The Evolution of Alice

by David Alexander Robertson

  When Gideon entered his apartment that evening, he instantly noticed the orange streetlight glow pushing in through the curtains on the sliding door that led out onto the balcony. It took him a moment to notice the cold because he’d just come in from outside. It took him a moment longer to notice the curtains gently flapping in the breeze. The sliding door was open. Gideon was sure when he’d left in the morning it was closed. He walked toward the curtains, which were dancing prettily, just like hair rhythmically whipping around in the wind. At one point, in the midst of a strong gust of wind, the curtains flew up toward the ceiling and revealed a clear view of the balcony. His heart stopped when he saw the silhouette of the woman standing there, facing away from him as though watching the activity in Central Park. The curtains fell back into place. Gideon rushed out onto the balcony, but the woman was gone. He spun around slowly, taking in every last inch of scenery, trying to catch a glimpse of her anywhere. It was no use.

  “What do you want from me?” he said.

  He turned toward Central Park and leaned over the railing. He looked out over the large field, which had an entirely different feel in the night than it did in the day, populated not by children and their toys but, instead, adults and their curiosities. The splash pad was littered with teenagers shouting boorishly, strung out across the metal jungle. He looked to either side of the park, where traffic still busily went on its way, oblivious to his troubles. He looked down to the sidewalk, where he saw only one person. A woman. Lonely. Sad. Her whole body was slumped over, and, to Gideon’s surprise, she was looking right up at him. It wasn’t the woman who kept showing up in his apartment. Even in the dark he could tell she had lighter skin, a thinner frame. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before she turned and walked away. Gideon went back inside, firmly shutting the sliding door. He made sure it was locked.

  Before going to bed, he sent Alice a text that read “Come by any time you want,” in part because Don had suggested that he do so, and he was determined to do whatever Don asked of him. But there was something else, too. Seeing the woman like he’d been seeing her made him feel like he was losing his mind. He needed somebody to talk to, and, as much as he trusted Don, somebody who wasn’t there to analyze him, somebody who’d just listen. Alice never said anything much after Grace’s death. She’d always just sat quietly and let Gideon talk. It didn’t really matter if she was listening anyway. He could think she was and that would be fine. He waited up for a long time that night, hoping for his phone to buzz a text notification, but none came, nor did one come the next day. He wasn’t upset about this. After all, he had not texted her back right away, and Gideon felt he deserved nothing better. He was disappointed, though. The girls certainly would’ve been a welcome distraction too. They always were. He would have been more than happy to play tea party with them, make paper airplanes, or even dress up like princesses.

  After a silence that had stretched far too long, Don leaned back in his chair and sighed. He reached over and picked up a bottle of 7UP, untwisted the cap, filling the office with a refreshing fizz sound, and took a long sip. Once the pop bottle had been set down, Don placed a finger against his temple and smiled at Gideon.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Gideon waited for Don to say something else, but no other words came.

  “Okay, what?” Gideon said.

  “What’s on your mind?” Don said.

  Gideon shook his head.

  “You haven’t said a word since you walked in, and honestly Gideon, you’re here to talk,” Don said.

  “I don’t have any words I want to say,” Gideon said.

  “Nothing? What about Alice? Did you send her a message back?” Don said.

  “Yeah, but I don’t have much to say about that,” Gideon said. “She didn’t text back anyway.”

  “How did that feel?” Don said.

  “I didn’t expect her to so it doesn’t matter. That’s not what I’m thinkin’ about anyway,” Gideon said.

  Gideon looked down at the floor.

  “You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” Gideon said. “You’re only gonna think I’m crazy and stupid.”

  Don leaned forward.

  “Believe it or not, despite my profession, I don’t think anybody is crazy.”

  “Even still, I think I might be the first person you think is crazy,” Gideon said.

  “How about you tell me what’s on your mind, and we’ll go from there,” Don said.

  Gideon shifted uncomfortably in the comfortable love seat.

  “I been seeing this woman in my apartment,” Gideon said. “I mean, I been seeing her and I don’t think she’s really there.”

  “What makes you think she’s not really there?” Don said.

  “Because she’s there and then she’s not there,” Gideon said.

  “Let’s start here: what does this woman do?” Don said as he thoughtfully sipped at his 7UP again.

  “She’s just kind of there, you know,” Gideon said. “She’s standing around, lyin’ down on the floor, whatever. This morning I got out of the shower, and she was kind of just standing there like she was waitin’ to hand me a goddamn towel or something.”

  “Have you tried to talk to her?” Don said.

  “One time, but she doesn’t say anything. Never says anything whether I’m talkin’ to her or not.”

  “Could she live there? I mean, in the building?” Don said.

  Gideon shifted his position again and the leather made a crunching sound. “I told you. She kind of just disappears. You know, into thin air.”

  “You mean, she is standing there and then, poof, she’s gone?” Don said.

  “No, she kind of just darts off and when I follow her she’s gone,” Gideon said.

  “Well, could it be that she just, you know, leaves?” Don said.

