Checking the mail finally ceased to be the focal point of his day, and, though he still thought of her from time to time, she no longer kept him awake or taunted him in his dreams. And then it came.
Normally, he rarely checked his mail, since all his bills were paid online and nothing he was really concerned about came in the mail anymore. He grabbed the rather hefty stack of paper, and casually scrolled through it. Apparently, type II diabetes and manic-depression were on sale that weekend. He carelessly tossed the pile onto the coffee table, like any other day, but then an off-white envelope with what looked like handwriting on it caught his eye. Naturally, yet obliviously, he picked it up and as he made sense of it all, his heart once again took a plunge towards his bowels. The top left corner read, “Avalyn Creek.”
Of course her name was Avalyn. It had to be. I couldn’t be Jenny or Veronica, or even Dalila, it was Avalyn. He had never opened an envelope so slowly in his life. The whole “heart beating out of your chest” idiom paled in comparison to what he felt inside. He felt less an abnormal beat and more a constant shift and expansion of his heart. The sight of what appeared to be a lone sentence gave him no consolation. He ever so carefully read:
Peu de Vie 9:30 Thursday
Avalyn
The lack of ensuing relief left him rather baffled. Is this not what he wanted? A brief glance at his watch reminded him that his continued anxiety must have been largely due to the fact that it was eight o’clock, on what one might guess to be Thursday. Before he could even process it all he was on his way out the door, in his best attempt at “I dress well and am a unique individual, but not a douche.” He found himself at a quaint French joint on the Lower East Side. Waldin had been in such a hurry he hadn’t even had the chance to get nervous or work up a decent sweat on his palms. The moment he laid foot in that restaurant all the anxiety that typically was spread over several days in advance overwhelmed him in that instance. He was mildly overdressed, at best, and murals of an endless woman on the walls and lantern lit tables presented him with a far less modern scene than he’d expected. The whole scene was the type of casual yet intriguing that almost made you feel insecure about your own nature. It seemed that the entire environment was just an emanation of her aura. Before she arrived it was an empty room, but as each moment of her presence passed, her energy expanded to every corner of the room. Each time he blinked a new accent appeared, a crack in a rustic painting frame, an engraving on the hostess’ counter. It was all her. He found himself completely lost in a room, half the size of his apartment, helplessly disarmed, all before he actually set eyes on her. She appeared before him quite similarly to that first time, head buried in a book, which he would soon learn she faithfully kept in her purse.
“I see Jane never had a fighting chance?” he said, as he carefully drew out the vacant chair.
She returned to reality with swift lift of the head. The déjà-vu cut right to his core. “Oh you think so little of me? I’d never give up on a book. I’ve just moved on to something … let’s just say ‘more contemporary’.” She waved a copy of Atonement, with a sarcastic smile.
He no longer resisted. “So it seems you’re quite the reader but I suppose you’re not too big on writing, based on your response.”
“I figured I’d save my words for when I actually saw you.”
“Well then I—”
“I’d like for you to leave.”
Waldin sat shocked for a moment. “I’m sorry did I—? Did I say something? Are you—?”
She slowly moved her finger over her lips.
“That’s the last lie I’ll ever tell you, for whatever it’s worth.”
His broad smile was met with her rather narrow one. For a moment they enjoyed what one might call an awkward silence, but what another might consider an eye contact not worth defiling with words.
She abruptly severed the moment. “Do you think the baby is drowning?”
“What?!”
He loosely scanned the immediate area, expecting a further clarification. “Well I sure hope not, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh.
“The day we met, you were carrying a copy of Nevermind. The baby on the cover art, do you think he’s drowning?”
“Oh, well, I’ve been told babies are born with the ability to swim but in time it is lost, so based on its age I assume not. I always thought it was supposed to represent that the loss of innocence and purity through the introduction to society, as the baby begins its endless pursuit of money, if you will.”
“That may be all good and well but I like to think there’s a little more to it.”
“Enlighten me.”
Much to his surprise, she laughed without reservation. “I don’t claim to enlighten anyone—” she paused for a sip of wine “—but what if Kurt was trying to imply that the baby was about to die? What if the baby was about to escape this life before it could be corrupted by society, and greed, and the world we’ve created? What if that was his idea of ‘Nirvana’? And maybe this is just the inner reader in me, always stretching for subterranean meaning, but maybe that foreshadowed him taking his own life.”
“What if that was the most interesting thing anyone’s said to me in years?”
“I’d have to assume your life hasn’t been all that interesting.”
“I’d have a hard time disagreeing with you there, but I honestly can’t seem to get the idea out of my head of the first parent who tested this whole ‘babies know who to swim’ theory out. I’ll have to give a try someday.”
