by Ava Zavora
She clicked on her Twitter picture and looked at it critically. Not exactly a face that could launch a thousand ships, but a flattering one nevertheless. Perhaps it was too flattering? Her expression too come hither? Her lips painted too rich of a red, too inviting? She had tilted her chin down then gazed up at the camera, one kohl-rimmed brown eye peeking provocatively beyond a parted curtain of long, black shiny hair, a crimson rose tucked behind one ear. She had worn a black and red halter top.
The picture was a little much, she had to admit. More like a costume she had attired her Twitter self in- a pretend personality of someone a little dangerous, sex-kittenish. Not at all the quiet, conservative persona she projected at work. Adam could scroll through all her tweets to the very beginning of her account and never find a titillating entry. Rather the opposite - geeky rhapsodies over books, publishing news, authors. She hoped that he had gathered by now if he wanted a racy, online flirtation, he would have to look elsewhere.
The Twitter picture had been an impulsive act - taken soon after she broke up with Troy - as if to declare how well she was doing and wasn't he a fool?
The picture accompanying her blog profile was a lot more toned down: no makeup, big, horn-rimmed glasses, her hair, an unstyled, wavy mess. Her real self.
With a real life. Eden closed her laptop, determined not to open it again. The sun had indeed come out and she longed to be outside. She cajoled Dante into taking a walk with her, then ran errands. After his dad picked up Dante in the late afternoon, she bundled herself up to go to San Francisco. She had never been to a bonfire before and Ocean Beach apparently allowed open fires without a permit. Tonight was to be #12 on her list of 36 new things to try before she turned 36.
For a typical summer night, the Pacific coast was foggy and cold. Eden shivered in her pea coat and went from bonfire to bonfire warming herself. She took photos of the great, big ones, impressive with their towers of orange-red flames that defied the chill. There were families roasting marshmallows and telling campfire stories. Others were big party groups, rowdy with music blasting from portable stereos. She avoided those, and ignored the catcalls from drunken frat boys. She lingered the most near a calm group that seemed to be composed of strangers come together, some couples nuzzling each other, bathed rosy from the glow of the fire, some hippies smoking weed. A long-haired man softly strummed his guitar. He nodded at her and smiled, welcoming her into their circle.
She sat at the edge for awhile, staring into the fire and listening to his music. She wrapped herself up in a thick shawl she had packed in her purse. She watched the young lovers kissing, colors playing on their faces from the flames. Her thoughts drifted to Adam.
She took out her iPod and plugged in her earbuds with the microphone. She turned her back on the bonfire and faced the darkening ocean. She didn't want to think too much about how this would be the first time Adam would be hearing her voice. She focused on speaking clearly and not too fast, then began recording a memo.
"Hello," she began hesitantly. "If this sounds staticky or noisy, it's because I'm at Ocean Beach and it's windy. There are waves crashing against the shore. There are a lot of people making a lot of noise." She sniffed. "And my nose is running."
"Um. I apologize if I seemed cold this afternoon. I was just ... thinking. It's funny how the way I am in real life comes across in the way I write. If we were face-to-face, I, I'd probably do the same thing, which is withdraw. So I can … so I can think. I'm not good at pretending to be otherwise. You could see everything on my face. Even if I say nothing."
"Alright. So you want commentary on what you've written. From what you've told me, you've had an unhappy childhood. You no longer speak to your parents. And I wonder about that. But I won't ask you because it's probably painful. And if you want share with me, you will. But it makes me sad."
"I think I'm taking you too seriously and I'm mad at myself. I have a bad habit of taking things too seriously."
Eden paused, not knowing what else to say. She glanced at the time.
"Oh, this is already over two minutes," she said in a rush, "I should wrap it up. I don't mean to have so many lengthy pauses. I, I should have written something down and recited it. But." She took a deep breath.
"I like getting e-mails from you. Even if ... even if it's fiction. Really. I was so happy this morning. And yesterday. Good night."
Eden played the memo only once, cringing the whole time. Some of it had been drowned out by the background noise, she was silent for long stretches of time, and she sounded awkward, vulnerable. She hoped that it conveyed, somehow, that toying with her feelings would be hurtful. She resisted the urge to re-record something more polished and confident.