  Gideon thought about when he had seen her on the balcony. She disappeared there, too, and she sure as hell didn’t jump, but maybe he’d imagined it. His head wasn’t right after all. That’s why he was seeing a shrink, wasn’t it? Gideon shrugged.

  “Lately I been kind of wanting to see her, too, you know,” Gideon said. “At first I didn’t wanna see her, and then I started to want to.”

  “Are you curious about her?” Don said.

  “I guess,” Gideon said. “Maybe.”

  “What happens before you see her? Does anything stand out?”

  “No, not really. I seen her after a dream, after a walk, after a shower, whatever. She kinda just comes and goes as she pleases, you know,” Gideon said.

  Don looked Gideon over. If Gideon were to use Don’s language he would say that Don looked as though he was processing.

  “Would you call me if you see this woman again? I’ll come over and we can talk about it. That might help us whittle things down a bit,” Don said.

  Gideon nodded. He patted his chest. There was a weight lifted. As they walked down the hallway, Gideon said to Don, “I guess the good thing is I haven’t had any of them panic attacks.”

  “That is good, Gideon. That is very good.”

  Gideon walked home that day through the heart of the city, the alleys and avenues, the tributaries. Although he’d now negotiated his way throughout downtown’s blood vessels on several occasions and felt relatively familiar with the area, he still felt alien to it, alone within it, and very small, like a solitary blood cell. And in that unfamiliarity he once more sought out a certain kind of comfort, a face that he would recognize. Only this time, unconsciously, it wasn’t Alice’s face he searched for, but rather the woman who visited him on occasion. He inspected each face that passed by. Some faces returned his curious stare with an awkward smile, others looked at him with a great deal of annoyance, others still with anger, but none of the faces matched the one he sought. It was when passing an old pub at the outskirts of the exchange district called the Yellow Dog Tavern that he saw somebody familiar, but not the woman in his apartment, and not Alice.

  He stopped outside on the sid
ewalk just out of the woman’s view. He looked her over carefully. Who was she? Perhaps one of the many faces he had passed during his walks through downtown. He went through them as best he could, one by one, but no faces matched. Another tenant? He’d seen a few faces here and there, although he didn’t walk around the building too much. There was never a need to. The weight room had one broken treadmill, an elliptical machine the landlord was always on, his head glistening with sweat as he watched talk shows, opting not to wear his toupee while exercising, and a row of weights beside a rickety workout bench. The swimming pool had been closed down long before Gideon moved in. An old man in the elevator had told him it was because a young girl got her hair stuck in the drain a year previous and almost drowned. None of the tenants looked remotely like the woman in the Yellow Dog Tavern. Then it hit him. It was the woman he’d seen on the sidewalk staring up at his apartment.

  Gideon walked inside the tavern as though drawn there. The woman was sitting by the window, facing outside, but didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. She was alone, an empty chair beside her. Gideon walked up to the bar, ordered a diet drink, and made his way over to the woman. When he sat down beside her, she let out an annoyed sigh and took a quick sip of her beer. She didn’t look over at him, kept looking outside. Gideon took a sip of his drink and faced the outside with her, but, instead of looking through the glass, he watched her reflection, which, in the gathering darkness, was clear. She had no makeup on. Her eyes were sunken, her hair hinted at prettiness but was tangled and worn, and the lines of her skin wrote the story of a difficult life. He took another sip of his drink. She twisted the beer glass around with her delicate fingers.

  “What’re you drinking there?” Gideon said.

  She didn’t answer, just took another sip of the anonymous ale.

  “I don’t drink, me,” he said.

  “Good for you,” she said, and might as well have said those words to nobody. They were empty, just like her eyes.

  “I seen you the other day, on the street outside my apartment building,” he said.

  She returned to her silence, pushed some hair behind her ear, shifted her body a bit farther away.

  “You were lookin’ up at me,” he said.

  “Where the hell was that?” she said.

  Gideon said, “On Cumberland. That big ol’ brick apartment block, you know. It’s just down the street a ways from here.”

  They sat there in silence for a good while. She kept looking out the window, and he kept looking at her reflection. He expected her to get up and walk away.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well I wasn’t looking at you.”

  She took a long drink, then placed the glass back. She ran her finger along the outside of the glass, collecting condensation. She held her finger out into the air, watched the water pool around her fingerprint in a bead, and watched the bead fall.

  “My sister used to live in that place.”

  “How do you know she lived in my place?” he said.

  “She lived on the top floor, right in the corner. Kind of hard to miss it,” she said.

  He craned his neck around, tried to make eye contact with her. Her eyes were evasive. He settled back into his chair.

  “You miss her or something?” he said.

  “Or something,” she said.

  “When’d she move out?” he said.

  “She never moved out,” she said. She took another, longer, sip of her drink before adding, “She died about a month ago.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said.

  For the first time, he looked past her reflection to the outside, settled his eyes on a dancing plastic bag on the street and watched as passing cars catapulted it into the atmosphere, spinning and twirling.

  “I lost my grandpa just a little bit ago,” he said. “I know how you feel.”