“You plan to have kids then?”
“Usually I’d withhold, but yeah. Maybe not anytime soon, but I’ve always felt that if I could do anything well it would be being a father.”
“It just scares me, I guess.”
“Oh definitely. I know I’d fuck it up. All of our parents fuck us up, one way or another. They’re either there and unload all their shit on to us, or they’re not there, and I doubt I have to explain what that does to a kid.”
“No… You don’t.”
He quickly continued. “I’ve just always been fascinated by how important those early years are, who you’re influenced by, who you learn from. I guess you just have to try not to force your kid into being another you. But I’m my parents’ child and they gave me everything, but apparently I found a way to mess it up. Maybe if I could pass some of them on to someone else, and not fuck it up too much, that kid could do something decent in this world.”
“It’s funny you say that. I’ve always kinda felt the opposite, in some ways at least.” She paused briefly. “I never met my biological parents. Never knew anything about them, except that they gave me up. Grew up in foster homes until my real parents adopted me when I was eleven. I guess since I never knew who made me, and all they gave me was me was my genes, I figured I’d have no part in passing on what they seemed not to value. A part of me wants to believe they, for whatever reason, sacrificed to give me a chance at a better life, but I’m not sure I could ever think up a situation that would completely justify it. Childish? Maybe. Spiteful? Probably. But it’s just always how I’ve felt.”
“I can’t claim to understand, or even imagine.”
“So if I were to pass anything on, it would be who I’ve become through those who made me who I am. I figured one of these days I’ll take my little sister back down to see the Dominican Republuic and adopt, like my parents did with her.”
“Well, I hear it’s beautiful there, minus the mind-boggling poverty and all.”
“Oh, of course, it’s always minus the mind-boggling poverty. But that would be much further down the line. There’s just so much I’d like to do and experience before I commit my life to something else.”
“Well, you’re talking to someone who essentially wasted the last two, or, well, actually eight years of his life. I’m just coming to realize that I haven’t done a damn thing, so I know all about it.”
“How’s that?”
“It�
�s not worth getting into, but, as of a few weeks ago, I was a lawyer.”
“Enough said.”
“So I’ll have to assume you’re a yogi or thrift shop clerk?”
“Uncomfortably close. Admittedly, I’ve done about every other cliché, progressive, alternative, pseudo-job there is.”
A more liberal sip of wine was in order.
“I spent my first year after RISD teaching second graders. I loved the kids; it was the parents that ruined it. I taught in what one might call a school in Liberia for six months, and I’d rather not say why I left. When I got back I bounced around a bit, got some of my work into a few galleries, taught contemporary dance at the 7th studio, even had a column in Contrast Daily. Now I’m … how do we say it these days … in between jobs? Finding my way?”
“Well, at least you didn’t start a YouTube channel!”
“Or write a novel!”
“I can drink to that!”
Their glasses rang louder than expected and summoned an awkward silence to the room, which, of course, they broke with laughter.
For the first time he struggled to find something to say. “So, how’s Aiden?” Waldin bit his tongue immediately.
“Aiden? I don’t think I follow.”
“Ahhh. O.K., normally I’d find a way to play this one off.” He was quickly reminded of his overactive sweat glands. “Aiden is the boyfriend my mind created for you, due to my rather rational yet selfish fear of you being taken. Before you get c—”
“Now that’s adorable. I mean to hell with a baby dachshund, that’s adorable! Well, I’ll have you know I’m not committed to anything at the moment.” She made quite the habit of shattering his expectations.
“I’m not sure I can go any further without telling you something.” His smile had by then been replaced by an expression of unadulterated anxiety, which was met with her immediate concern. “The night before I met you I nearly decided to take my own life.”
Unbeknownst to him, his hand had begun to tremor, so much so that he tipped his glass clean off the table, partially spilling the wine on himself. Utterly embarrassed, he excused himself and left for the bathroom. While staring at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t shake the gentle smile on her face in the innumerable moments that passed between what he had just told her and the spilling of the glass. He hadn’t the slightest grip on her, and he was infatuated.
His newfound confidence evaporated as he walked out of the bathroom to find an empty table. His heart found a new home at the sole of his left shoe. How delusional he had been. Surely he’d gone too far. Why did he have to mention it? How could he expect her to react? How honest did he think he could be? How asinine? His questions were interrupted by the sighting of a folded napkin on the table. Inside read:
I apologize for leaving. I’m not afraid of you. I only feared that if stayed any longer, I would end up going home with you, and I think far too much of you for that this quickly.
I’ll be in touch,
Avalyn
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, not of anguish or even relief, but of something he could only identify as uncharted.
Chapter 7
Life, Lies, and the Little Things Page 6