But a few minutes later, she was erasing again, harder this time. And when I looked up at her, the pencil in her hand looked like it might break.
“Eden?” I asked tentatively.
“It’s not perfect,” she said, less to me and more to the page she was furiously scrubbing against. “I keep trying but it’s not perfect.”
“I’m sure it’s great,” I said. “You’re a great artist.”
But she wasn’t listening to me. Her entire focus was on that paper, and it seemed like she was trying to erase everything she’d done, not just a messy line or two. I didn’t understand. Why not just start on a new page if the drawing wasn’t working?
“I don’t … know … why … Ibother!” She screamed the last word and dragged her eraser so hard against the drawing that the page tore beneath it.
I could sense the eruption before it came. I sat up and scrambled backward, toward the base of the tree. As Eden’s eyes darkened and her lips pressed into a tight line, I fought my own urge to flee. Nearly everything set off my flight instinct back then. But I was trying to stay calm, stay logical and rational. Eden was just upset about her drawing. Eden wasn’t a threat.
One of those things was correct. Eden wouldn’t hurt me—I don’t think she could hurt anyone, not physically—but this wasn’t just about an imperfect drawing.
With a sharp tearing sound, Eden ripped the page out of her sketchbook. Then she was on her feet, running toward the water just a few yards away. I jumped up, not sure what she was planning to do.
“Eden!” I shouted.
But she stopped at the edge of the water. Then she unleashed this deep, pained yell that sent the ducks on the lake scattering and made me recoil, pressing my palms into my ears to black out the sound and the panic that came with it. I could see Eden’s arms moving, tearing at the sheet of paper with large, violent motions. Then she hurled them all into the water, the tiny white slips floating across the dark surface of the lake. Like flower petals.
Eden kept screaming and her hands raised to her hair, grasping fistfuls of long, dark waves and pulling. It was the middle of a weekday and there was no one else around, thank God, but I knew I couldn’t let her go on like this.
With my hands still covering my ears, I approached her. “Eden,” I said. Then yelled. “Eden!”
When her screams quieted to heavy pants and her hands slowly unclenched from her hair, she turned to look at me. And it was like she was seeing me for the first time that day. Like she’d completely forgotten that I’d been there, right next to her, all morning. She stared at me for a long, silent moment, then, gingerly, stepped around me, moved past me, and headed back to the willow tree. She picked up her sketch pad and the backpack she used in place of a purse, and walked away. Leaving me alone at the park with no ride home.
I called and texted her, but Eden didn’t respond. Eventually I had to call my mom and ask her to come get me after work.
Mom was angry. “What kind of friend just leaves you there?” she demanded. “Anything could have happened to you.”
“I’ve already lived through a school shooting, Mom,” I said, not hiding the annoyance in my voice. “What worse could happen in the middle of the day at Wargin Park?”
“Plenty,” she said.
I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk to her about Eden. She didn’t get it. Didn’t understand what it was like to live in our heads.
I saw Eden a few days later, but neither of us mentioned what had happened at the park. We went on like that day had been wiped off the calendar. A missing moment in time.
To this day, despite all the conversations we’ve had, all the hours spent together, all the emails and text messages exchanged, it’s never come up.
Jenny and I had to practically carry Eden back to her dorm. Her legs wobbled as she walked between us, one arm slung around my waist, the other around Jenny’s shoulders. Her head rested on my shoulder, her long, wavy hair sticking to her face.
“I’m so glad you came to visit,” she slurred near my ear. “It’s so good to see you, Lee.”
“You too, Eden,” I said, stumbling as she leaned into me with a little more weight than before.
“Where’s your student ID, Eden?”
“Back pocket.” She removed her arm from Jenny, almost losing her balance before I could steady her, and reached into her jeans. She held out the ID and Jenny took it. Eden’s dorm building was just up ahead.
By this point we were half dragging Eden up to the door. Once we got there, Jenny waved the ID in front of the small sensor and there was a buzz that told us the door had unlocked. I pushed the door open with my shoulder, and we pulled Eden inside.
“Please don’t let the RA be here,” Jenny said with a quiet moan. “Please, please.”
But the RA wasn’t there. We managed to get Eden up the stairs and to her dorm room without encountering anyone, thank God. Rather than digging through Eden’s purse for the key, Jenny tapped lightly on the door. A second later, Misty appeared. She was still in her clothes from earlier that day, her dark blond hair pulled off her neck and twisted up with an alligator clip. She glanced at Eden, then turned her eyes to Jenny.
The look that passed between them said everything I needed to know.
