Polished Soil

by Viviana Iglesia

        It was an utterly horrid night. Not only was the obligatory annual meeting with the other libraries long and gratuitous, the weather was generously dreadful. The rains poured out similarly to the great flood in the Bible, drenching any poor soul without an umbrella. Moreover, the night had winds so strong and harsh one could be flung to another country!

        The weather provided no solace or tranquility for Cameron after the torment she had experienced, nothing outside to look upon in glee after a day full of alienation and reminders of her lower status as a human. Even the stranger—who had to be only recently employed by one of the other libraries since Cameron had never seen her before—looked down upon her just like everyone else. At least, everyone else pretended Cameron did not exist entirely when they realized Cameron’s lower status. But the stranger stared at Cameron throughout the entire meeting as if she were a stick of dynamite mere seconds away from exploding.

        The stranger knew Cameron was a degenerate worthy of nothing, and yet, instead of looking away, she watched on, waiting for the exact moment, the exact instant Cameron slipped. This had to be the case, you see, for no joy could be taken from Cameron’s existence outside of either Schadenfreude or sadistic intentions.

        Cameron let out a long, shaky, deep breath as she tried to calm herself. There was no point dwelling on issues she had always experienced, no point in dwelling on something unfixable—it wasn’t even like the stranger was well-liked herself—! They could snigger and whisper after every suggestion the stranger made. Cameron could even remember them instantly shutting down one of her suggestions before she could even finish it.

        Even that being said, at least the stranger was still treated as human. Sure, she was lesser due to her foolery but not the level of scum Cameron was appointed. The most Cameron could do about it is move on and center her attention on something else, anything else. Perhaps she could read the book she had been putting off for a few months as she waited for the bus? It was the only thing she had brought besides an umbrella, so it wouldn’t hurt to finally read it. She noted the book still had that earthy nostalgic smell to it as she held it in her hands. She opened it gently trying to stop the spine from getting creases and—

        “Did you know the author of that book ate his dog?” the stranger—the same stranger from the meeting—asked while sneaking up on Cameron as if she was specifically trying to make sure her presence was a surprise. Cameron York was not someone built for surprises, however, so the shock from the newfound interest of the stranger startled her and caused her to drop her book as she yelped and turned around in order to gawk at the other.

        Cameron did not know what to say to the stranger, who looked happy as a camper as she held back rather impatiently for an answer to her question, the stranger jittering and bouncing on her feet as she waited for a response from the other. She bent down and stared at Cameron as well, invading Cameron’s space and leaving no room to breathe in any air that was not also the stranger’s air in the area between them.

        Cameron paused to think over her choices here, avoiding eye contact with the stranger. It would be weird to run away, no? But then again, she truly had no clue where this conversation with the stranger would even go! Yes, I would be delighted if you ramble about murder to me, dear stranger. That is not suspicious at all!

        Cameron couldn’t be seen as someone rude though, what would happen if the stranger told others about how rude she was to her, how she denied even having a conversation with the other and practically spat in her face at her before she walked away? She had to—at the very least—give the stranger her answer. Which was no, mind you, since someone like Cameron never let herself look much into the authors of the books she read in order to avoid disappointment whether from their other works or who they were as a person. The stranger deserved that at least, deserved to know what her answer was before she left.

        At least the stranger wasn’t hard on the eyes. She had more masculine features than expected for a woman with her wavy, snub nose, broad shoulders, and slightly pointed-out chin uncommon for a woman to have, but it suited her, and provided a good contrast to her eyes and style of dress, which was undoubtedly feminine. Truly, who was someone like Cameron to judge anyways? Her name was typically a name belonging to a man, for crying out loud!

        “No, not really. Do you have a clue why he did, perchance?” Cameron couldn’t look in the woman’s eyes for long, she couldn’t keep eye contact with the stranger for long. The stranger looked too . . . pleasing to the eyes to say the least, with her hazel eye color and cupid’s bow. For Cameron to glance at the stranger for long, she would risk the sight of the stranger’s features morphing into one of mortification and disgust, and with that, spit violently in her face, turn around, and leave as she realized Cameron was worth nothing in a life like this. Cameron could not risk any chance of rejection, for it would ruin her yet again.

        “Yes! He did it in ‘87 in order to figure out what he would feel after doing it and use that for writing inspiration, which was promptly nothing according to him! He got furious at himself for not getting the desired outcome he wanted from this and started throwing pots and furniture around, and grumbled to the police about it all when they arrested him for animal abuse! Isn’t that fascinating?” the stranger chittered it out to her like rapid fire, as if she would combust if she did not rush it out, her eyes twinkling as she gazed at the other woman.

