Here & There

by Joshua V. Scher

  Eve’s story. The website. The bulletin board. I shuffled right to the computer.

  Wouldn’t you know it, for the life of me, I couldn’t find it. Not any of it. No Bourg. No oubliettes. No Hoggle. It was gone. Without a trace. Did I dream it? Was I misremembering? Could I just not conjure up the magic phrase for the Google genie that let me in on the Siberian bartender’s iPad?

  Or had it been dismantled?

  * * *

  The Deputy was thorough, to say the least, but ultimately unsuccessful in his efforts to create order and harmony. His instincts about her were right. It’s just his timing was wrong.

  “Is it on? Can you see me?” Reidier turns backward in the passenger seat.

  “Yes?” a soft, high voice responds.

  “Here, let me see it.” Reidier reaches toward the camera and takes it. In a jarring blur, the interior of the car sweeps across the frame until the shot comes to rest on Reidier’s lap. Past his knee, on the floor mat is the torn plastic cover of a Flip camcorder.

  “Yeah, no. It’s on.” The world spins again, stopping at an unflattering angle of Reidier looking down at it. “This is pretty cool, I got to say. For something you can buy at a drugstore. Check it out, Eve.”

  The frame blurs again, stopping on the dashboard as Reidier holds it up for Eve to see.

  “Not now, Rye,” we hear her say in a crisp tone. “Driving.”

  “Eyes on road,” Otto’s soft voice sings from the backseat.

  The camera swings back, past Ecco, to Otto.

  “That’s right, Otto; Mommy’s got to keep her eyes on the road. But you,” interior spins again as Reidier hands the camcorder back to Otto, “have two sets of eyes.”

  Otto giggles.

  “Rye, are you sure that’s appropriate for a three-year-old?” Eve asks. She casts a sideways look at him.

  “He’s practically four. And who cares if he breaks it, I bought it at CVS.”

  Reidier seems completely genuine in his response and completely oblivious to the fact that he’s not addressing Eve’s question at all. Or rather he is answering the question he heard, not the question she asked. There seems to be no malice or passive aggressiveness in his tone and demeanor. It is possible that it is a subconscious, almost instinctual response that avoids actual confrontation through confusion. More likely, Reidier is doing what so many of us do with our spouses: assuming an I-know-you-like-the-back-of-my-hand insight that creates a porous enough connection to allow our own sublimated concerns to be poured into our significant other. It is not a willful act. In our need to unite with others,49 we inevitably cover up parts of them with ourselves. Creative destruction, or at least creative obfuscation.

  Nevertheless, this begs the question, how well do any of us know the back of our hands?

  What we learn in this moment is that Reidier’s consistent misinterpretation of Eve was a dynamic set in motion long ago.

  We are deprived of any visual consideration of Eve’s response by Otto’s toddling cinematography as he spins the camera on himself: “My birthday’s in twenty-free days.” The camera spins to Ecco, who sits behind Reidier, quietly watching his brother. “When’s Ecco’s?”

  Ecco half huffs, half laughs, and smiles when his brother looks at him.

  “The same day as yours, Otto,” Reidier says.

  “Really?” Otto asks with narcissistic disbelief. The camera shifts back to Reidier.

  “Like always.”

  “Don’t do that,” Eve snaps.

  “What, hon?” Reidier asks with a smile.

  “Don’t patronize him.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You were. You were correcting him. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know.”

  Reidier doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He looks at Eve, but she won’t make eye contact. She never turns her head, just focuses on the road. Reidier looks back at the boys and smiles.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Reidier turns back in the passenger seat and faces forward.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Otto?”

  “Do I hafta share my cake?”

  Reidier erupts with laughter. “No Otto, we can get two cakes.”

  Otto lets out a Yay. Ecco joins in. Eventually it turns into a repetitive singsongy chant of two cakes, two cakes, two cakes. The camera bounces back and forth from Otto to Ecco with every chant. Ecco smiles and bobs his head in unison with the camera. Presumably he’s mirroring his brother’s head bobs.

