~ ~ ~
THE DAY I REALIZED I could write things down was the day I first told Epsilon how I felt about him. It was the first winter after the lightning strike, we were always together, but every time I opened my mouth to say what I wanted to say, I got the unbearable urge to stick my tongue against cold metal, that way it would be attached to something at both ends, so I just kept my mouth shut.
One day Epsilon asked if I wanted to sit on the back of his sled. “Where are you going?” I asked. “Where do you want to go?” he asked. “I don’t mind,” I said. I put my arms around him, his hat smelled like wet wool. Then a girl from his class appeared, she wanted to sled with us. Surprised, Epsilon and I looked up at her. “I don’t think there’s room,” I said, but she’d already sat down. We set off, snow hit my eyes, so I closed them and nudged my face into Epsilon’s jacket. When I looked again, we were out over the ice. I asked where his friend was, she wasn’t sitting behind me on the sled anymore. We looked up the hill, but she wasn’t there either. “Maybe it’s a sign,” I said. Epsilon took my hands and helped me up, and we stood together with our wet mittens, holding hands. I wanted to tell him how much I cared about him, but instead I told him that last year seven people had been killed by sharks and fourteen by toasters. Epsilon gave me a strange look and I wanted to disappear. “I just have to. ” I said, without knowing what I actually wanted. I knew what Epsilon thought I had to do, though, because he turned quickly around and left. I blushed standing there and heard his crunching steps on the ice. “I’ll make a snowball while I’m waiting,” he said loudly, as though I’d worry he’d be peeking at me. I figured it couldn’t get any worse, so I began to take off my shoes. After some effort, I was done. “Come and see,” I said. My tongue barely obeyed me. But Epsilon stood motionless, and I had to call his name again before he started toward me hesitantly, his eyes fixed on the sky. “Look down,” I said when he was close. I got anxious when he lowered his eyes and saw my scarf, which now formed a heart on the ice. Within the heart, my wet mittens and socks formed the letters: N I. I wasn’t trying to spell “nine,” as in the number of lives I had left. It was now or never. “Your real name is longer than it sounds,” I said and felt my toes turn blue.
~ ~ ~
I NEED TO GO to the store and buy sugar in case June comes to “borrow” more. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope to meet the man without a watch on the way. Before I go, I spray on perfume, but this time I just squirt myself behind the knees. And a few drops behind the ears. And one squirt in the air in front of me as I’m walking.
When I reach the woods, he’s there, as if by appointment, and I know that this is the chance I’ve been waiting for. June’s visit gave me the self-confidence I needed, the man on the path obviously isn’t quite all there, therefore I can talk to him. Now all I need is something to say. Quickly.
“Hi,” I say. It’s as if I’m listening to a stranger’s voice.
His expression doesn’t change.
“Do you think it’s nice here?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Yes, it’s nice here,” I say.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. He doesn’t say anything else, and I feel panic setting in, he obviously doesn’t like small talk. I’m scared he’ll disappear again if I don’t think of something interesting to say, quickly.
“What’s your name?” I ask. I can’t believe I have the courage.
With a serious expression, he mumbles something that sounds like “KGB,” and I get nervous, because that’s the sort of thing that puts you on your guard. But when I ask again, I hear him sigh “Åge B.,” and I would sigh too if I was stuck with that name. I don’t have the courage to ask what the “B” stands for, in case it’s something embarrassing, and so I just nod encouragingly.
“That’s a good name for a man,” I say.
I’m disappointed that he doesn’t ask me what my name is, or what my favorite color is, or which cassette tape I’d take with me to a desert island if I could choose only one. It’s so wonderful to talk, I want to talk to Åge B. about everything I talked to Epsilon about. When Epsilon came home from work, I’d ask him how his day had been and what he’d done, and he’d say his day was good and he hadn’t done much. I thanked him for this window into his world. Then he’d ask me how my day was and what I’d done, and I’d tell him some story, like about how I think I saw a baby snake shedding its skin on the bathroom floor, but instead it was just a dust bunny. “Don’t you ever get the urge to talk to someone other than me?” Epsilon would ask every now and then. “But I’ve done that,” I’d say. “Don’t you remember the time I went with you to the Christmas party?”
“Well then,” Åge B. says.
“Well then,” I say and hurry off before he does.
I walk down toward the church and feel fat. Especially around the thighs. I hear that’s a normal reaction when you get rejected by someone of the opposite sex.
One time I really was fat, it was right after Stein died. I’d stopped walking to the lake, but I hadn’t stopped baking meringue, in fact I baked it even more often, and at first I thought that’s why my dress was getting tight around the waist. “Don’t you think I’m getting a little soft?” I asked Epsilon. But Epsilon didn’t want to hurt my feelings and said that on the contrary I was looking quite stiff.
“ ‘Aunt Flow’ hasn’t visited for a while,” I said to Epsilon, I couldn’t wait any longer. “She should’ve been here at least three times now.” I usually said “Aunt Flow,” so Epsilon wouldn’t get embarrassed, and now he took my hands in his. “But does this mean.?” he asked. “I think it means more than we can imagine,” I said. I looked at Epsilon and thought this is what true happiness looks like. Even though I’d become immune to the tears in his eyes — I’d seen them often enough — this time they were contagious.
Epsilon went with me to buy a new dress. I had to wear the new one home, since I’d taken the old one off in the dressing room and couldn’t get it back on again. I needed something to grow into, so I bought a dress that was so huge I could wear it over my coat. “But is that really necessary?” Epsilon asked. “No,” I said. “But it can’t hurt.” Even though I was walking right beside him, he looked anywhere but at me, like he was trying to figure out where I’d gone. It was probably because the white dress blended with the snow in the gutters. I asked him to pull down the scarf he’d drawn up to his nose, because it hid the lower half of his face. “People will think you’re doing drugs.”
For the first time, Epsilon didn’t ask if I wanted to go with him to the Christmas party. He just put the invitation on the desk and assumed he’d be going alone. So I told him I wanted to come with him. If anyone asked me a question, I could just pat my belly and that would be answer enough. Plus, no matter how awful the experience was, I wouldn’t be facing it alone. Now I was a two-for-one. Epsilon called me brave, and I got a sudden whim and knitted a long red belt, which I tied in a huge bow around my waist, red on white. When we arrived at the Statistics Office cafeteria though, I was feeling much less brave, especially when I realized I wouldn’t be sitting beside Epsilon at all. “Mrs. Martinsen” read a name card at the other end of the horseshoe-shaped table. Before I could tell him I’d changed my mind and that this was a bad idea, Epsilon was already on the way to his seat. I nervously adjusted my bow and sat down. The chair to my right was empty. On my left was “Mr. Dahl.” Luckily, he was drunk. However, he snuffled so much I had no idea what he was saying; in fact, he was only saying one word over and over. I guessed: “Eskimo?” Dahl shook his head and, struggling not to fall out of his seat, said the word again. “Genghis Khan?” I asked. The whole time I was watching Epsilon, wanting him to see what a social butterfly his wife was. Dinner came and went. But then, three more tries: “Geronimo?” I asked at last. “Geronimo!” said Dahl. We were both relieved. However, neither of us had anything to add, and during dessert we just sat there and nodded.