  “Yeah? Did he jump off a fucking balcony too?” she said.

  Gideon, who had just finished taking a sip of his pop, almost dropped the glass. He fumbled with it and spilled a bit on his jeans. He placed it back onto the table and pushed it close to the centre, then picked up a napkin and dabbed at his jeans for far too long, becoming lost in thought. What had the landlord told him when he thought the previous tenant might have a key? It wasn’t possible, the landlord had said. Gideon understood why now. He kept dabbing away at his jeans, and the woman sat where she was, at times turning the glass around in her fingers, at times taking a sip, at times picking at the tape-cassette-shaped coaster.

  “What was she like?” he said, breaking the silence.

  He placed the napkin back on the table and slid it over beside his glass.

  “She was …” she said, but her voice started to crack. She gathered herself, then continued, “Beautiful and sad.”

  “Why was she sad?” Gideon said.

  “You don’t know me,” she said. “You don’t know me to ask that. Don’t ask that.”

  “Okay, then,” he said. “How was she beautiful?”

  This wasn’t met with such defensiveness. Gideon thought perhaps it was nice for her to think about her sister. Nice but painful. He did the same with Grace, with his grandpa. Even dreamt about them. Their features, to him, were still clear, as though he was looking at a photograph of them. He hoped they’d be like that forever. Frozen in time, unchangeable.

  “She had black hair, so black and full. Perfect brown skin. Big bold eyes. She was just beautiful, you know?”

  When Gideon heard the description of the woman’s sister, his heart pretty near stopped right then and there. The woman looked at him as though he was sick.

  “You okay?” she said.

  He nodded. He reached over and grabbed his glass of pop firmly. He took a sip and placed it back on the table.

  “What was her name?” he said.

  “Evelyn,” she said.

  She finished her beer, placed the glass back onto the coaster, pushed it to the other side of the table. She stood up.

  “Look, I have to go,” she said.

  There was one lonely tear falling down her cheek, just like the bead of condensation that fell from her finger. He stood up too.

  “She’s not really gone, you know,” he said.

  She pushed hair behind her ear again, the same lock she had tucked behind her ear before. Her eyebrows scrunched together.

  “What’re you talking about?” she said.

  He didn’t answer at first. He picked up his drink and let an ice cube slip into his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully. Finally, he said, “I mean, when you keep somebody in your heart, they don’t ever die. Not really.”

  She wiped the tear away.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  As Gideon walked home later, he still wasn’t sure why he’d changed his mind about telling the woman about Evelyn. Maybe it was because she never would’ve believed him, might’ve told him to fuck off, stormed out of the pub, and he’d never see her again. And maybe it was because he wanted to see her again—not Evelyn, but the woman in the bar—despite her sunken eyes, despite her tangled hair, despite the hardship on her face. Maybe that was closest to the truth. In future days, he would search for her face along the crowded streets of downtown, not Alice’s, not Evelyn’s. In future days, on his walks, he would pass by the Yellow Dog Tavern to see if she was sitting there, staring out at nothing in particular.

  Gideon woke up to a knock on the door. When he opened his eyes, he saw Evelyn lying on the floor in the same place he had seen her before. She was looking at the ceiling, the blank ceiling, and didn’t turn her head when he stood up from the futon. There was another knock. He didn’t move. He was afraid to. He didn’t want her to run off again. Another knock.

  “Gideon,” said a voice through the door.

  It was Alice. To his surprise, his heart kept a steady pace. His skin stayed dry. The world stayed still.

  “I know you’re there. It’s almost midnight,” Alice said.

  He looked to the door, to the tiny circle of lig
ht coming from the peephole. She was there behind the door. She’d come to see him. He’d asked her to.

  Another knock.

  “Open up,” Alice said.

  He took a step toward the door but stopped. He turned his head back to Evelyn. She was still lying there, still staring at the ceiling, those beautiful big eyes wide open and transfixed by something; most certainly not the endless collection of tack holes in the drywall, most certainly not the white paint. He wished that he could see what she did. He saw for the first time how her skin shimmered with the evening light, as though a part of it. He took one careful step after another until he was right beside Evelyn, and farther away from the front door.

  Another knock.

  He got down onto his knees, placed his hands against the hardwood, and lowered himself to the floor. He turned onto his back, looked over at Evelyn. She didn’t move. Not her head. Not her body. He heard a frustrated sigh from outside the front door. He lifted his head and looked at the shaft of light coming from the space between the door and the floor. He could see Alice’s feet shifting this way and that. He knew her camouflage-patterned Converse shoes anywhere. After a few moments, they walked away. He listened as the sound of her footsteps trailed off down the hallway. He heard the elevator’s shrill ding. He heard the doors rattle open. He heard the doors slide shut.

  Gideon placed his hand over his chest. Still calm. He rested his head against the floor and turned toward Evelyn, her midnight-black hair, her dark olive skin, her saucer eyes, and then he looked away, toward the emptiness of the ceiling above, toward dreams of white nothingness. He let out a deep, cleansing sigh.