        She picked up the book Cameron dropped in the middle of her chitter-chat and handed it back to Cameron as the stranger smiled from ear to ear, seemingly unaware of how her eccentric and unorthodox friendliness was terrifying for someone like Cameron, who has accepted being invisible in general society. People like Cameron are scum; even people whose only function and use in society is to be used and disregarded are worth more than filthy scum.

        “How do you know about things like that? I would imagine it would be difficult to find this information out of course.” Cameron still avoided looking at the stranger in the eyes, afraid of any misunderstanding of how she looked at the stranger causing the other to become enraged and leave. The stranger seemed to be having the opposite problem to Cameron’s on the other hand, being unable to keep her eyes away from the other, studying her form and face as if she was dissecting Ms. York with her eyes—as if she would be able to fully understand Cameron York if she stared at her for long enough.

        “Enough of your avoidance of looking at me, no time for nonsense like that, Miss York! You really know how to annoy someone with your pessimistic attitude on life, huh?” So, the stranger did know how low someone like Cameron was after all. How she was dirt, ground to be walked on by others. The stranger only talked to her to entertain herself by listening to the nervous blabbers of someone lower in worth than a monkey—what a cruel, cruel thing to do unto another human being.

        Cameron was aware of her self-worth, but even she did not deserve to be played and mocked in a fashion like this, spitting at her would be more pleasant than playing with her mind in a manner as bizarre and inhumane as this! She cannot let herself be treated like this, she cannot! Even dirt shouldn’t be treated like this!

        “Are you mocking me? I don’t even know your name, wha—who even are you?—” Cameron sounded similar to a record sputtering due to her constant stop-and-go manner of speech, throwing questions at the stranger in her confusion-induced terror. Cameron desperately looked around at the people around them to see if anyone else noticed the injustice done against her, but no one did. Of course, no one cared for what they deemed to be utter scum, of course, no one cared or helped her. They just all let her be unfairly destroyed and devoured by a siren such as this, huh?! No one cared enough to stop this humiliating cruel demolition of Cameron York because of how they all deemed her—utterly worthless. She always hated how they always acted oblivious when she fought back, acting like she was insane, but Cameron knew better than to trust their thinly veiled lies, she knew the truth of what they tried to desperately to hide from her, how they truly saw her.

        “Oh, there would be no point in mocking, Miss York, I find you too delightful and fascinating for something as low and petty as mocking. I don’t mean it in a hostile way. I just feel like a new acquaintance such as I should be honest to someone like you, you don’t deserve something as low as lying, and you deserve to have your deficits refined away.”

        Cameron could taste blood in her mouth from how hard she bit back her tongue after hearing those words, how brutally honest they were, how it was clear the stranger saw her as something special, deserving of being noticed, of being seen. It took everything in Cameron York to not bow down in front of the stranger and kiss every inch of her starting at her feet, to not give herself up to the siren call that is devotion.

        No matter what Cameron did, no matter what choice she makes in her life, devotion will always, always, come back to get her. It is a sad reality really, the urge in her since she was young, and it was deeply primal to her. She will always be the sacrifice given to a god in order to please them, which is all she is worth in life. Moreover, the stranger clearly knew this and reminded her of this fact about Cameron’s fate and was leading her to her unfairly cruel demise in the hands of a mere stranger. A MERE STRANGER!

        People will always, always take advantage of devotion as well. They can always sense it like an eagle finding prey from miles away. People will always find ways to manipulate the foolish like Cameron, which includes praise. That had to be the reason the stranger went to Cameron, she had to be looking for easy prey! She wanted some toy to play with and knew Cameron would be an extremely valuable target for that. The stranger being socially outcasted in the meeting makes more sense as well with this new information gained. What better way to lure in some queer creature than pretend you are similar to it in self and struggles, to pretend to be its kin?

