Solitary Tree

“You know something? Your idea of what’s a romantic thing to say ... it really is quite strange.”      “I’m not trying to be romantic.”

   “Well, good, because you honestly sound unnervingly like a jealous, patriarchal idiot.”

   Des bit his tongue. When Henley was in this mood, there was nothing he could say that she wouldn’t somehow turn into an attack on herself. A man with a better grasp on words might know how to handle it, but not Des.

   “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

   There was a long silence. Henley’s slender limbs seemed to twitch with nervous energy as she tried to resist the urge to dig up her phone from her bag. She didn’t understand Des’ view on phones, but when they were together she did try to respect it. Now though, Des knew she wanted nothing more than to forget all about this awkwardness, by flicking trough some pictures.

   “I didn’t mean –“ he tried again.

   “Don’t,” Henley said.

   “I love your eyes,” Des continued. “Henley, I adore your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes in the world.”

   He meant it, but she squinted angrily at him.

   “But they bore you?” she asked.

   “That’s not what I meant.”

   “You said, and I quote, ‘I’m so tired of looking into your eyes all the time.’ How is that in any way …?”

   “In pictures. I meant in pictures.”

   “My eyes bore you in pictures? How sweet, darling. Thank you.”

   “Will you stop doing that?”

   “What.”

   “Insisting that everything I say is meant to hurt you. I didn’t mean your eyes.”

   “Des, I give up. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

   “Just, just let me explain –“

   “I am! That’s exactly what I’m doing! But you’re only explaining yourself into a corner. You’re being –“ Henley cut herself off, pouting at him in frustration. It looked like she had rehearsed her angry face in the mirror. “Don’t you hear yourself?” she asked. “You say the most hurtful, insensitive things, and then you’re just like, ‘Oh, oh, I didn’t mean it. Henley, you misunderstood me. Don’t blame me.’ Don’t you realize that doing that is just plain manipulative and, and, I don’t know – emotionally abusive?”

   Des resisted the urge to sigh loudly, or hit his head against the back of his chair. They were in a restaurant, and Henley would be embarrassed. She hated embarrasment even more than fighting. So he merely whispered: “You’re missing the point.”

   Henley flashed a smile that would have seemed charming, but for the sarcasm in her eyes. “Of course I am.”

   Too late, Des realized he’d ruined all hopes of saving their dinner – even before they had decided on anything from the menus. Come to think of it, that made it easier. There was no bill to pay.

   Henley's eyes flickered to the mirror on the far wall, though it was too far away for her to check if her skin was still flawless. It was. Then she stood up, and raised an eyebrow at Des. He understood.

   “You’re dating an idiot,” he said, standing up too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

   “You’re right, I am,” said Henley.

   They left the restaurant as though everything was in order, Des nodding apologetically to the waitress behind the counter – a look he hoped said “Sorry, something came up.” On the street, Henley gave Des a quick kiss, and then trotted off, phone already in her hand.

   Cursing under his breath, Des started walking in the opposite direction, wondering why he always said the wrong thing, no matter how hard he tried not to.

   He wasn’t bored with Henley’s eyes. They were a brilliant Mediterranean turquoise, the sort of colour that hardly even seemed real, but it was. Nobody was bored with Henley’s eyes. People stared into Henley’s eyes all the time, all over the world. At least they thought they did, though really, they only looked at them. But then, what was the difference anymore?

   Clenching his jaw but keeping a straight face, Des kept walking. He had always thought too much. What was worse, he rarely felt he got to the bottom of the things he started wondering about. Frustrated with himself, he suddenly thought of the old saying, “the eyes are the windows to the soul”. It wasn't true anymore, was it? Not for people like Henley. Her eyes shone brilliantly in pictures without giving even the tiniest bit of her soul. Maybe that was the case with all who only cared about beauty.

   No – Des stopped himself again, realizing he was being cruel. Henley cared about lots of things. She was in love with him, for one thing; she wasn’t an unemotional robot girl. She was passionate about things and had a heart full of dreams and a brain full of thoughts. Even in their argument at the restaurant, that much had been evident. And yet, how did she live? What was the focus of her life? What did all of her pictures show? Her.

                                                              *

There was a pause. Des pressed his phone to his ear, waiting for an answer.

   Then Henley repeated the question: “Do I believe a solitary tree that falls in the forest makes a sound?”

   “If nobody is watching. Yeah.”

   There was another pause, a frustrated sigh that sounded like “have mercy”.

   “Of course it makes a sound, Des. What kind of question is that?”

   “That’s what I meant to say.”

   There was laughter in the background, and Des heard the sound of Henley closing a door, muffling the other voices.

   “Come again?” she asked.

   “That’s what I meant, in the restaurant … when I sounded like such a jerk. This is what I meant.”

   “That a solitary tree that falls in the forest with nobody watching, makes a sound?”

   There was an awkward pause.

   “I mean," Des said, "you don’t need to be in pictures to be alive. You’re still there. You still make a sound, an impact, so to speak. Even if nobody sees you. Even if nobody sees the image and likes it or shares it or whatever.”

   Henley sighed. “All you’ve done, there, Des, is offer me yet another variation on the same topic: Selfies are bad. But I still don’t get what your problem with it is. What’s wrong with being seen? If I lived in a cave, then you’d be happy, is that it?”

