Through Her Eyes (Camren)

Chapter 23: Vicarious Questions

Hearing Camila’s voice was the feeling of being home. When she sang along to Lauren’s guitar, when Lauren played along to Camila’s words, when their voices created harmony for them alone, it felt like freedom. When Camila spoke to Lauren, words that made no sense or too much, it was comfortable, comforting. Camila hummed when she was happy and murmured annoyed things when she was upset.

After Camila had been so quiet for days, after she’d refused to speak at all, just hearing her voice brought Lauren the sense that all was right with the world. Lauren liked Camila’s voice.

Lauren woke to Camila’s voice.

She lay in bed, eyes still shut, half asleep and just listening. The rise and fall of Camila’s tone, pauses and drawn out sounds, thoughtful humming.

The sound wasn’t that of whispers in Lauren’s ear, like it used to be when they shared a bed. It wasn’t the melodious sound of Camila breaking into song. The longer Lauren listened, she realized it wasn’t the familiar tone Camila took with the paintings she picked up conversation with, either.

Eyes snapping open, Lauren sat up in bed with a jolt. Through her bedroom door, left a crack open, Lauren could hear Camila speaking. She couldn’t hear the words, but something about Camila’s tone was not quite right.

“Camz?” she called, already stepping out of bed. Camila did not call back, didn’t show up smiling at Lauren’s door, and Lauren quickly went to find her.

To Lauren’s relief, Camila had not invited a stranger into the house. She was sitting in the kitchen by herself, a bow on her head already.

She was talking into the phone.

“Yes,” Camila was saying. “To grow guitars, of course. Do they not have trees where you live? That must be very sad.”

Lauren gaped.

Camila’s face brightened immediately when she saw Lauren. “Good morning, Lolo!” she said right into the phone.

Lauren stood, speechless, and watched as Camila responded to something that had been said. She furrowed her eyebrows, looking a bit lost.

After a moment, she reached out and offered the phone to Lauren. “The phone wants to talk to you.”

Slowly, Lauren took the telephone from Camila’s fingers. On the display was her mother’s name.

“Lauren!” she could hear Clara saying without even holding the phone up to her ear. “What is wrong with that girl!”

Lauren hung up.

“The phone should mind her own business,” Lauren said at Camila’s curious look. “Was she bothering you?”

Clara had been calling annoyingly often in the last week, after she’d met Camila. She seemed only to call to ask about her, about what Lauren was ‘doing’ with her, like Lauren had some control over what Camila chose to do.

“I don’t think she likes me,” Camila said. Her tone was observant, not sounding hurt. Lauren still bristled.

Her mother didn’t like Camila, not that she had any right. She kept asking what was wrongwith Camila, asking who she was, asking why she was, how she was, asking.

Lauren didn’t have answers. She didn’t even understand the questions, really.

Where Camila came from, how she got there, Clara seemed to think they – she – needed to know everything. Lauren didn’t need to know anything. She just needed Camila to have gotten there and to be there still.