My Name is Not Eve
by Meili K.
My secret calendar has been erased again. The tree shows no signs of being tampered with, but the markings are gone, the bark smooth. It isn’t against the rules to keep track of time, and yet, all my attempts have been thwarted. I suspect Adam.
“Adam,” I say, when I find him, floating on his back in the river. His long hair fans out in the water like seaweed. He looks serene.
He doesn’t hear me. I wade in. The water feels so good that I am almost lulled once more into forgetting the issue.
What does it matter, anyway? I know that we are nearing the end of our three-year contract, even if I don’t know exactly what day we are on. The calendar was an estimate, anyway. As I’d had to guess at how many markings the first one held before being erased.
I reach out and touch him on the shoulder.
His eyes open. For a moment, as he looks at me, with his face so blank, submerged in such a way that it appears separate from the rest of him, like a mask—I am afraid. I don’t know this man. In all this time, I have never been allowed to know him. Anything could be lurking on the other side of that handsome face.
“Eve?” he says, standing up, smiling.
His hands go to my waist, and he pulls me toward him. I am enveloped in his embrace, I press my cheek against his sun-warmed chest, raise my chin, and we kiss. The surreal quality of The Dome amplifies, as it always does, in moments such as these. It is like a hazy, pleasant, dream, formed by half a bottle of wine and a nap in the sun at the park.
More days than not, we make love. There is not much else to do here. Food is abundant. We walk the forest paths, naked and barefoot, plucking fruit. Fruit which is always perfectly ripe. I worried at first that such a diet would not be enough to sustain me, but I am stronger than I’ve ever been. I figure they must have genetically modified the plants here. It is a huge step up from meal replacement shakes. We spend our days swimming, wandering, eating, fornicating, and sleeping.
I wonder about the sinful qualities of this Eden. I am not religious. But even I know of the sin of sloth. Of lust. Be fruitful, and multiply. Was that not what he commanded of Adam and Eve? But I was implanted with birth control and haven’t menstruated since arriving. We do not pray. God does not speak to us. Adam does not sermonize. He might be just as godless as me, in real life.
How could this be Eden, then?
“I have a question for you,” I say, drawing away.
He looks down at me, his brow furrowed with concern. I look into his eyes, and I wonder if I can read some warning there. Is it safe, to discuss the calendar? Could I null both of our contracts, by breaking the only rule, which is to not discuss the world outside? Many nights beside him, I’d weigh the consequences of a whisper.
What will you do, after this? Any hobbies, besides swimming and floating and foraging and fucking? Were you like me, desperate for an escape from your brain-numbing corporate job, sending emails and creating PowerPoints, while outside, the world burns? Or perhaps, a starving artist?
But God is surely watching. And by “God,” I mean thousands of cameras and microphones.
“What is it?” he prompts, after a long moment of silence passes between us. His fingers dig into my arms, in a way that is nearly painful.
I can’t even remember why it was so important to bring it up to him in the first place. We will be out soon. Out, where perhaps we will share a parting drink, and a real meal. Where I will learn who he is, and what he thinks. And what he thought while here, in The Dome, where we played together at Heaven.
“Never mind,” I say.
His grip relaxes.
While Adam resumes his floating, I lounge on the riverbank, on a bed of soft moss, basking in a patch of sunlight like a cat.
I think of the money. Of the cabin that I will buy, in the mountains, or on a beach, where I will relax and write my novels. Somewhere where the climate disasters are unlikely to touch, if there is such a place. I will pay off all my debts, and my mother’s too. She thinks I am in the middle of the ocean, on some vague and dangerous and lucrative job with no cell service.
I signed an NDA, mom. I can’t tell you more than that.
So close to the real situation, that it hardly felt like a lie.
I lay my head down, gazing up at the hexagonal structure of the dome. The panels are glass, and I can see the sky. It is the only part of the real world we can see. The stars, the moon. Dark clouds on stormy days, eternal blue stretching out like the sea, most days. I lose myself in the blue.
I lose myself, out at sea.
Meili K. (they/she) is a writer from Hawai'i living in Minnesota. They love the ocean, the rain, and the snow. More of Meili's work can be found at Reflex Fiction and The Dodge.