This was her real self, and the man who will hear it could draw his own conclusions.
Chapter 5
Subject: Sunday Shenanigans
------------------------
From: Adam -
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 5:42 AM
To: Eden E
Good morning little lady.
Eden had been awake when Adam's e-mail first arrived. She went back and forth on whether or not to send the voice memo she had recorded the night before.
"Gah!" she said to no one in particular and hit send. Then waited.
------------------------
From: Eden E
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 8:08 AM
To: Adam -
Attach: Hello.vm
Good morning, Adam
I just wanted you to know that I have fat calves and thick thighs.
Wouldn't want to mislead you.
Eden
------------------------
From: Adam -
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 8:14 AM
To: Eden E
Thank you for the reply by voice.
"I think I'm taking you too seriously ... " The next two sentences were inaudible. What did you say?
I will reciprocate later today.
You can ask about my parents, if you wish.
I appreciate the explanation, your being pensive made you appear cold.
That has tickled me. I have a penchant for thick thighs. Genuinely. I've always been a thigh man.
For me, it is paramount, whatever we say or share, is not fiction. Even if the truth is startling, it must be the truth. I assure you, I have treated you with this respect.
I shave my head every day with a razor blade. Through a desire not to have hair, not because I am going bald.
----------
From: Eden E
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 8:29 AM
To: Adam -
I think I said that I'm mad at myself for taking things too seriously and that I have a bad habit of that or something to that effect.
After listening to it once I wondered if I should do it over but decided that a second recording would sound rehearsed and unnatural. I was following your policy you see.
Do you happen to have a copy of The Midnight Garden on hand? I had the strongest urge to make cinnamon milk last night after the beach, and I could have sworn I first read about it in that book but I could only find references to a cinnamon milk shake.
What precipitated your parents and you severing ties with each other?
Do you have any other family? Brothers? Sisters?
----------
From: Adam -
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 8:37 AM
To: Eden E
No comment on my aerodynamic head decision?
I am quite serious as well.
I'm glad you followed my policy.
I do have a copy somewhere, in a box. I'll have a look. I have it in many different languages. I collect them whenever I go to a new country.
The short version: My mother left when I was two years old. My father raised me, which was
unheard of at the time. However he had to give up his work and such, which presented a growing resentment, especially as I got older and developed my own mind. At 15, I was invited to leave home, shall we say, so that he could regain his "lost time."
I am an only child. I was very close to my grandfather, who passed 9 years ago. The rest of my relatives, I don't have contact with for a plethora of reasons. Some of which involve being resented for my success and strong ambitions when I was younger. My background is one of poverty.
I think we both need to expel the prospect that either one of us might not be entirely honest. I like the idea of us being completely frank and forthcoming.
----------
From: Eden E
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 8:53 AM
To: Adam -
I have nothing against shaved heads but my first image was of a neo-Nazi so I decided not to comment. You're not a neo-Nazi are you? Perhaps you have a stunning scalp and a beautifully shaped dome.
Tell me more about your grandfather, please.
Do you think you inherited any of your mother's or your father's traits?
Isn't strange that this form of communication inspires on the one hand false identities and on the other, a baring of one's soul? But maybe the people constructing false identities are baring their souls in a way - this is who they want to be or who they feel they are deep down inside.
Do you think I'm not completely honest in everything I've written? Or said?
----------
From: Adam -
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 8:59 AM
To: Eden E
Ha, no, I'm far from a Neo-Nazi.
My grandfather was a secretive man. Generous, and strong. He was the first person who taught me what it meant to be a man. I inherited more of his traits than anyone's.
However, I left out one detail. At the time my mother left, my father had a good friend who he had bought a newspaper shop with. A few years earlier, his friend had lost his wife and children in an earthquake in Japan. He was resigned to being with another, as was my father after my mother left. They became lifelong companions and raised me together. Although not related by blood, I love this man more than any other person in my life. Though I rarely get to speak to him because he and my father still live together, in Spain.
I hope you've been honest. You seem to have been. Have you been?
I think anyone who projects a false identity is mentally flawed.
You sound young, in reference to your voice.
----------
From: Eden E
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 9:10 AM
To: Adam -
Are you secretive? Do you consider yourself a private person?