   “No! No, no, not at all,” Des protested. “I …” But he found that he didn’t know what else to say, that wasn’t just a repetition of what he’d already said.

   “Darling, you may want to work on your apology a bit longer. Okay?”

   As she hung up, he thought he heard her mutter “why am I in love with an idiot”.

                                                              *

“Wait, what did you say she said to you?”

   Jaidyn's face was hard to make out on the screen, as it was night time where she was, and she was walking through poorly lit city streets. “The sound went away for a moment,” she said, holding her phone up, pointing her camera at herself. "What did you say she said?"

   “In the restaurant?” Des asked, wishing his sister didn’t live so far away. “She said that I sounded like a jealous, patriarchal idiot.”

   Jaidyn’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn. I hate to say it, but ... spot on.”

   “Jai, you think –?”

   “Of course I don't!” Jaidyn interrupted, her sudden grin gleaming white on his screen. “Sweetie, you’re not a jealous patriarchal idiot, because I didn’t allow you to grow to be one. But you do sound like one, sometimes. Thought you knew that.”

   “What? In what way?”

   “You don’t want her to post pictures of herself? Sounds a lot like what someone with a control problem would say. And she called you emotionally abusive? Not a good sign.”

   “I don’t think she meant that. I think she was just annoyed. With good reason.”

   “OK. OK, I hear you. No need to look so tense. I’m not attacking you. Just – please try to explain. … No, seriously. Maybe I can help you translate it into something regular people can understand. It’s not impossible. We are sort of like R2-D2 and C-3PO, you and I. I’m the one with human language.”

   Des sighed, feeling more frustrated by the minute.

   “I’m not …” he began, searching his brain for the right words but feeling unsure about the ones he chose: “… saying that I want Henley to abstain from all social medias and become some sort of sheltered-off recluse. I just … maybe it’s because we fight all the time, but I don’t think so. ... I love her. You believe me, right, Jai?”

   Jaidyn nodded.

   “I just wish I understood her more,” Des continued. “It's like she lives in a world of mirrors. Everywhere she looks, she sees herself. Another selfie. But I don’t want to stare at pictures of her. I don’t want to look at pictures of her eyes. I don’t even want to look into her eyes – I want to look through them.”

   “OK.” Jaidyn thought for a bit. She was still walking, and now again her face was lit up by the light from a shop window or restaurant. When she spoke again, however, it was again so dark on the screen that all he could see where her white teeth: “Are you trying, in your hopelessly awkward way, to say that you’d like to know what she cares about? What she thinks about?”

   “Yeah. I’m worried about her, Jai. You know the thing people say, ‘Pictures or it didn’t happen’?”

   “Yeah?”

   “I think it’s the other way around. ‘Pictures, or it happened.’ If there are pictures, then it didn’t really happen.”

   Jaidyn groaned. “Oh, how I wish you could talk like a normal person. OK, OK. Destin, I must disagree with you – as a photographer, but first and foremost as a person with any measure of logic.”

   “Sorry! I don’t mean photographers take pictures of things that aren’t happening. Not all photographers, anyway. I know you don’t - you take pictures of actual people who, like, live. You’ve told me before, you don’t like staged photos; you don’t like having people pose. You want to capture moments.”

   "Yeah?”

   “So what I mean is, Henley’s pictures aren’t like that. They’re not moments ... not real ones. OK, maybe sometimes, but mostly not. They’re staged, or they become staged, and I just ... I don't know. Everything's made to look so perfect; she, most of all. She sees these perfect pictures as proof, somehow, that her life is perfect. It's all ... it's all like ... a movie, almost. You know, with lots of stuff cut out, that people don't see, but an end result that simulates life. A perfect, unacchievable life. But then everyone believes it and act like it's real.”

   Jaidyn stopped somewhere with enough light for Des to see her face clearly. She smiled, but this was a broken smile, sad like a jewellery box melody.

   “Destin, are you afraid Henley’s not living genuinely, because she takes all those pictures?”

   Des looked at his older sister, astonished. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “I think that might be it.”

   Jaidyn looked thoughtful. “Well, you’re welcome. Now try to tell her that. But do so lovingly. And for the record – I don’t really agree with you. But good luck anyway, baby bro. Keep me updated, yeah?”

                                                                   *

It was late at night. Des was home in his apartment, waiting for take-away to arrive. He still hadn’t tried to speak with Henley. He wanted to see her face to face when he did, although he also contemplated writing her a letter. It was awfully likely that he would mess it up again if he had to just talk.

   He was tired. Henley had posted another two pictures, stunning ones, her Mediterranean blue eyes luminous. She looked happy and successful and beautiful. Des wondered if she felt that way, too, and how many times she had asked for the photo to be re-taken before she was pleased with it and it looked like it was just a random, joyful moment frozen in time. All just so that people would confirm to her that she was really alive, really beautiful, really living the dream. If there were no photos, Henley seemed to doubt she was real.

   The saying of the falling tree that fell in the forest without a witness came to Des again. He went online and found a video of a falling pine tree. It remained a mystery whether it made a sound when it fell with no witnesses, because obviously, this time a photographer had been there to witness it. Des smiled at how silly this reasoning was, but he was feeling melancholic, so he muted his computer and pressed play. Then he watched the enormous pine tree sway to the side and slowly fall over, crashing to the ground without a sound.