wish,” I said, ruing the lack of boyfriends I’d actually had, despite appearances. Boys and I always seemed to break off at the friend mark. Or at least at first base. “I don’t think my life was ever
that
idyllic. In any event, it’s kind of a shitshow now.”
    “Yeah, well, like I said before, I can relate,” Kaya said. She shuffled some oversized tarot cards on her desk, and I decided to change the subject.
    “So I take it your mom is as . . . involved as ever,” I said.
    “Actually, she’s been trying to give me a looser rein. I talked to her about it. She’s even letting me have a birthday party next Friday night, out at Shell Rock? You know, the picnic area out there? A band is going to play and everything. I’m really excited.” I must have looked hurt, because then Kaya backtracked. “I hadn’t invited you because. . . . Well, you’re invited now. If you want to come.”
    “Sure,” I said. Kaya smiled. She hadn’t had a birthday party in years. I guess you could only be so festive when you were essentially isolated from anyone with nails and teeth. “I’d love to come,” I said. “You should be celebrated, Kaya.”
    She shrugged her shoulders again and nervously began tapping the tarot cards on her desk.
    “Let’s read each other’s fortunes,” I said. “Like old times.”
    Kaya smiled. “Okay,” she said, nostalgia overcoming us