“I’ll see you whenever, then.” I wa

“I’ll see you whenever, then.” I walk away as fast as I can without actually running.
I make it back to my apartment and go straight to my room. She’s there. Right there on my wall. “This is going to be hard,” I tell the 2-D Romy. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
My phone rings, and my eyes go wide. The 3-D Romy is calling me. “Romy?” My gaze flicks to her green eyes, staring back at me from my sketch. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I wanted to thank you. For everything.”
“You’re welcome. But I didn’t do much. I mean—” Not like what you did for me last night.
“Sometimes we don’t know what we do for other people. Sometimes we never get to know,” she says.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I guess it depends.”
“You saved me last night,” I blurt. There’s no other way to describe it.
She’s quiet for a moment. “All I did was listen.”
“You know it’s more than that. There’s no ‘all I did,’” I say, settling in on my bed and staring at the ceiling.
“There’s no ‘I didn’t do much,’ either,” she jokes, doing a silly imitation of my voice.
I smile. “Tell me why that is. Why does it help so much, just to have someone listen to you? I mean, you’re the therapist.”
“I’m not your therapist. If I were, we couldn’t be friends.”
“No?”
“No. That’s how it works. If I were your therapist, I would be there for you, and that would be my purpose. You wouldn’t have to worry about whether I was okay, because you’d only be talking to me to do something for yourself. But—”
“I’m there for you, too. And I like it that way.”
Another few seconds of silence. “Yeah,” she finally says. “I think I like it that way, too.”
This crazy-fierce feeling of triumph rushes through me. It’s easier to talk to her like this, when she’s not right in front of me, making my heart race. “So. Listening.”
“Listening,” she says quietly. “I think it helps to have another person sit next to you and say ‘yeah. That happened.’ It keeps you from feeling crazy.”
God, that’s exactly what it is. That’s what she did for me last night. After so many years of climbing the walls of my own skull, of having my own mom tell me I was lying, of having my own sister scream that I was making things up, Romy simply said, “It happened.” And that made all the difference.
“Amazing,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “I never knew it was that simple.”
She chuckles. “I don’t think it is. If it was, we’d all be totally sane, right?”
My heart clutches a little as I think of Katie, who at this very moment is in the hospital. “Yeah,” I say, airy and hoarse. “I wish it was that easy.”
“I know, Caleb,” she says, and the tenderness in those words is devastating. It lays waste to my walls, all my defenses. “I know. I wish it was, too. But she has you, and not everyone is so lucky.”
 “Do you think—” Do you think she’ll ever be okay? I suck in a breath. Romy’s going to think I’m such a fucking mess. And she’d be totally right. “Never mind. So. Have you seen Daniel’s most recent painting? He’s got a new obsession.”
There’s a huff of breath into the phone, and I brace myself. “Tell me about it,” she says. “I haven’t seen much of Daniel’s work.”
Holy shit. She’s totally letting me get away with changing the subject.
“Marbles,” I tell her. “He’s collecting marbles and painting them in all sorts of styles. He came up to me earlier today and was like ‘I found a Christensen Nine Bloodie on eBay!’ And he’s waving around this swirly marble like it’s the most magnificent thing that’s ever existed.”
“Marbles? Huh. I guess his style is a lot different from yours.”
I smile as I think of him. “Actually, he switches styles a lot. Most painters I know kind of settle in on one thing for a while, but Daniel’s always trying something new.” And he’s surprisingly good at everything he tries. I’ve always been kind of jealous of him for that. “I think he likes to surprise people. Throw them off balance.” I chuckle as a memory comes to me. “When we were in high school, we were supposed to do a watercolor project, and everyone else was painting the lake or flowers or a rainy cityscape. But Daniel did a re-imagining of the shower scene from Psycho that had the teacher calling the guidance counselor on him. It was a joke, but the counselor was convinced Daniel was a future serial killer.”
Romy giggles. “He seems pretty live-and-let-live, actually.”
“He’s better than that,” I say. “But he doesn’t want anyone to know, so don’t tell.”
“His secret’s safe with me.”
And it goes like that. For the rest of the night. We talk about art and music and the fact that we both like fried food more than is good for us. We talk about books, and when I quote from one of my favorites—this line from a Terry Pratchett novel that goes “It is at this point that normal language gives up, and goes and has a drink”—Romy crows, “The Color of Magic! I love that one!” By the time it occurs to us to hang up, it’s four in the morning, and we’re both starting to drift.
“Romy?”
“Caleb?”