        What is the stranger going to do with her when they are finally alone? Will she try to kill her? Moreover, if so, how and in what way? Will it be long and tortuous or short and blunt? A stab? A gun? A filleting of skin? Would she try to loosen up Cameron with booze to make her close to death already in energy, or will she enjoy the feeling of Cameron thrashing against her helplessly, but undoubtedly alive? Would she cannibalize her as soon as Cameron looked away? Would she put her teeth on the flesh of Cameron’s hand and feel the nerves, muscle, and bones underneath her skin before digging in like a wild beast or would she cannibalize Cameron in a more sophisticated way, killing her like a hunter shooting down a deer in the wood and cooking it to perfection? My god, Cameron thought, the stranger likely planned her death from the get-go! Cameron felt the cold, damp, sickly sensation of sweat covering her face due to the anxiety the mental images her death was causing her, but it felt impossible to calm it, it bubbled and boiled over her and consumed her like—

        “Ah! Your book! I apologize, I never intended to get it wet—I should’ve introduced myself before I told my fun fact—I never intended to distress you in any way, is there anything I could do to make it better? I could let you borrow my copy of the book if you like.” Cameron finally turned her eyes back to look at the now rambling and concerned stranger, who just grabbed Cameron’s book away from her own hands to attempt to dry it by brushing it violently against her skirt. Unfortunately, in her efforts and haste, she dropped her umbrella, drenching both her and the book she was trying to dry in the process. Upon realizing this, the stranger screeched at the top of her lungs as if any contact with water could cause a similar effect on her as it did on the Wicked Witch of the West. She sprinted back to Cameron to take solace under Cameron’s umbrella, the watery pitter-patter of her shoes slapping against the cracked pavement of the sidewalk littered with water pockets only existing to shame her for even a slight attempt to correct her wrongdoings.

        Cameron looked back at the stranger in a mix of disbelief, confusion, and awe as the events unfolded in front of her. Despite how it all occurred in a little under a minute, the moment felt excruciatingly slow, giving Cameron a feeling of pressing pause every few seconds on a movie instead of letting it play out normally. The stranger was shivering and clattering her teeth at Cameron, all the air and volume of her dress and hair flatted by the rain, leaving her shriveled and bonier in appearance like how a cat looks when bathed against its will. Her face was red all over, whether that was from embarrassment, sadness, or just the cold was of no clue to Cameron; though Cameron did take note of the stranger’s hands fidgeting with the book, her quivering frown, and enlarged, teary, eyes that pleaded at Cameron like how a dog begs to be fed human food. Why did the stranger see her as someone to impress almost?

        Why go to this extent to bait her? Surely, this was too much effort for simple trickery, so why would the stranger keep up the charade? If she is not faking, then why is she fascinated with her? What could Cameron possibly have done to cause the stranger to be captivated by her? Was the stranger aware of her eccentricities or did she have the false belief she was normal and common? What did this ambiguous beast even want out of her!? There was no clear line of logic Cameron could follow to understand what the stranger wanted, no script to stick by for the interaction to keep it on course. What expectations would the stranger have of her? What role did the stranger assign her, and what would be the immediate punishment for straying against that? Oh god, the stranger must’ve confused her for being normal after all. What would the stranger even say to Cameron once she realized she was associating herself with some degenerate—

        “—don’t know how to fix this Miss York, I’m so sorry, maybe I could show you to a pond in a park nearby if you like? Giving you my copy of the book wouldn’t be enough to make up for the damage I’ve caused in my opinion—thing’s soaked in so much water that I could twist it all out like a rag for Christ’s sake—so I believe I should at least give you a pleasant experience before we depart for the night.” Cameron clenched her teeth together as she realized she had missed the first part of what the stranger was saying due to her anxiety spiral. Was it that easy for normal folk to recover from their humiliation? Did it not suffocate them as if their skin became tight enough to condense and break their muscles and organs by the weight of it, making them trapped in their skin like how meat becomes trapped by vacuumed sealed plastic?

        “I promise I won’t somehow find more accidental ways to destroy your book, Miss York.” The stranger took the long pause from Cameron as an invitation to add a mildly comedic clarification to her proposal to Cameron. The stranger giggled as she said it, eyes shining and crinkling along with it, a sight that was as sweet and addicting as moonshine is to Cameron even if the stranger was soaked in the muddy waters of the earth. It wouldn’t be wrong to lead the stranger into thinking she is normal, no? The stranger clearly did not understand just how different they were hierarchically but telling her this late into the conversation would lead to outrage. Holding onto the act for just the night would not be bad, could it? The stranger wants to converse with an equal for just one night, why deny it from her? Even if it was just a farce, just an act, it would still be better than just revealing the truth after lying for this long. Besides, if Cameron did not let the stranger make her apology, how would the stranger react to that? She could get angry if Cameron did not play the role of victim, call Cameron ungrateful, and lash out at her for that offense. Cameron could not risk gaining this outcome, not now or ever.

