The Woman in Green

Taryn sat at her terminal, staring at the mass of data shared to the data slates piled haphazardly on her desk.

There was no question. No doubt in her mind anymore that the woman in green, the woman who had showed up just as she had thrown in the relationship towel, was who she knew her to be.

For years—decades in fact, Taryn had been looking for ‘the one’. Growing up in a town in the north of jersey, she had spent much of her early life in another guise, shielding her own secrets from the demands of society. Her own quirks, her own instincts hammered down nearly flat because the world saw something different. Everyone saw something different than she did when she glanced the hideous creature in the mirror.

Taryn had gotten through that long ago. In college she came out as her true self and from then on life was a whole new set of challenges. Of course, there were still people who would just refuse to see or acknowledge that they’d had her wrong the whole time. That their impression was more important than her self.

And who could blame them really. They only had eyes to work with after all, and society says it if it looks like a duck, then it must be, no question. But there are questions. There are different kinds of ducks. Ducks that are not ducks at all.

Taryn glanced at the small fold out platypus poster she had pulled from the pages of an old stack of National Geographic's her parents had once had on a bookshelf, stuck just to the right of the black encyclopedia set she used for homework until she realized that they were outdated by nearly a century and quite ornamental by nature.

A bill doesn’t make a duck. Webbed feet don’t make a duck. Perhaps feathers did? But no. Plenty of things have feathers and are not ducks. Dinosaurs for but one example. And with humans, well plenty of people don’t fit in the preferred side of the traditional binary. Some people didn’t fit in the binary at all even… and they—

Taryn shook her head and looked back down at the data slates, correlating data from two lives of published work. Thoughts and feelings. One set bound by pages, the other her own digital journals. And the more she read and compared their two experiences, the more her heart burned. Not a burning of anger or malice or of rage, but the rekindling of a fire in the cold husk of a form she had come to experience herself as, these past seven years.

Taryn switched off the slates one by one and stared at the alert on the screen. The woman in green was calling.

Taryn checked herself. Her hair was as good as it was going to get. Long, clean, but brittle from a recent bleaching.

 She had bleached her hair seven years ago to mark a new phase in her life. After the divorce proceedings started, with two 14 month-olds in tow, She thought it prudent. Gone was the deep red of the dye she had used for twenty years, replaced by blonde, symbolizing change and protection, a rising above —at least in her mind.

Once she had thought things were going well again, disaster nearly averted, and she dyed it red once more —only for the lies to be revealed and in the process painfully remind her of why she went blonde in the first place. Since then, her hair was only blonde. True she had let her roots go a bit more than she liked and these days the gold had faded, more gray in her roots than was noted before, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

Toggling the insistent button on the display before her, the connection was established and the screen went black, replaced by the woman in green, her hair of red stunning amidst a background of relaxing colors and tchotchkes and things of an unknown significance to Taryn. And many a shelf.

Taryn didn’t notice what the woman was wearing or if it was in fact green at the moment. To be fair, Taryn’s eyes hadn’t roamed that far. The eyes of the woman in green caught her gaze, and held it fast, every time. In fact, Taryn didn’t know for sure if the color profiles were at all accurate… if the woman’s eyes were grey, brown, or blue. She wouldn’t know for sure for several more months in fact, but for now, the eyes of the ‘woman in green’ captivated her.

She tried to speak, keep things friendly but professional. The ‘woman in green’ had been introduced in a group video chat the night before. Their mutual friend, Magellan, had brought the woman in green to the meeting. She was dyed in the wool a science fiction and fantasy nerd. And shortly after that first meeting, a meeting in which Taryn tried her best to look anywhere but at the woman in green (and failing miserably she thought) a message popped up in her personal chat.

The woman in green wanted to talk.

About books, and characters or maybe music, or perhaps art, Taryn wasn’t sure at all really anymore. It was at least one of those things to start, but where the ‘woman in green’ would speak of these things, which such effervescence, with such fervent knowledge and command of the domains of literature and art, and most assuredly music (She made music!), Taryn found herself nodding and thinking surely this conversation must end soon because of course Taryn herself must be drooling.

She felt like a fool with her squeaky new degree in software engineering compared to the intelligence sitting inches away, or a light year, by way of the digital connection.

