With the interview guideline having been distributed via email to all Companions in Prattle, Stephanie expected they could catch an actionable finding these days.
Mark had confirmed with his superior at the supply depot that he could be a part-time Companion, but it meant he would only receive half of his wage. He okayed that since he practically had no major expenses so far, only needed to bother about food which he could get either from the hotel's remaining stock or the depot's leftover.
Stephanie had told him that despite Companionship being a call, many of her Companions still needed money to sustain themselves or the small remaining family they had. Hence, double work, a problem with the talent pool which made the government pick a fight with "non-essential" businesses.
It was Lila's house again the second week. But due to Mark's schedule that day, Stephanie went alone. She was also unsure if she brought Mark to this official's house she wouldn't have any further problems.
The Department of Commerce still hadn't sent them any news yet. With the government people, she should lay low and not ask anything unless being questioned. Asking too many questions, in her experience, would only result in more unnecessary assignments, problems she couldn't afford. So she kept silent.
Stephanie noticed some more tiny details that her eyes missed the first time. The tweets from the sooty-headed bulbuls, for instance, didn't reach her ears when she was a stranger to this neighbourhood. But then, it became music to her journey, a nice backsound to replace the staggeringly loud noise from the circling chopper's engine above. A reminiscent of the soft past when weekend mornings saw a tofu vendor with his falsetto voice in her old neighbourhood, an uncomplicated time to be alive.
She took off her light grey cotton jacket and folded it perfunctorily before getting into pleasantry with Lila. She used to be a churchgoer, her outfit today reflected her habit of donning her Sunday best. A beige sleeveless dress was coupled with nude makeup and curled hair for a cute wave effect. Dolling up for herself, obviously. Since the journey was taken by bus and on foot and she would leave her shoes anyway in the foyer area of the flat, she didn't bother to wear a pair of brown suede high heels. She wandered off in milky flats instead.
She reread the guideline that she helped collate then decided against using it on Lila. She had done her detection part, now she had to go on with earning the trust organically for more stories. On the other hand, Lila had a plan for today, and it was a delicious one.
Just like her promise on her very first visit, Stephanie brushed Lila's hair before moving on to the conversation.
She gave hugs because Protected people living alone could not get hugs.
In a world where the population dropped to only a quarter, finding the next Immune person to ask for hugs became an impossible task. With the additional black choppers scanning the cities for Protected outside their designated living space, hugs became a utopist idea.
Her immunity gave her the power to do the simplest form of affection that meant the world where people were deprived of the basic necessity to sustain life. In the merest act of wrapping her arms around someone, she felt fulfilled.
And if what Lila needed was a quid pro quo, she would indulge her.
I'll brush your hair again on the next visit, and the next, and the next . . ., she thought. Just like whatever my other clients had asked.
Once they were done, Lila led her to the kitchen.
"I hope it's not because I'm coming," she teased the lady. A shape of almost round bread dough was rising happily in the loaf pan, ready to bake. The heat emanating from the nine-litre electric oven raised the temperature in the kitchen.
"Anything you want me to help?" she offered politely, eager to try her hand on something she rarely ever did anymore since the Ex kept criticising her dish. No baking, no trophy. Ex could screw himself.
"Oh, just a simple task. We need to make two lines along the length of the bread so when it bakes it's gonna open and look pretty. And sprinkle some dry oats, too. We are making artisan bread," Lila replied, her enthusiasm barely hidden. "Maybe my impulsivity gets the best of me and makes me tired in the repeated process of getting life in order, messing it up, getting life back in order again, messing it up again." Her chuckles soon laced with bitterness.
Part of becoming a Companion, unlike in psychology therapy sessions, was opening up to the clients because it was a reciprocated way of communication. Here, when Lila spiralled down into self-deprecation like that, Stephanie's appropriate response was not to ask back 'why do you think that' or 'let's take a detour from this thought process, okay'.
Her expected response should be offering something about herself that could distract Lila from that spiral and lighten her up. So she said, "I've been there, too." A simple yet empathetic reply.
Stephanie ever argued with the founders of other companies who said that it was in the best interest of the clients to play therapist in detrimental conversation. She proposed that a Companion should be a friend, just like the root meaning of the word itself. A Companion served no specific purpose to proactively diagnose and treat the mental health issues of the clients. The risk of sharing her life with all of her clients seemed inconsequential to the danger of trying a one-way communication that would make the clients feel they paid for therapists, which was deceptive.
As for the story of her life, Stephanie developed a specific skill to dig deeper even into her traumatic moments to find bits and pieces safe enough to share, because she couldn't just keep repeating the curated experiences over and over again. Not only would she get bored in the process, but also the client would feel it was just another day of the job for the Companion, making it less genuine. Their job was to remove all pretence people usually put on at many settings due to many roles, such as at family events, office environments, or casual chats with old friends.
As Companions, they were paid to bare their souls. So, she was ready when the client asked her to divulge her own stories.
Lila asked nonchalantly, "How so?" She set the timer after popping the pretty dough into the oven.
Stephanie washed her hands and wiped them with a kitchen towel. "I'm . . . well, I was, actually, a competitive person. I'm still a competitive one but at this point, it's against my past self. Like, my yesterday self. But what I'm talking about when I say I'm in that self-destruction cycle is because my hunger for one-upping other people stems from my insecurity."
"Even in today's world? With only a quarter remaining?"
Stephanie shrugged. "Less so currently. But a decade ago, when I just graduated uni, I kinda graduated late, you know. Not late late. I had few students on my radar, people whose GPAs were in the same range as mine, 3.80 and above. Naturally, everything they did fresh after graduation became somewhat a standard in our peers. When a girl in this circle who graduated earlier than me got accepted at a multinational company—you know how eager we were, poor students being swayed by millions rupiah as the first salary after graduating—, it was something."