  This spat might not go any deeper than the fact that they’ve been driving for almost two days straight going from Chicago to Providence. Eve’s acerbic attitude seems more persistent than travel fatigue, however.

  At one point, Otto films his brother as they play in what appears to be a physicalized version of cryptophasia, otherwise known as idioglossia or “twin language.”

  Ecco stares at his brother.

  Otto’s arm reaches into the frame from behind the camera. As Otto reaches in, Ecco similarly reaches toward Otto.

  Otto flattens out his hand horizontally (like one would play paper in Rock, Paper, Scissors). Ecco flattens his hand out.

  It’s unclear which of them begins the next movement (even slowing down the footage and flipping through frame by frame). In apparent unison, both hands turn upward, their fingers splay apart, their mirrored hands then drift together camera left and then pull back to their respective owners.

  The boys giggle in concert.

  Otto turns the camera on himself and smiles. Then he turns it on Ecco, who smiles. Back to Otto. Back to his brother. Back to Otto. He repeats this again and again, adding the labeling narrative, “Otto. Ecco. Otto. Ecco.”

  Somewhere along the way, much like in the Bugs Bunny–Daffy Duck debate about whether it’s duck season or rabbit season, Otto gets turned around and starts labeling his brother as Otto and himself as Ecco. These moments capture the fluidity of play between the boys, and as with Bugs and Daffy, the misdirection of rhythm.

  Otto turns the camera on his brother and holds it there.

  Ecco faces his brother, pantomiming his own camera.

  And then Otto says, “Mi-ya-co. Mi-me.” Without taking the camera off his brother, he repeats it, “Mi-ya-co. Mi-me.” Turning it back on himself and pointing to the camera, he says, “Little me.” Points to himself, “Me me.”

  Off camera, Ecco’s high voice sings, “Mi-ya-co.”

  That’s when Eve screams, Arrête-toi! A litany of French rants pour out of her, in a sort of Parisian homage to Ricky Ricardo.

  Otto freezes, startled. Reidier quickly reaches back, takes the camera from his son, and turns it off.

  Accepted research suggests that cryptophasia manifests most often in twins with immature or disordered language. More recent studies indicate that twin language is more likely to be one of the twins modeling the underdeveloped speech patterns of his co-twin, resulting in the incorrect use of speech sounds and grammar by both twins. While it might sound like a foreign language, it’s actually young twins mimicking each other’s attempts at language, often incorrectly.

  Perhaps Eve was merely testy from the trip. While it seems to be an innocent scene of toddlers at play, reflecting the fascination little kids have with their own image, to the trained psychologist it reveals a much less charming reality.

  Ecco’s complete lack of self-expression (he rarely says a word during the car video), and his focused mirroring of his brother in their unique type of gestural idioglossia, point to severe developmental issues. Where Otto is quite precocious, Ecco is abnormally simple. That’s not to say he’s slow or exhibits any signs of retardation or Down syndrome. There would be several physical cues if this was the case, and none are present.

  Most children develop language at their own pace, and of course there is a broad range of normal. Diane Paul-Brown, PhD, director of clinical issues at the American Speech-Language Hearing Association, asserts that certain children develop their language skills faster than others. F
urthermore, roughly 15-20 percent of young children have some kind of communication disorder. Boys tend to develop later than girls. To be labeled a “late-talking child” however, a toddler must speak fewer than ten words by twenty months, or fifty words by thirty months. By the end of the second year, a toddler should be able to use two- to three-word sentences. By the third year, a child should be able to follow a multistep instruction, recognize common objects, and understand most of what is said to him. And be able to speak in a way understood by those outside the family.

  Nevertheless, it is rare for identical twins to develop their language skills at disproportional rates. Inevitably, the discrepancy can create anxiety and sleepless nights for worried parents. This can be amplified by parents comparing the child’s development to that of his older sibling and, only more so, with a direct comparison to an identical twin. As time passes, this apprehension can turn into panic.