        “How far is the pond?” Cameron asked her after a long pause as she thought about how to phrase the question. Even though she could hypothetically perform the appearance of normality of another person, for the stranger, due to the stranger’s naiveté, she was clouded in her ability to spot eccentricities. The problem now was not the role Cameron had to play out. The problem was how long she would have to play in it.

        “It’s not a long walk from here, at most twenty minutes and that is pushing it to say the least.” She waved the water-abused book in her hand as she spoke with a smile, a futile attempt to wave off Cameron’s suspensions.

        “Let me show you there right now! Time is of the essence, of course. I don’t want to make it there too late with this nonsense. The night animals get on the benches around 1 AM.” The stranger gave no time for Cameron to respond before she grabbed her hand and marched on, dragging a stumbling and confused Cameron with her.

*  *  *

        The stranger lied about how long it would take them to walk there. Instead of a measly twenty minutes she suggested earlier, the walk there took around an hour or so, which wasn’t helped by the consistent tripping and falling the stranger experienced because of her clumsy nature. After the fifth fall, Cameron decided it would be best to be the one holding the damaged book, despite the stranger’s attempts to convince her otherwise via whining. Nevertheless, the stranger also seemed less affected by the walk than Cameron.

        The stranger still rambled with the same joy and fervor she had the first time she approached Cameron, her left hand moving wildly in excitement as she skipped to their destination. She was still noticeably shivering, although to Cameron at least it seemed like the stranger had forgotten she was, due to her continuously walking out of the umbrella Cameron carried along. How would she still be so joyous? Cameron already had blisters on her feet that made every step closer to the park feel like walking on hot coals barefoot, so how was the stranger completely unaffected by it? How was she still so pristine? Why could she hold onto her glee still when Cameron can’t? Why can everyone else just do everything so easily when she cannot?

        When they arrived at the dreaded park full of night beasts, a severely obese, possibly rabid raccoon had already taken up the bench near the pond. The raccoon was almost completely still, so still to the point that if Cameron had not heard its snores, she would have assumed it was dead. Cameron turned her head over to the stranger to look at her expectantly, but she had already gone to the bushes near the trees to look for a stick, tossing and throwing leaves, dirt, and other more fragile sticks in her haste. After around a minute of looking for the perfect stick, the stranger returned out of the bushes, dragging a straight stick around a foot long when it came to height. The stranger proceeded to sneak to the back of the bench the raccoon lay on as if she were its executor. Cameron watched on, frozen in place as the stranger stove the stick up against the beast, waking it from its deep slumber. The creature hollered violently as if it were being executed by the death of one thousand cuts. It jumped off the bench and started to sprint in Cameron’s general direction; causing her to scream thinking the raccoon was going to maul her. It did not jump her however, and thankfully ran straight past Cameron while avoiding running into the pond, disappearing slowly in the darkness as Cameron looked on.

        The loud sound the stranger made returned Cameron out of her thoughts. She looked over and saw the stranger sitting on the now reclaimed bench, gesturing to Cameron to come over and sit down. Cameron obliged and slowly walked over there, whimpering like a dog, scolded by its owners, and forced to walk downstairs to sleep in the kitchen instead of their room. They both sat in uncomfortable, thick silence for a while, Cameron being unsure what to say to the other.

        Was she nervous as well? Even your average person wouldn’t know what to say after a debacle like this. Was the stranger attempting to get the raccoon to maul Cameron by waking it up? She didn’t tell Cameron to move out of the way! Why did the stranger lie about what time those pests lay on the bench as well? She said they only come at around 1 AM, and it was not even close to 1 AM as of now!

        “You told me the animals only took the bench when it was after midnight. Why was that thing there?” Cameron asked the stranger meekly, finally breaking the silence of the situation. If she was going to be murdered by this angel of a woman for her act of being a stain on humanity, at least she can confirm if that was an intentional part. If the stranger wasn’t planning it, she could confirm it right now, no? It’s still worthy to know why the stranger lied about the animals even if the stranger wasn’t planning to kill her.

        “They usually don’t come at eleven at night! How was I supposed to expect that blubbered, fur-covered cretin to be here? As I’ve mentioned earlier, I wouldn’t lie to someone like you, Cameron, I promise!” The stranger looked even more undone than she had before the . . . stick hunting, to say the least. She had bush leaves and twigs knotted deep into her hair as mud had seeped its way into her dress, hair, opaque tights, and slip-ons. Even with all this said, the charm of the stranger’s appearance was still there, she still looked so . . . pristine, in a way. How could anyone like herself confuse Cameron to be normal? When was she going to realize she had been mistaken and appropriately leave her?