One thing was for sure. Taryn felt outclassed. She suspected strongly that there was slim probability of the woman in green showing the slightest bit of interest in her, much less romantic, but somehow… somehow, she found a voice to speak, somehow Taryn found something interesting to say and followed her words with questions that opened new avenues of conversation.

Tonight’s conversation was something about a science fiction show they both enjoyed… which became several that they enjoyed. Over time the surface conversation fell away and the diving board was found on the edge of the pool of shared interested. Taryn dived in. The woman in green already treading water easily.

“You’re really good at writing dialogue.” The woman in green said, paying Taryn a compliment.

“I… Well, you can have the ‘A’ plot all day, but I’ve been far more interested in the ‘B’ and ‘C’ plots. What people do behind the scenes of the big action.” Taryn managed, “People are the same, whether today or a hundred or a thousand years from now. You can have the galaxy at war or a new species coming to wreak havoc, but what’s it like for the average officer on one of these spaceships? Or planet side. That’s what I write about. People seem to like it so…”

“I’m sorry…” the woman in green interrupted politely.

“Yes?”

“Have we met before?”

“It’s possible. You seem very familiar. Magellan said I might know you from the tech faires, but I didn’t go to any with him.”

“But… you seem…”

“If we have met, it wasn’t at the faires.”

“ScifiCon7?” the woman in green offered up, “Magellan gathered some friends to go and we—”

“No, I never went. I was, otherwise occupied...” Taryn glanced down at her shoes. She’d been isolated much of the time with children in tow for the last seven years, it didn’t leave much time for her to socialize beyond the confines of town.

“But I feel like… I don’t know.” The woman in green conceded for the moment. “So, tell me more of the history of—”

“We didn’t meet there, but I ahm, I did some digging last night in Magellan’s photostream.” Taryn offered sheepishly, as though she might be stepping on the first rung of a glass ladder.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I hope you don’t—”

“What did you find?” the woman in green asked, curiosity in full view.

“Well, I figured it’s been twenty plus years, so if I went through the stream and I could spot you, as you were then, then that would tell me if we’d met or it was just wishful thinking or something half-remembered on Magellan’s part.”

“And?”

“And… I found you. Fourth page of the photostream.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. We met… in a club.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Not only that, but it’s also the only time I went to the clubs in New York City with Magellan. And as I said, I recognized you straight away.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“We met for all of forty-seven seconds. You were on Magellan’s arm that night , it was loud and I was… different.”

“Oh,” the woman in green said, “I see.”

“Yeah.”

“You know I have pictures from back then somewhere… I wonder if you’re in any of them?”

“Even if my previous version was, you wouldn’t recognize them.”

“But—”

“And I would be just as happy not to out myself retroactively if it’s all the same.”

“I can respect that.”

Taryn smiled a half smile, and looked up at the screen, her words caught in her throat as she was once again captured by those bewitching grey, brown or blue eyes, behind those classically styled glasses of the woman in green.

“But that, still…” the woman in green ventured, “I still feel like… I know you.”

Without putting a finger on why, the conversation wound through another variety of subjects, eventually ending on music. Switching off the call on her end, Iris, the woman in green, adjusted the cushion in her comfy library chair, surrounded by books of all description, staring at her data-slate as the ‘mix tape’ (really just a hyperlink to an online playlist) looked back at her.

A modern old-school mix tape.

Looking at the title, she hit the play button and within a song or two the feeling of butterflies began to take over her stomach. As the songs clicked by, she already had a good idea that the mix tape was an envoy of affection but if she had any misinterpretation then, by the fourth song, all doubt was blown out the proverbial airlock. This was a clear statement of intention. Intention to woo.

And what’s more… according to her nerves and those pesky butterflies… it was working.

In the space of a few hours, Iris’ entire world had just shifted. She had a husband for over a decade, and prior to this encounter, she’d settled into a normal life, presenting to the public as heteronormative as you like. Living a life of creative pursuits and quiet desperation, many of those pursuits had gone cold the past few years. The days were trying, the grind of everyday life stealing much of life’s luster. These days she spent most of her free time, lost in books.

