Shelly Oria - New York 1, Tel Aviv 0

* * *

Everything/nothing happens once again, she is maybe losing her mind probably losing her mind has probably already lost her mind. Otherwise what is this. Maybe it’s simple a feeling is all maybe just a bit different because it’s a woman maybe a different part in her body flutters maybe the beat of the fluttering is different but is that all that is not all. Everything/nothing is how she thinks of it she has no words not even sound. Everything is right there in your hands but it’s like water so nothing is there in your hands in moments it’s gone and you say was it here? It was here it wasn’t here it was here. One moment here it is I am not making it up not imagining and the next moment is upside down all upside down your hands are empty and you think stop stop stop. But the feelings are so strong so fast so quick they do what they want like: lightning thunder thunder lightning lightning lightning.

* * *

She practices, out loud, before Mia’s next visit.

So — how did you get out of the army…?

Do you ever think about living in Israel again?

You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe if I could ask you some things, if we talked not just about me, this whole thing would feel less strange, more … balanced.

I think it might be good for the project.

So … have you ever been with a woman?

Or, um, even just attracted to a woman?

Do you think it’s possible to be gay for just one person? Or for just a few?

Because, you know, usually I’m not attracted to women, but sometimes I am.

I’m just not attracted to that many people at all, I guess.

So when I am … it’s kind of powerful sometimes.

* * *

I think I might be in love with you.

* * *

I’ll be gone for a bit , Mia says. I’m going to Israel to shoot . Nadine doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. This trip was scheduled months ago , Mia says, it’s for another show I’m working on.

* * *

Something in Nadine’s body is twitching — it is gentle like a heartbeat and she doesn’t wish to make it stop, only to locate it, only to touch it. She touches the wrist of her right arm, then the left, then her neck in the place where you feel the swallow. She knows this must look strange to Mia, it is strange, but the thing keeps hopping around in her body, or else she has no idea what’s happening. There is a clear sensation, everywhere and nowhere.

* * *

You feeling okay? Mia asks. Nadine nods, stops searching though the heartbeat doesn’t stop. Mia is looking for her eyes but Nadine keeps looking away. You know , Mia says, I wanted to thank you . Nadine looks right at her now but keeps her face frozen. This project, the other project, it’s about soldiers in Israel, and I’ve been working on it a long time. It’s been dragging. She pauses now, smiles a smile Nadine has seen before but not often. She is so beautiful. Nadine feels the urge to look away but she knows she can’t, not again, not right now. She doesn’t smile back, and she can see Mia’s confusion clearly, what to do with this new Nadine, where has the eager pleaser gone. But she goes on. Our talk the other day helped me , Mia says. It reminded me why I started this project to begin with — the other project, I mean. You don’t have to keep saying “the other project,” Nadine says. Mia ignores her. It’s so normal in Israel , Mia says, the idea of the military, of everyone being part of that military, a country of soldiers. Eighteen-year-old kids getting M16s, being trained , and no one sees how fucked up it is. It’s, like, “What choice do we have,” “we’re surrounded by enemies,” all that stuff. And for years I’ve been wanting to shout: But can you still see ? Necessary or not, can you look at it ? Because, well, this is all very personal to me. I’m named after a war, did you know that? My name is the initials, in Hebrew, of the Yom Kippur War. My mother was pregnant with me when my father died, so she named me after the war that took him away . Mia pauses now, looks down. But then … I’m not even sure when, but at some point I stopped seeing it , she says. I mean, I grew up there. It’s all so … familiar. The past few years I’d go and shoot and talk to these soldiers, these kids , and I’d leave every time thinking, What did I want to show again? It was like I forgot. But you — you reminded me. I think it was how shocked you seemed at the idea of mandatory service , Mia says, or maybe it was just talking about it; I don’t often talk about it. So thank you , Mia says, for reminding me that when people hear about it for the first time, they’re disturbed. It’s like I have my eyes back on now .

* * *

You’re welcome , Nadine says.

* * *

How strange, to hear Mia speak so many words.

* * *

It takes some distance from Mia, hours and days spent without her, for Nadine to hear more fully what was said. She’s on the A train home late at night, alone in a fast-moving car, when she understands. Mia was thanking her for her ignorance.

It’s not easy, trying to get rid of a thought like that, and when Nadine tries, the opposite happens, a cramp in her stomach and a new thought, a worse thought, a word: disturbed . That’s what she is to Mia, isn’t it? She’s the soldiers, the thing you see every day but don’t see, the thing you pretend is normal even though it’s sick. The disturbance.

* * *

At the end of their last session, Nadine is sitting on her bed, knees to her chest, closing her eyes so as not to hear the clicking. She makes her fingertips remember touching Mia — the back of her neck, her shoulders — while she makes the rest of her imagine how tomorrow will feel.

* * *

Nadine’s closed eyes accelerate the clicking; Mia is seeing, it seems, something she has never seen before. And she must be touched, because she is doing what she does when she’s touched — she clicks.

* * *

Mia leaves that day like she’s going out for milk. See you later , she says.

* * *

Mia’s words on her voice mail months later are garbled. Nadine hears June 5th, hears 6 p.m., hears really, really hope you can make it . Listening to Mia’s voice again, Nadine feels like she’s looking at an old photograph of herself in which she’s wearing clothes she never owned and someone else’s face.

* * *

At the gallery, after hours on a Wednesday, Nadine is standing erect looking at herself, and herself is looking right back at her from the wall. The opening was wonderful, I was sad you couldn’t make it , Mia says. And then: Everyone wanted to meet you .

* * *

She looks at Mia straight in the eyes then, and there is a feeling deep inside her, the pull of a magnet toward metal. It is hard — physically hard — but she resists the pull. She sees Mia’s need to reach for the camera, to click the moment away.

* * *

So … on to the next project? Nadine asks. Not really , Mia says, shakes her head lightly. And then: I’m kind of exhausted . Mia seems to be saying something, and this is the kind of moment that used to get Nadine’s heart beating faster with potential. If only she asked the right thing the right way, if only she managed to open the moment, reveal what’s inside. Well, you’ve been working hard , Nadine says. Mia nods but looks down, says nothing at first, then: I’m never exhausted from hard work . She’s definitely trying to say something. A small voice inside Nadine is whispering, See? It’s always been here , but Nadine tries hard not to listen.