KEREM
For heaven's sake, this woman lives in a shoebox. And not exactly Vittorino shoes, but rather those sale shoes that you find in thrift stores where the boxes are already old and ruined, but you realize that it was probably never pretty.
"Okay, welcome to my place," she warns after going through the entrance gates and up the stairs to her front door.
She takes a key from behind a pot and fits it on the doorknob. My eyes widen when I discover the way she opens the door, turning it and allowing both of us to enter.
"It has to be a joke, right?" I ask her as soon as she turns on the light and a tiny space is revealed in front of me, in which there is a small table with two chairs around it, in which I am sure not a single person sits, and a laptop on top. In a corner there is a pile of scattered papers which can only belong to a university person. I approach the papers and take them to review what they are about or if she is supposed to do a university degree.
"If it intrigues you, they're not mine. They are Rhonda's."
"Oh, your friend."
"Yes. If I studied at the university, I would not have a lot of papers on file to take exams. Those are pitiful."
"It's unfortunate that I study things that are from the last century, God. Do they really still teach these things in college?"
"I know, many teachers excuse themselves with "we are laying the foundations"."
"If the bases are obsolete, the greater the distance of knowledge that can be acquired. It is one thing to see issues that have to do with a reality from a year ago and not with how things were done thirty or forty years ago."
"As you can see, I don't believe in university degrees. But I also had no choice but to do without them. I had no opportunity to forge it as something that could mean something in my future."
"Oh. It's true, they open doors. But sometimes, you need to open the doors yourself. Sometimes even kick them down."
"Tell me," she mumbles, pouring water into an electric kettle and pouring two cups. "Well, tea or coffee?"
I look at the coffee pot.
"What kind of coffee do you have?" I ask her.
She assesses me by raising an eyebrow, disapprovingly. I didn't want my comment to sound like a criticism of her coffee maker.
"Tea is fine," I add, before she tosses the cup at the back of my neck. As soon as she takes out a wooden box with some little bags, I get the idea to ask her what types of tea she has, but she only takes one out, places it in a cup, then another and leaves them there.
Then I go up to her and watch.
"Cocoa husk tea?" I ask.
"I don't drink any other kind of tea."
"I admit I wasn't even aware it existed. I am more of a coffee drinker in all its varieties, but I am afraid that I will not be able to rest well if the coffee is strong."
"You already chose tea."
"It was an assumption."
"Let's try the chocolate tea."
She rolls her eyes and a giggle forms on my lips, knowing that she's having fun with all of this too.
"I order you to put the water in the cups, do you at least know how to do that?" she asks me.
"Of course."
"All right. I'm going to remove the blanket and put on a coherent blouse. And to brush my teeth" she brings me up to date and then disappears.
Once she leaves, I remain standing observing the place. Can a person really live in such a place? With what I have paid her, she could secure her rent for a full year in something much better, but it has only been two days since she returned from my family in New York. I don't know if the idea of improving her quality of life has meant anything .
The ceilings are damp, the walls are peeling and have not been painted for years. The door and window frames have ruined enamel, and the entrance to the apartment doesn't even work!
The noise of the electric kettle wakes me up. I turn to it, turn it off, and pour both cups. I then take them to the table and she appears, coming out of what I assume is the bathroom.
"Apparently, you know how to pour water to make tea," she tells me, coming closer while he wipes her mouth with the fist of the sweatshirt he's wearing.
"You'd be surprised by the talents I have and you still don't know about," I suggest.
"Sounds promising," she murmurs, ducking her head and I can see a slight blush staining her cheeks.
Next, look for the sugar.
"Do you have honey?" I ask.
"Yes, no."
"Don't you like honey?"
She puts a few teaspoons in hers and tells me no. I prefer to drink it unsweetened and I'm surprised it tastes good.
"Hey, this isn't bad," I tell her. "It looks like the kind of chocolate tea I usually order when I go to an oriental tea house in New York."
"You see, I have gourmet interests."
"You obviously have good taste."
She looks at her phone and checks some messages. It doesn't seem like good manners to do that, but I understand that we have just overcome a very difficult situation.
"Rhonda's parents are already on their way to the hospital," she tells me. "I feel guilty for not staying there with her."
"I wasn't going to let you keep exposing yourself."
"I don't know when it happened or how I didn't realize it."
"You were suspicious of your friend?"
"There was worrying evidence, but I never imagined that she was having problems with drugs and with the people who sold them."
"I hate people being taken advantage of like that. That Jordan will get what he deserves."
"I saw that the officers took him along with some of his friends."
"He comes from a family with influences, but I assure you that mine and Massera's are heavier. That boy will pay for everything he did to you, to your friend, and to how many other people who didn't dare to denounce him properly."
"I do not want problems of going to declare and the like."
"Rhonda will have to."
"If she was involved in something illegal...I wouldn't want this to affect her when she leaves the hospital."
"Rhonda is a victim of horrible people, from what you tell me. Those who have tried to ruin her life will pay, she will have her new opportunity, Juliet. I give you my word that it will be so."
She takes another drink of her tea until she finishes it and sighs.
"It's already daylight outside and I need to... rest."
"Fine," I nod, taking a last sip of my tea. It's not finished yet, but it's already starting to cool down. "So, you won't lend me the chair" I say, looking at the object with some disdain. "I think I would sleep more comfortably on the floor than in that hovel."
"Forget it. If you want, I can give you my bed. It's not something that happens frequently, I just owe it to you and I'm good."
"Understood. I will be thankful. I'll leave early, one or two hours of rest and continue with my march. I'll just borrow the shower and a towel."
"Oh," she murmurs. "I also think I need to take a bath... I'm full of alcohol and sticky."
"And I'm sweaty and sticky. You can shower first if you prefer."
"That is not the issue but that my hot water tank is not very efficient and is only enough for one shower."
"I'll wait."
"You have to wait two or three hours for the next one."
"Then only one will be able to shower."
"That or..." she trails off.
But I hold on to those words to be the one in charge of completing the sentence,
"...or we shower together."