“No, she’s my friend from California who apparently flew in to badger me because I wouldn’t talk to her about you.”
“I see.” Esben shuts his eyes for a second. “Again, I’m really sorry if all this has upset you. Some of my projects ask a lot of the participant. You have to be open and . . . willing to give of yourself. Sometimes people aren’t quite ready, or they’re surprised by what happens, but it’s usually in a good way.” He pauses. “Even if they’re resistant at the start, sometimes it’s their transition that is worth it.”
“Like with me?”
“Like with us,” he corrects me. Esben gets up and paces as much as he can in the small space his room allows. “Why did you sign the waiver?”
The condensation on the water bottle is wetting my hand, but the cool feels nice. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’d been in a . . . mood. I didn’t know what I was doing.” I hiccup again. “Walls . . . you said something about people with walls. That’s me.”
“You don’t like that you let those walls down.”
“No.”
He sits again. “Why not?”
“There’s no way you would understand. You like people. That’s obvious. You’re curious. You want to investigate them, delve into layers of humanity and crap, right?”
“I suppose that’s a good way to look at it.” Esben suppresses a smile as he spins his chair and retrieves the mac and cheese and a plastic spoon, then trades them out for my water.
“I’m not like that. I don’t much care for people because they kinda suck.” This microwave meal is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I point my spoon at him in between bites. “They are unreliable, selfish, and they lie all the time.”
“That’s a rather negative perspective.”
“Now you’re feeling me!” I say happily. “So I don’t get what you do. At all. Like, I can’t even watch this eye-contact thing you did. We did.”
“Wait a second. You haven’t even seen the video?”
“Just bits and pieces.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Okay. How about this? You watch it and see what you think. Then I’ll take it down if you want. Say the word. But, Allison? At least watch it.”
“Fine. Fire ’er up!” I get up and drunkenly wave him out of his seat. He kindly accommodates my gin-laden attitude, but I do notice a well-deserved eye roll.
“Oh awesome. A giant desktop screen so everything will be huge and even more traumatizing!” I shout.
“It won’t be traumatizing.” Esben is laughing as he leans over my shoulder and moves the mouse. I am profoundly aware of his proximity, and I don’t know what to make of the fact that there’s an unpreventable flutter in my chest. “So, is Steffi a friend from home?” he asks.
“I told you. She lives in California. Los Angeles.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Massachusetts,” I mutter as the video pops up. “Foster care.”
Esben pauses the video before it even starts. “Yeah? Wow. For how long?” His question is not dripping with fake compassion or asked because he wants grisly details. He is just curious.
The screen in front of me is frozen on the intro image, and I let it get blurry as I stare too long at it. “Foster care? I was there forever. Well, until I was a junior in high school. Steffi, too. She was sick when she was little, and that probably scared off potential parents. I wasn’t sick, but nobody wanted me either. I guess we were duds. Anyway, we lived together for a bit. She saved me. As much as I can be saved.” I state the truth as easily as I breathe. “My birth mother dropped me off at a hospital in Boston, and that’s all I know about her. Maybe she was young or broke. Or a criminal. Maybe the mistress of a senator who had a secret love child? That’d be kinda cool, huh?”
“It would certainly add some scandal to your story, I guess,” he answers with amusement.
I sigh. “That one’s unlikely, I suppose, but it’s the most intriguing of options. In the end, it doesn’t really matter. The point is that I was not wanted by anyone. I lived with seventeen families. That’s a lot, huh?” I burp and clap a hand over my mouth. “Excuse me. Anyway, some of the families were okay. I know what other foster kids have gone through, and I never had it as bad as many. Still, sometimes I never even unpacked my suitcase. Too scared to. There was no point.” The gin is becoming a nuisance, but I can’t fight it.
“That’s why you have walls,” he says.
“Yes,” I agree. “It’s why I have walls.”
I feel him come closer, his mouth now not so far from my ear. “But you lowered them, even for a little bit. So maybe you want them to crack.”
Without my usual filter in place, I reply, “Yes. Maybe. It’s very tiring, keeping them standing. I just don’t know what would happen if I let them fall. I haven’t been without them in a very long time,” I murmur. “Maybe ever.”
“I understand. And I’m honored that you gave me a glimpse behind them, because I’ve never felt anything like that. So, watch.” He hits “Play.” “This is the original. Other sites that picked it up gave it gross clickbait names and whatever. I can’t control that—”
“Shhhh!”
Music plays, and I tense but do not turn away. Esben is right. I need to watch this because I need all the information. I must know what is out there about me.
The title slams out of darkness: It Only Takes 180 Seconds.
Videos and words wash by. Clips of the first seconds of people who sat with Esben, interspersed with later moments from his other sittings.
There’s the elderly man that I saw when Steffi first sent me this link. His cane stands next to him, and he smiles peacefully throughout his time with Esben. He exudes a kindness and approachability that touches me. Like a grandfather I will never have.
The text reads: Some people share their contentment and absolute joy with the world so easily. It’s infectious.
Then there’s a woman in her business suit, who looks exhausted beyond reason. I watch her focus, the way her face softens, and the way she relaxes into eye contact.
A mother with four children under the age of five. She works during the day as a manager at a department store, and she never has weekends off. She also works three nights a week as a hostess so that her family can pay their bills. Because her husband works nights, they only see each other for a handful of hours per week. But she says that’s enough because love always wins. Or, rather, she clarifies, she wants it to.
A firefighter who is still in a sooty uniform appears; his hardened and defeated face is gutting.
This man just got off a fifteen-hour shift. He rescued three people from a building engulfed in flames. He’s proud, but he’s also upset because he missed his six-year-old’s birthday. He’s worried that she will remember that forever.