  These car scenes provide us with our first glimpse into how Reidier and Eve cope, or don’t, as the case may be. Reidier focuses on Ecco with the intensity of an explorer scanning the horizon for land. He studies him and how he reacts to different stimuli, as shown in another moment when he plays peekaboo with Ecco.

  Reidier hides behind his headrest and then pops out, first with just a boo, then with his name, “Daddy.” When Otto starts to answer for his giggling brother, Reidier stops. He points to Otto and asks, “Who’s that?” Ecco rolls his eyes. He points to Eve and asks again. Otto jumps the gun and answers. Reidier gently castigates Otto, saying good, but he was asking Ecco. Reidier’s eyes shift back from one boy to the other. The game is over, however, and he turns around in his seat and stares out the window. (It was at this point that Otto began his Otto-Ecco game.)

  Eve, on the other hand, tries to ignore the discrepancy, and in fact sometimes just ignores Ecco altogether. It’s an all too common response for parents of children with disabilities. They can refuse to accept their child because of how it reflects on them. If their child is damaged, then they are by extension. Or sometimes parents deny the child and his impairment because they irrationally feel they are somehow responsible. If they don’t repress it, they’ll be crushed with guilt. This can be especially true with mothers who fear they might have done something wrong during the pregnancy through diet, or exercise, or lack of exercise, etc. Or parents can create a distance because they’re incapable of empathizing. Somewhere in the subconscious, the brain throws up its hands and says, “This child is not like me, I don’t understand how he experiences the world at all and cannot relate or help.”

  It’s unclear as to what motivates Eve at this point. The only information apparent is her refusal or inability to connect with Ecco. That being said, for all we know it could have more to do with Eve’s feelings about Reidier, the move, or her writing.

  Unfortunately, this is not an isolated dynamic, but one that continues to manifest itself again and again, even after their arrival. A few similar instances in particular jump out.

  The first moment is picked up by the Department’s nanocameras in Otto’s room. Eve unpacks a box of clothes and is putting them in a dresser. Otto dashes back and forth around the room, retrieving and placing his toys along the three windowsills of his massive bay window overlooking a lush elm tree.

  From down the hall, Reidier cheerily says, “Can you get over the size of this place? Ecco and I got lost twice on the way here.”

  Reidier appears in the doorway, carrying yet another box. Ecco stands next to him, holding onto his pant leg. He gazes up at the ceiling, which arches upward into a semi-hexagon.

  Eve half smiles and directs Reidier to place the box in the corner, and then asks him if he can put the bed frame together. While Reidier screws the pieces together, Ecco meanders over to the high-backed cushioned chair that juts out of a window nook. He sits on it upside down, with his back on the seat and puts his legs vertical to rest them on the seat back. Still staring up at the ceiling, he begins to move his feet in the air.

  Otto notices this and giggles. He quickly lies down on the floor and thrusts his legs into the air. As he moves his feet in a similar fashion to Ecco’s, it becomes clear that the boys are pretending to walk on the ceiling.

  Eve finishes with her box and turns around. She frowns and admonishes Otto to stop that, he’s going to get dirty on the floor.

  He grudgingly complies and drops his legs to the floor. Ecco also stops, but stays seated upside down, watching.

  “Get up, Otto!” Eve insists.

  Otto does so and watches his father finish putting together the bed frame.

  “Where’s Ecco?” Otto asks.

  “In his room,” Eve says.

  “Why not my room?” Otto pushes.

  Reidier watches Eve.

  “Because like your father said, this place is huge. You each get to have your own room.”

  Otto finally grasps what his mother is saying and literally puts his foot down, stomping it against the wood floors. “I want Ecco!”

  “No, Otto,” Eve insists, “You need different rooms.”

  “No!”

  “Otto!”

  “No!” Otto stamps his foot again.

  Eve moves toward him, “Stop it, Otto!”