"This is interesting," Lila poured some water into Stephanie's cup. They sat around the kitchen table which had been wiped clean by Lila just now.
"So when I caught wind that other friends who graduated around the same time as this girl also joined the same company, my insecurity shot astronomically. My mind told me this had been the new standard. My being late by almost half a year for graduating because I joined an extended research project with my professor turned out to be my losing factor. And I thought the invaluable experience in that research, which could be stellar in my portfolio, became a wrong decision in my eyes."
"If only I could graduate earlier than all of them, if only I could beat them, you know. It was stupid in the hindsight. Treating myself like in a race, while career progression could always be reset anytime. The stupidest insecurity I had? When I still searched for a job but this girl, talked in the messaging group about her manager wanting more fresh grads to apply, calling her the honorific 'Bu' while I was still 'Mbak' on the job search."
'Bu' was an honorific in Indonesian to address an older, married, or respected woman, the equivalent of Mrs or Ms. 'Mbak' is an honorific, but it was not totally equivalent to 'Miss' as it just means 'older sister' without the regard of the marital status. In the Western world, a Miss did not sound less than a Mrs or Ms because of the marital status it possessed.
But in Indonesia, in the formal office conversation, calling female colleagues 'Bu' sounded more appropriate than just 'Mbak'. Of course, there was some degree of acquaintanceship that a woman might even allow their peers to call her 'Mbak' even if she was a married woman, but then again, Stephanie bristled when her friend quoted the conversation with her manager calling her as 'Bu'.
Lila burst out laughing, and Stephanie giggled with her, too. At the expense of a stupidly embarrassing past, she could gain more trust from Lila. She mentally catalogued other stories that she could pull from her archive to hype up the session today or the next. Self-deprecating anecdotes, in her experience, always worked because they created a situation where the client could stop flagellating.
Stephanie read somewhere that somebody gained trust by asking for a favour. When she clearly wasn't in a position to request anything from Lila, she could still see the essence that was positioning herself lower. And this could be achieved by exposing Lila to Stephanie's vulnerable self in those disparaging recollections.
"But how did it leave you, constantly destroying what you had?" Now, she got Lila talking.
And she served. "My insecurity, right? It listened to random people. It made me awkward at every family reunion when people asked why I wasn't with someone yet. And when I was actually with someone, and that someone I brought to the events, people still bombarded us with the nosy questions of the plan for weddings, et cetera."
"It irked me when people couldn't leave us alone. So when my relationship fell apart, the pain doubled from both the breakup and my inner demon accusing me of being a failure in the family. Like, how could I answer the question in the next meeting? Luckily, well, pardon me, unfortunately, this pandemic banished unnecessary gatherings like that. My extended family focused on what was important now, rather than whether A had been engaged or B . . ."
The slight pause went unnoticed. Lucky save, Stephanie realised she was going to talk about divorce or child-rearing which could be a major-no topic. She quickly covered up her slip-up with one fluid movement.
"Point is, when I was younger, I could just hear about new industry booming and people my age flocking to this new shiny gold mine and I could just pack up my stuff and join the rush. But now, I can safely say, I'm more reserved. I'm enthusiastic about new things, but I don't have to lead a life defined by external curiosity. They didn't pay for my college, wouldn't care if I . . ."
'If I marry the wrong person and get divorced years later' went unspoken.
"If I fail in life. They only want to absorb the joyous energy from other people's life events, nothing more. People suck lifeline like a dementor in that Harry Potter series. And when you fall, suddenly no one knows you."
The soft tapping sound Lila made by rotating her glass on the wooden table bridged the comfortable silence to the next topic.
"Do you have music on your phone?"
"A music app?"
"Yes. Do you mind playing music from your phone?" Lila asked softly.
Stephanie said okay, so Lila thought quietly for a bit about the genre she would like to listen to. "Anything. In fact, your favourite playlist should suffice. I'm bored with the songs collection on my phone. Perhaps, you can introduce something totally different."
"Sure. Even if our taste might be different?" Stephanie raised her eyebrow.
Lila tilted her head. "We could be fans of different bands but we're both not that different on the species level."
Caught off-guard by the deep explanation, Stephanie puffed some air and thought for a moment. She scrolled down the playlist in her streaming app. Avoiding one playlist that stored the Ex's favourite songs, part of it was his mother's favourite, too, she picked the nostalgic songs playlist from the 30s until 70s era, hoping that the easy vibe matched the leisure chats they would have while waiting for the bread baking.
"My late grandma used to hum to the tunes of this song. When we were both younger, she sang the lyrics, too, when she was happy. It's in Dutch and I haven't really practised anymore since uni. Let me play it for you."
Stephanie pressed the Play button. The loading icon was rotating on her screen for a few seconds. She tried again. The colourful circle left a trail of fading streaks only to reappear, like a snake trying to eat its tail in infinite time. Ouroboros.
"My signal is bad here. May I use your wifi?" she asked.
Lila frowned her head. "Why do you need to go online? Isn't it something you can download previously?"
"Yeah, but I didn't select the auto-download part. We need the data connection to listen to it now."
"I, uh, you can, but I'm not sure if that solves your problem."
"Do you think it's my app? Need to reinstall it then, but I might need the internet if I choose to. But let's try again with your wifi. May I know the password?" Stephanie asked while her screen was waiting for her to input the correct password.
Lila shifted her weight from one side to another on her seat. "I don't think it's a good idea."