Your father's friend/partner - he won't speak with you behind your father's back? Has your father forbidden it? Is your father angry at you? Why, when he is the one who tossed you out?
Yes, I've been honest. Have you? Completely?
I hate the sound of my voice. It's much too high sometimes. You smoke and drink whiskey - I'm imagining yours is deep and gravelly?
----------
From: Adam -
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 9:17 AM
To: Eden E
I am a man of secrets and extremely private. Some people admire this quality, some vehemently dislike it. Some people don't understand it and think I am hiding something.
Friend is the word, not partner. I call him Uncle. He does speak to me, when my father isn't around, which is rare, though I bought him an iPad (he's 73) and we write iMessages to each other (when he's not playing Angry Birds).
My father resents me, plain and simple. My existence changed the course of his life, at least, that's how he sees it.
I have been honest, completely, including my thick thigh fetish.
I find it difficult to judge my voice. You'll be able to judge for yourself in the next hour or so. I don't think yours is too high. It is very feminine. The appropriate emoticon here would be :P
----------
From: Eden E
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 9:33 AM
To: Adam -
Then why are you answering all my questions? I'll assume that you're being truthful about your answers instead of being evasive? I would like to know so that I can then explain my own behavior, which is baffling me. I'm considered to be secretive or scheming or all sorts of not flattering things by those who don't know me very well.
My son's existence changed the course of my life too. But it's rubbish to think that a child can hold you back from accomplishments. If anything, life is richer, fuller, has meaning and purpose. Are you angry at your father ever? Or have you let go?
What did you do today?
----------
From: Adam -
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 9:48 AM
To: Eden E
Bear with me, my next message will include audio.
----------
From:
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 10:08 AM
To: Adam -
I have to leave now. I'll be back later this afternoon.
Eden
A man of secrets. Yet opening up to her.
Eden drove to San Francisco preoccupied, mulling over Adam's e-mails. She parked her car on Van Ness and ran to her Krav Maga class. For an hour, she put him out her mind, as the class was rigorous and demanded her full attention. Krav became another one of her 36 things after she spied a Groupon of 10 classes for only $45 four weeks ago. The first class taught her how to free herself if someone was choking her from behind. She was hooked after that.
That Sunday, they learned how to take down an assailant with a swift elbow jab to the neck, followed by a knee to the groin. Even though her partner, a 6'0" 20-something-year-old, held up a body pad for protection, Eden was very ginger with her kicks.
"You can kick harder than that," he encouraged.
Afterwards, she availed herself of their small basement gym, with holes in the wall and a ceiling with loose particle boards. It was usually empty so she could do a few rounds on the heavy bag, speed bag, and double end bag without feeling self-conscious.
After knocking herself out with combos until she was sweaty and her hair was straggling out of its ponytail, Eden drove to the Palace of Fine Arts. She sat on a sunny bench and watched the tourists as she devoured her lunch. With its Grecian-style dome and Corinthian arches surrounded by a lagoon full of swans, the Palace was a popular spot for wedding pictures. There were at least three newlywed couples having their pictures taken. Brides wearing fluffy, white confections like meringues, and dapper grooms in crisp tuxedos.
Her own wedding, a million years ago it felt like, had been very small and simple. It had been a quiet and mostly somber affair of 10 people. Eden tried to remember if she had ever looked as hopeful and in love as the newly wedded couples she saw posing around the Palace.
She felt she should hurry home. Adam would have e-mailed her his recording by now. He'd be waiting for her reply. But she felt like dragging her feet, lingering in the city. Half of her couldn't wait to hear his voice and the other half was filled with dread.
She drove home when she could not bear the suspense any longer and bounded up the stairs to her laptop. The five minutes it took to start seemed like half an hour. She logged onto her e-mail, and saw that soon after she had left that morning, Adam had sent her a reply with an attachment. Then sent her another note a few minutes before she came home.
----------
From: Adam -
Date: Sun, Aug 5, at 10:15 AM
To: Eden E
Attach: My Enemy.vm
Well we haven't covered anything that deep, yet, but I think for our interactio
n to be valid we have to make some concessions. At least, that's my perspective.
Scheming? That's an interesting adjective.