Algorithmic Behavior
After two months of engraving letters to Ellie, Tam traveled to her house, as promised. She planned an opening line for herself―“Hi, Ellie. It’s Tam. How are you? Remember our initial conditions? It is technically possible to start our system over.”
But, “I’m pregnant,” she said when Ellie opened the door. “It’s yours. I’m keeping it.”
“Tam?” said Ellie. She was wearing a mom’s jeans and a man’s T-shirt.
“I’m sorry. That was supposed to be a joke. I can’t ever get the intonation right.”
“Tam?” said Ellie. “Did you say you are pregnant? Congratulations! Come in. Sit down. Do you need to use the restroom? How have you been? Are you here on business?”
Tam did go in and sit down, because that is what one does when one is invited to.
“What are you doing here?” asked Ellie, once she had settled into one side of the couch and had patted the pillows on the other side to indicate where Tam should be.
“Didn’t you get my letters?” Tam asked. “They explained everything.” She looked around the living room and saw one of her clay creations on a coffee table. It sat rounded and plain on a mantel, on a dining table, and on a bookcase. All were unopened.
“Do you like those?” asked Ellie, following Tam’s gaze. “An anonymous fan sent them to me. I think they really pull the room together.”
“You didn’t open them? Didn’t you hear something rattling around inside?” Tam crossed the room and lifted one of the envelopes above her head. One of Ellie’s hands moved to her mouth, the other outward into the room, as if redirecting the air molecules would shift the focus of their discussion.
A man wearing a shirt the same size as Ellie’s appeared at this, the first sign of danger. He had probably been listening from the other room and mistaken the loaded silence as a kind of starter’s gun, cuing his entrance. Tam began to hop back and forth from foot to foot and used the clay to point at the man. “Is that him?” she asked.
“Ron, honey, this is my friend Tam,” said Ellie, trying to skim normalcy from something that had no top layer. “We lived on the same street when we were little.”
“Hi, Ron,” said Tam, still holding the tablet aloft.
“How far along are you?” asked Ron. “I couldn’t help but hear about the pregnancy.”
“That is none of your concern,” said Tam. The envelope stayed above them like some kind of aerial surveillance device. “Could I please speak to Ellie alone?”
“Oh, now, I don’t know about that,” he said. “I love to hear all about Ellie’s old pals. And I think your clay things make real nice decorations.”
“Really,” said Ellie, touching his hand. “Really nice.”
“Did I ask you, Ron?” asked Tam. “I didn’t ask him,” she said to Ellie.
Ellie shook her head slowly, as if so long as she did this, no one could do anything else. The stage would be hers, like it always had been.
Tam threw the clay against the wall. The shell broke, and the tablet fell to the plush carpet, leaving an empty space in the air where a climactic sound should have been.
“I should have sent instructions with these,” she said. “It’s my fault.” She picked up the tablet and pushed it toward Ellie’s chest. “Read all about it.”
Ellie told Tam to sit, slow down and start at the beginning, but Tam, her plan ruined, could only walk back out the front door. She closed it behind her and sat cross-legged on the green, warm lawn.
Its color and temperature seemed alien. The blades of grass pressed into her leg, and the discomfort felt right. Lying down, Tam maximized the amount of skin that was in contact with the small peaks. She waited and hoped to hear the cracking of the other three envelopes, but the house was too well insulated, and she could not tell what was going on inside.
Despite it all, Tam still felt close to Ellie. Things had not gone exactly as planned, but Ellie had just misunderstood her―that did not mean she always would. Surely, once all the letters were revealed, Ellie would invite Tam inside (Tam and the unknown +1 that was hiding inside her shell). She would go inside the walls of Ellie’s house, where they would begin again, together like before.
Maybe she didn’t have to live, unstable, on a mountaintop. Maybe this house could be her house too. Maybe she was only outside to have her picture taken, to have a reproduction of this special day.
