Colleen Gair Let’s talk about how Eve fell

Let’s talk about how Eve fell

in love with her own reflection

in the gleaming pool and God had to nudge her to go find Adam.

Well, I’ve met Adam and he looks like every man on the Tunnelbana:

chunky black headphones arched over chestnut silk sliding seamlessly to his

navy blue turtleneck, gazing out the window but actually at his own reflection.

Because the blue line was built into a cave, the only way in and out is the two hundred sixteen

foot escalator—even the Swedes don’t climb that many stairs. The black rock slab surrounding

me has holes the size of my body that lead to more darkness and I’ve never patiently stood in such a lightless place before.

But the heads of the men waiting are oil lanterns six feet in the air that guide me

to a place that’s not home. Sitting on the shining plastic of the blue seat I stare

at my own reflection, hair too bright for the blackness of the window, bits

of hair that perished in the thermal baths of Iceland, feel it! It’s rope when it’s dry and gimp

when it’s wet, and my eyes are green like dead shrubs, different from the indigo eyes

of my fellow passengers and my boy who looks like every man on the Tunnelbana,

whose dimples are as deep as the incomplete holes in the ceiling of the cave and when I stare

into his eyes, I smile at my own reflection.

Colleen Gair Middlebury College, ’20