And here, in the space of days, came this woman from her past. Someone she couldn’t much recall thanks to the long island iced teas, at the time, that obliterated memories from the evening in question.

As the last track of the playlist finished, her heat beat fast and heavy, like a drum in her chest. Her cheeks flush, she felt warmth again, the chase rejoined, pursued… lost in the focus of a woman with whom she was so familiar and yet had never had the pleasure –well aside said forty-seven seconds, twenty plus years ago, in what felt like another life.

It didn’t make sense. But felt like it made the most perfect sense. But why now? She’d been looking for this for twenty-five years. A girlfriend of her own. With her husband’s approval, still no luck and even in the face of Magellan’s promise to find her a girl of her own, he had never…

Iris’ dropped her head, a crooked smile spreading across her lips. It was Magellan who had brought her to the meeting, Magellan who had pointed out this woman… Exhaling a long-held breath, she picked up her comm unit and dialed Magellan’s number.

Over the course of the next few weeks, the conversations between Taryn and Iris continued. Every spare moment, many other moments stolen. Every morning and at the end of every night, they video chatted. Talked. Got to know each other.

Fell entirely in love.

And when Magellan came to visit Iris, things became clear. Magellan had found her a girlfriend after all. It had taken nearly twenty-five years, but Iris couldn’t argue with the result. Why none of the dating sites worked? Why none of the sure things took? Why the threesome she’d once entertained with her husband, amounted to nothing on the day.

In the two months since they’d made things official, stamping the girlfriend application approved, the universe seemed to wait with bated breath. Cooking up this connection, this fated love, it seemed like the universe had been working behind the scenes for a very long time. But, it all came down to this.

Iris waited on the front porch of her house in an idyllic midwestern town. Watching the location of Taryn’s vehicle as the miles between them ticked down from nearly four hundred miles to four hundred yards… four hundred feet… then one hundred feet. And… then the movement stopped, just up the street. And then... was she hearing things?

Adrenaline began to flood her system as she heard their song on the wind from the street… as the mile counter hit moved again and finally stopped on zero. All the words, the songs on the ever increasing ‘mix tape’ playlists between them. All the video. All the sexting. All the fantasy they’d built up in their heads and the preparation and plans. And there she was… their song playing, looking back into her eyes. Eyes finally no longer constrained by plastic, electronics and distance. No longer visible only through an electronic portal through which they professed their love often, a device sitting on a shelf.

Taryn was right there.

Inside the conveyance, Taryn sat in awe of the vision of Iris on the patio. A tree branch fluttered between them in the yard, but there she was, standing, nervous, beckoning her to come the last few feet.

Stepping out of the vehicle, Taryn left it on, the door opened into the rural street, as she walked around the front and unsteadily up the cement walk toward the future. Her heart threatening to pound her directly into cardiac arrest with its fervor.

“It’s you.” Iris said, looking up into Taryn’s eyes.

“You’re real.” Taryn replied, awestruck by Iris’ stone blue eyes, finally color-matched in person. The color profiles of their devices had tried their best but couldn’t hold a candle to the brilliance she found there.

“I can hear your whisper.” Iris said as she showed Taryn to the seat next to her.

As Taryn sat down, Iris pointed out the hibiscus tea she’d poured a few minutes earlier as the tracker indicated Taryn’s turn onto her street.

Over the next few moments, the pair stole looks at each other, testing that they were in fact real. That this wasn’t a dream, at least one they’d wake from. Holding hands finally, after months of wondering what the other’s touch would be like. If what was happening was what was going to be.

And as they kissed a little while later inside, all the worry, all the butterfly’s and questions that had called them to this spot together fell away, answered, in each other’s embrace. Was this going to be real? Yes. Were they going to work? Yes. Were they going to just be a crazy fantasy that fell apart with the crush of reality? No. Emphatically no.

Was the sex going to be good?

No. It was, in the full light of reality and a crisp sunny afternoon in bed, fantastic.

Fantastic and beautiful.

And as the day became night and continued unto the wee hours until exhaustion from their nocturnal activities finally claimed them. Taryn looked up from her pillow into Iris’ stone blue eyes, and there was no one else on earth. No voices. No thoughts. All that remained was they two, their undying love…

And certainty.