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If Ms. Casey were to have a favorite department—which would be unprofessional—it would be Mammalians Nurturable. She likes making the walk from her own dark offices to the shocking green of the meadow. She likes the smell of the grass and the slope of the hill. Ms. Casey hopes her outie spends plenty of time in fields.
She likes the little goats too. The workers kill the goats, Ms. Casey knows, but they love them anyway. She finds this a comforting thought.
Ms. Casey is making the walk back from Mammalians Nurturable to her own rooms when she sees Helly R. She is walking fast, periodically glancing over her shoulder. She freezes when she sees Ms. Casey.
“Helly R.,” Ms. Casey says. “Hello.” She tries to keep her voice non-threatening, her hands still. If Helly isn’t exactly supposed to be here, it’s no concern of Ms. Casey’s. She tries to telegraph this.
“Ms. Casey, hi.” Helly sounds confused. Her eyes flit back and forth. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was visiting another department as counselor,” Ms. Casey explains. “How are you today?”
Helly shrugs. She still seems shifty, even though Ms. Casey had not asked her what she was doing so far from MDR. “I’m—yeah, I’m good.”
Ms. Casey nods. Helly had never seemed thrilled to discuss her feelings with Ms. Casey in the past, but it hadn’t stopped her wondering. “Good. I will leave you to it, then.” She turns to leave. Ms. Casey is grateful for the interaction, however brief and stilted. She likes to see her co-workers. It lets her linger in the light a little longer. Back when she was first hired, Ms. Casey had once wasted three whole minutes outside her office door just to stay in the light.
“Wait,” Helly calls. This surprises Ms. Casey. She does not think Helly enjoys talking to her very much. Past Ms. Casey’s shoulder, Helly seems a bit surprised herself, but she soon sets her mouth with decision and asks, “Wanna see something I discovered?”
Ms. Casey’s breath nearly stops. It’s the most exciting thing anyone has ever said to her. “Please,” she responds without thinking.
She isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not for Helly to reach down and take off her shoes.
Ms. Casey contemplates Helly’s socked feet on the linoleum floor, but she can’t figure out what she’s supposed to see there, until Helly gestures at Ms. Casey’s own feet. “Well, go on, try it.” Ms. Casey gets the distinct impression that she’s trying to be gentle, which seems backwards.
She finds herself hesitant. Though she understands, in the abstract, that clothes can be removed, she has never considered doing so before. She is almost certain she is not supposed to. Then again, she also finds herself curious. Cautiously, she steps out of her shoes, gray and sensible.
Her hand flies to her lower back almost as soon as her heels hit the floor. “Oh,” she exclaims. She might have never stood before.
Helly grins at her. “Right?”
Ms. Casey stretches, feels something pop. Looking back at her abandoned heels, she asks, “Why do we wear those?”
“Beats me.” Helly makes a face. “No one else I know has to. Guess your outie hates you like mine hates me.”
The thought troubles Ms. Casey. She is not quite happy with her outie’s choices, but she still thinks fondly of her. After all, aren’t they one and the same? “Maybe it’s to be taller. To reach high shelves.”
Helly throws her head back and laughs. “Ms. Casey,” she says. “I want to live in your world.”
Ms. Casey walks up and down the hall four times with newfound ease. She is filled with joy at the world and at Helly and wants to give something in return. “I once wasted three whole minutes outside my office door without good cause,” she confesses. “This is even better than that.”
“You need to have more fun in life,” Helly says, though she sounds amused. Her voice is closer than Ms. Casey had expected. She must have walked alongside. Ms. Casey had been so full with fresh sensation, she hadn’t even noticed. “Next time, I’ll show you how to photocopy your face,” Helly decides.
Next time rings in Ms. Casey’s head like birdsong. She makes herself make eye contact and says, “It would be an honor to have a photocopy of your face, Helly R.”
Helly doesn’t answer. She’s frowning at Ms. Casey’s forehead, distracted. “Wait a second…” she mutters. Her hand comes into view.
No one has ever touched Ms. Casey before—not her face at least. She doesn’t know how she feels about the idea, but she wants to trust her new friend. It’s exciting to have friends, and scary.
In the end, Helly’s touch is light as a feather grazing the top of her skull. She finds her way under Ms. Casey’s hair. She pulls. It doesn’t hurt at all. Next there is a thin net and then all at once a foreign weight lands on Ms. Casey’s shoulders.
“Your outie must really hate you,” Helly breathes. There’s no bite to it—she sounds distracted.
Helly’s hair is pretty, tumbling down her back like sunlight. Maybe now, Ms. Casey’s hair is pretty too. Maybe this is why Helly is staring. The thought pleases Ms. Casey, though she has never cared to be pretty before.
Winding the new hair through her fingers, it’s a similar shade to what her old hair had been, if not a touch brighter. It’s definitely softer. When she drops it, Helly is still looking at her. A smile rises up in Ms. Casey like a light turning on.
“Should I check you?” she offers.
“What?” Helly blinks out of whatever dream she’d been having. “Oh. No, I’ve seen my outie. I’m pretty sure—” She yanks on her own hair and her face immediately contorts in pain. “Yep. Definitely real.”
“You should take more care with yourself,” Ms. Casey says, a little shocked.
“Why should I?” Helly’s nonchalance is somewhat undercut by her still rubbing the sore spot on her head. “Not like it’s my body.”
Ms. Casey frowns. “But it is your body.”
Helly smiles like the stillborn sister of her earlier laughter.
Ms. Casey worries she’s said something wrong. “I’m afraid that’s about all the time I can spare,” she adds quickly, before she can say more.
“Oh. Right.” Helly doesn’t sound too relieved, at least. “Do you need help? Putting it back on,” she offers. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
Ms. Casey glances at the wig discarded on the floor by her shoes. She picks it up. It’s a good idea. “No,” she decides. “No, I think I’ll keep it this way.”
They start off in opposite directions, but Ms. Casey turns back when she reaches the corner. “Helly R.” she calls from her end of the hall. “Thanks. For showing me.”
“Sure,” Helly calls from hers. After the slightest of pauses, she adds, “Photocopies next time, yeah?”
Ms. Casey can hear lights buzzing. “I walk this way every Thursday,” she says, “between two and quarter past two.”
“Thursday,” Helly says, “at two. It’s a date.”