        “Alright, alright, I believe you, miss. I’m sorry for doubting you.” Cameron said after a beat, which caused the stranger to smile softly and return to watching the pond. The silence between them returned; making Cameron feel guilty for being the only one here uncomfortable. The stranger still thinks she’s normal, the stranger is being lied to in her face and does not know. The stranger should know, but she does not. Cameron cannot keep lying to her.

        “I can’t take it anymore!”

        “Cameron, I already knew about your eccentrics, it’s quite hard to ignore them, actually. I wanted to talk to you because—”

        “. . . You’re like me? I thought people liked you, like a lot. You sure act like people like you when it comes to how you interact with me at the least.”

        “Oh heavens no! Most people find me quite irritating, actually. Never been able to get along with almost anyone, ma’am. I have no clue how you got that little idea of me being more liked than you in that head of yours considering how you were there during the conference as well.”

        “At least you can speak your mind; if I said anything besides ‘yes’ then they would’ve exiled me by chucking me out the window,” Cameron murmured back at the stranger, who promptly snorted and started to laugh as soon as she processed what her companion had uttered, her face scrunched up while her shoulders shook as she held back her laughter.

        “You don’t get to laugh at that! You haven’t even given me the common courtesy of your own name yet, why should I take your pleasure at my misfortune?”

        “My parents named me Sybil, Miss York.”

        “You think you’re very clever, don’t you?

        “Swans aren’t perfect when it comes to romance, you know.”

        “What?”

        “They um, cheat sometimes. They aren’t frolicking around like playboys or whores, but they aren’t perfect lovers like we often paint them as.”

        “Where are you going with this?”

        “I don’t get your strange fixation on normality, Miss York. You keep fixating on it and treating it like it’s so grand when it’s not. There is little to ponder about in the average, nothing to write home about.” She paused and rested her head on her left hand, while the right hand’s finger drummed on her lap.

        “You idolize the swan and ignore any flaw it has because society deems it as ideal. It’s like you let yourself rot away in some corner because you can’t be what everyone wants out of you, I don’t get why you focus on that so much.”

        “Awful use of a metaphor, Sybil. If I were your high school English teacher, I’d give you an F.” Sybil stared at Cameron, wide-eyed and unblinking after Cameron’s joke, which caused Cameron to falter in her newly gained confidence. Had she misjudged the situation? Were they not close enough to joke around each other? It became clear to Cameron that Sybil finally had enough of her nonsense; she must have finally realized why no one wanted to be around Cameron longer than one would want to be around a—

        A pig-like, boisterous laugh cut Cameron from completing her thought process. She whipped her head around to Sybil and saw that she was snorting. Why was she laughing this hard? Wasn’t even that funny to be honest.

        “I never claimed I was good at metaphors, Cameron. Swans were just all I could think of after I heard your envy-fueled rant about normalcy, darling.” Darling. She called her darling.

        “I—um, thank you, but why did it take you long to react to what I told you there Sybil?”

        “Oh, it just took me a bit to process what you said to me Cameron. They did the pausing thing again where someone says something after a long silence. Then Cameron spoke.

        “People are cruel for even the most minor of differences, Sybil, one minor difference could have someone break your hand.”

        “So? There are billions of people on this planet, so it’s quite unrealistic to expect to find no one to converse with. Hell, both of us have been having a conversation for over an hour right now and I’d say it’s going quite swell, if you ask me!”

        “How can I guarantee it will stay swell though? Everyone does conversations and relations so much better than I ever have been able to, why try when it’s likely to backfire on you? Why attempt to do anything if you can’t get it right?”

        “Have you ever tried to find and connect to people like us, Cameron?”

        “I have to do this Sybil, you know the levels of social outcasting we get for our authentic selves. We are treated like vermin. There is no one like us!”

        “So? Hide yourself when necessary, no one is forcing you to befriend those who detest us, why listen to those morons?”

        “What other options do I have, Sybil,” she wailed. “No matter what I say, everyone does eventually leave because they dislike the true me! Even you probably will, you probably don’t even get it as badly as I do, probably a good-for-nothing liar trying to trick me—”

        “What about telling me something you think I won’t like?”

        “Huh?”

        “If I’m going to leave you as soon as I truly know you, how about you tell me some horrid opinion you have right now to get it over with? If you only tell me things you think I like, Cameron, this friendship we have won’t last long ya know. I don’t get your thought process here.

        She paused. “. . . I don’t like Louis Wealth’s novels.”

        “Really?”

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