“I think I need to get some sleep.”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

"Aku akan melihat Anda kapan saja, kemudian." Aku berjalan pergi secepat aku bisa tanpa benar-benar berjalan.Aku membuat kembali ke apartemen saya dan langsung ke kamarku. Dia ada disana. Di sana di dinding saya. "Ini akan menjadi keras," saya memberitahu Romy 2-D. "Anda tidak tahu apa yang Anda lakukan untuk saya."Telepon berdering, dan mata saya pergi lebar. 3-D Romy memanggil saya. "Romy?" Pandangan flicks untuk matanya hijau, menatap ke arahku dari sketsa saya. "Apakah Anda saja?""ya. Saya ingin mengucapkan terima kasih. Untuk segala sesuatu.""Anda dipersilakan. Tapi aku tidak melakukan banyak. Maksudku — "tidak seperti apa yang Anda lakukan untuk saya tadi malam."Kadang-kadang kita tidak tahu apa yang kita lakukan untuk orang lain. Kadang-kadang kita tidak pernah bisa tahu,"katanya."Apakah itu baik atau buruk?""Saya kira itu tergantung.""Engkau menyelamatkan saya tadi malam," saya blurt. Ada cara lain untuk menggambarkan hal itu.Dia tenang sejenak. "Yang saya lakukan adalah mendengarkan.""Kau tahu itu adalah lebih dari itu. Ada tidak 'semua yang saya lakukan,' "Aku berkata, menetap di di tempat tidur saya dan menatap langit-langit."Ada tidak 'saya tidak melakukan banyak,' baik," ia lelucon, melakukan imitasi konyol suara saya.Aku tersenyum. "Katakan mengapa itu. Mengapa Apakah itu membantu begitu banyak, hanya untuk memiliki seseorang mendengarkan Anda? Maksudku, kau terapis.""Aku tidak terapis Anda. Jika saya, kita tidak bisa teman.""Tidak?"“No. That’s how it works. If I were your therapist, I would be there for you, and that would be my purpose. You wouldn’t have to worry about whether I was okay, because you’d only be talking to me to do something for yourself. But—”“I’m there for you, too. And I like it that way.”Another few seconds of silence. “Yeah,” she finally says. “I think I like it that way, too.”This crazy-fierce feeling of triumph rushes through me. It’s easier to talk to her like this, when she’s not right in front of me, making my heart race. “So. Listening.”“Listening,” she says quietly. “I think it helps to have another person sit next to you and say ‘yeah. That happened.’ It keeps you from feeling crazy.”God, that’s exactly what it is. That’s what she did for me last night. After so many years of climbing the walls of my own skull, of having my own mom tell me I was lying, of having my own sister scream that I was making things up, Romy simply said, “It happened.” And that made all the difference.“Amazing,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “I never knew it was that simple.”She chuckles. “I don’t think it is. If it was, we’d all be totally sane, right?”My heart clutches a little as I think of Katie, who at this very moment is in the hospital. “Yeah,” I say, airy and hoarse. “I wish it was that easy.”“I know, Caleb,” she says, and the tenderness in those words is devastating. It lays waste to my walls, all my defenses. “I know. I wish it was, too. But she has you, and not everyone is so lucky.” “Do you think—” Do you think she’ll ever be okay? I suck in a breath. Romy’s going to think I’m such a fucking mess. And she’d be totally right. “Never mind. So. Have you seen Daniel’s most recent painting? He’s got a new obsession.”There’s a huff of breath into the phone, and I brace myself. “Tell me about it,” she says. “I haven’t seen much of Daniel’s work.”Holy shit. She’s totally letting me get away with changing the subject.“Marbles,” I tell her. “He’s collecting marbles and painting them in all sorts of styles. He came up to me earlier today and was like ‘I found a Christensen Nine Bloodie on eBay!’ And he’s waving around this swirly marble like it’s the most magnificent thing that’s ever existed.”“Marbles? Huh. I guess his style is a lot different from yours.”I smile as I think of him. “Actually, he switches styles a lot. Most painters I know kind of settle in on one thing for a while, but Daniel’s always trying something new.” And he’s surprisingly good at everything he tries. I’ve always been kind of jealous of him for that. “I think he likes to surprise people. Throw them off balance.” I chuckle as a memory comes to me. “When we were in high school, we were supposed to do a watercolor project, and everyone else was painting the lake or flowers or a rainy cityscape. But Daniel did a re-imagining of the shower scene from Psycho that had the teacher calling the guidance counselor on him. It was a joke, but the counselor was convinced Daniel was a future serial killer.”Romy giggles. “He seems pretty live-and-let-live, actually.”“He’s better than that,” I say. “But he doesn’t want anyone to know, so don’t tell.”“His secret’s safe with me.”And it goes like that. For the rest of the night. We talk about art and music and the fact that we both like fried food more than is good for us. We talk about books, and when I quote from one of my favorites—this line from a Terry Pratchett novel that goes “It is at this point that normal language gives up, and goes and has a drink”—Romy crows, “The Color of Magic! I love that one!” By the time it occurs to us to hang up, it’s four in the morning, and we’re both starting to drift."Romy?""Kaleb?""Saya rasa saya perlu untuk mendapatkan tidur."