Small World

“My nose is weeping,” Ruth said, brow pinching. “But my nose isn’t connected to my heart.”

“Either you have taken up poetry, or you have sunstroke. Technically, the nose is connected to the stomach. Delicious food smells good and makes you hungry, and food is the way to a man’s heart, or so the saying goes. Therefore, the nose is connected to the heart.”

“But I am not a man.”

The bitterness in her tone made my hand hesitate an inch over her forehead, and made my soul ache. Yes, she wasn’t a man. It was really only becoming clear the last few weeks how much this bothered her.

“We are all human,” I said gently.

“But not the same.” Disappointment.

My tending to her physical distress continued as I dabbed a cold cloth across her head and fanned her with a Vogue magazine filled with the trends of the Summer of ‘59. It was humid today, unusually so for early Autumn in Melbourne. The heat had relented for a short while but was back with a vengeance this week. Even in my new white tennis dress, I felt like I was swimming in the damp, heavy air. Charlie and Owen’s competitiveness couldn’t be outmatched by the Australian sun today; the sound of the tennis ball on their rackets didn’t cease, and wouldn’t until one of them could call themselves the winner.

Ruth repositioned her shoulders and lifted her chin. I caught the hint and fanned her neck, taking a moment to gather her hair away and sweep it over a cushion. As my fingers brushed her throat, her scorching skin set mine aflame. I flicked my focus up, startled, and her chocolatey brown eyes melted me under their gaze. I was getting good at looking away whenever our eyes met, but this time was harder than usual. She held me with her stare, lips parted, sweat beading on her forehead. My heartbeat thudded louder in my ears.

“Sylvie.”

I blinked away her spell and started moving the magazine to continue fanning again. “Don’t ‘Sylvie’ me.” I wanted to sound angry, but I could never be angry with her.

A small smile brightened Ruth’s features. “Fine then, Silly.”

The reference made me clench the magazine, and swallow the tension closing in on my throat. “Ruth, please -”

Her smile turned sour. “I know. I want to say sorry, but I’m not that sorry.”

“I am,” I said. “I am sorry the world is too small for us, Ruth.”

Those words were the closest thing to a goodbye as I could muster, but the message was clear. Tears welled in her eyes, and it hurt to watch. Her pink lips pressed into a thin line as she steeled herself. Minutes passed as we both struggled to keep our composure. Ruth’s cheeks were still red, and I told myself it was because of the sunstroke.

“You love him, don’t you?” For the first time, Ruth’s tone was absent of her usual fiery quality and was tainted by sadness.

As if by instinct, I turned by head to the sound of the tennis ball hitting the court and Charlie’s triumphant laugh outside. The sound calmed the storm wreaking havoc in my belly.

“I do.”

She sighed. “I never had a chance.”

“You are… you… are really important to me. You will mean more to me than my first love in high school, even. You will be the hallmark of my early twenties!” I mustered a laugh. “But I love my husband, and I want to have a family with him.”

“You make my days colourful, Silly. I miss you already.”

“It’s not like I am going anywhere. After all, who will be the Godmother to my children, if not you?”

The promise of some kind of future together did little to correct the atmosphere. The mood was still heavier than the humid air.

“You’re right, this world is too small.” Ruth sat up straight and took a sip of lemonade directly from the pitcher. “But it is bigger with you in it. I will always be here for you, if you are always here for me, too?”

“Of course, always!”

I hoped she didn’t hear the desperation in my voice, but I was never good at hiding things from her. The sound of ice clinking kept me from floating off into space as Ruth finished the lemonade.

“I better make some more. Don’t tell them I drank from the pitcher, it’s our little secret.”

“Secrets, you say!” Charlie mopped up sweat with a towel as the gents joined us indoors. “Please tell me, what’s the newest from Kent Street?”

“It would hardly be a secret if I told everyone, would it Charlie?” Ruth laughed. “Who won?”

“Ugh, not me, darling.” Owen grimaced, removing his cap. “I just can’t keep up.”

“Charlie will always be the winner.” A cheeky wink just for my eyes, and she was back to her usual self. “Let me get you boys some lemonade.”

“It was hardly a fair match, the sun was in my eyes toward the end there and-”

“The sun is directly overhead!” Charlie protested.

And so the day continued, with life as close to normal as we could manage in such a small world.