  Reidier steps between mother and son. “Eve, why don’t we figure rooms out later? Two bedrooms, a bedroom and a playroom. It could all work.”

  Eve turns on Reidier, “Work for you, right? It would work for you fine. You’ll be off at work, chatting away with Kai,50 while I’m the one at home trying to manage everything! Make our little ‘transition’ go smoothly. You’re right it’s all fine, everything’s fine. Our new life is just fine!”

  She storms out before he can respond. Reidier starts to follow her, but stops at the sound of Otto crying. He goes and squats down next to Otto. Puts his arms around him and whispers reassurances in his son’s ear. Reidier kisses the top of Otto’s head and rests his chin on it.

  Reidier and upside-down Ecco make eye contact.

  Ecco smiles.

  Reidier smiles. “Mommy just needs time. We’ll put two beds in Ecco’s room, so you can sleep there some nights.”

  It would be presumptuous and misleading to offer insights into Eve’s inner workings. Still there are some overlapping elements between this scene and the car incident. The boys are at play. Reidier has a light, positive attitude, which seems genuine but emphasized for Eve’s benefit. After Eve detonates, Reidier reacts with patience and understanding. Is this due to his compassion and empathy for her emotional state or is it motivated by a guilt he feels for forcing the move?

  The second moment captures Reidier’s more proactive efforts to brighten up their transition. Unlike their other interactions, this one seems devoid of conflict. The shift of focus to amelioration, however, is no less revealing.

  Eve sits on a bench swing on their new veranda, enjoying the uncommonly warm autumn weather, taking a rare break from her frenetic drive to unpack all of their boxes within the first twenty-four hours. The boys play out front as she sips a Nantucket Nectar and reads, of all things, Skeleton Crew by Stephen King. (Eve tended toward more highbrow literature, but it’s easy to imagine she was in need of a guilty pleasure.)

  Reidier, dressed in a sport coat and corduroy pants, strolls up from the street carrying a couple of grocery bags. As he mounts the steps, he holds them up like trophies.

  “Whole Foods. We have a Whole Foods within walking distance. Right where Waterman meets Blackstone, or Butler, not sure which it is there.”

  Eve looks up from her book.

  “And, AND, they had your favorite—morel mushrooms!” He lowers the bags. “How’s that for a first night feast?”

  “Fantastic,” Eve responds. “As soon as we find the box with the pans.”

  Reidier bites his bottom lip and plops down next to her with a grunt. Eve lets out a little laugh at this. Reidier looks to her as if about to say something, but he stops short.

  Eve kisses his shoulder and lea
ns against it.

  “Is this a deck or a veranda?” Reidier asks.

  “A veranda. It has a roof, and goes along the front and side.”

  “Wow. We have a veranda.” They swing back and forth. “So then is this a porch swing or a veranda swing?”

  Eve smiles at this. “It’s just our swing.”

  He leans his head against hers. They listen to the creak of the swing for a few moments. Near their thighs, a slight movement catches the viewer’s eye. It’s their fingers locking and interlocking. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll find the box of pans if you’ll bathe the boys?”

  Eve doesn’t respond. After a few moments, Reidier looks down at her. Eve feels his shift and finally looks up at him and nods.

  A tender moment, a needed respite. Reidier’s actions seem neither manipulative nor calculating. Likewise Eve’s reactions are neither antagonistic nor passive aggressive. While their issues have not been “resolved,” this interaction does not reek of repression. It’s connection in its most basic form.

  Eve and Reidier are not in denial. If anything, this scene on the veranda is a testament to the strength of their relationship. The two are connected on a very deep level. The tension, ironically, is a result of this. Unlike most modern nuclear families, the Reidiers are not shattering apart in a chain reaction. The two never consider Reidier not pursuing his work. They never toss around the idea of Reidier moving out first to see if it’s a good fit, while Eve and the boys maintain their lives in Chicago. They never even mention the option of Eve taking a trip to the south of France, just to recharge. The notion of separating never, not for a second, appears on their radar.