• Evangeline would begin her day at 8 AM.

    We’d see her across the streets in the mornings, a slow, slender figure in gray suits, walking to and fro without any pomp or circumstance. She had a well-to-do office job, as it was known and passed throughout the neighborhood. Clothes, neat and drab. Car, classic and unassuming. One would except that a fairly attractive woman with a successful career would encounter no problems in the dating department, but as far as we could see, peeping at her as we often did through half-drawn curtains, there was no significant other in her life.

    I don’t know how we knew her name was Evangeline. We knew she had no boyfriends – no friends, for that matter – because she was always alone. The comfy office job was clear due to her smart suits and car and briefcases. How we knew her name was Evangeline, though, remains puzzling, as she never spoke to anyone long enough to pass on her name. In the neighborhood, it was generally accepted as fact.

    When we were growing up, my sister and I often discussed wild Evangeline theories out of boredom. She had lived in her house for as long as we could remember, but never seemed to age beyond about thirty or so. To my sister and I, that made her a witch, possibly a recluse who hated children. As we animatedly discussed our theories, eventually we’d become so engrossed in fantasy, we’d begin to forget Evangeline even existed.

    As my sister and I entered our teenage years, we began to see Evangeline more and more. The corner store. School. I noticed Evangeline during a time in my life when I rarely noticed anything else.

    My parents worked unceasingly and were never home, a situation I neither enjoyed nor hated. Being very close in age, my sister and I mostly shared the same group of friends. We did the same things all teenagers did. Occasional dating, occasional smoking, occasional drinking; all our friends behaved the same. We had an average interest in school, never doing exceptionally well but never failing either. We coasted through life with an average interest in everything. Except Evangeline.

    After a time, my sister found herself a steady boyfriend, which meant she no longer accompanied me on my Evangeline scouting missions. Often I would skip out of school just to follow her. I found her mysterious, beautiful even. Everything about her seemed dark and gray – her face, her hair, her clothes, like a black and white character in a technicolour universe. She did talk, I discovered, but not very often, and when she did, it was only small talk – a comment here and there, about the weather, a lady’s dress, the headlines of the day, without any enthusiasm. Her mouth never smiled, but then again, it never frowned either, just remained a very thin, straight line.

    “What happened to this woman?” I wondered often. Did some traumatic event happen in her life to make her lose all emotions, all hope? Or was she just a naturally boring person? I lived and breathed to find out more about Evangeline, and after time, although her life was as drab as a piece of plan toast, she seemed to me the most interesting person in the world.

    My sister, who was by this time a veritable social butterfly, grew impatient with my obsession. She had more important things to worry about, like her boyfriend, the drama club at school she was a part of, and the dozens upon dozens of parties she was invited to. Besides, she said, she hardly even saw Evangeline anymore, a mystery to me since I saw her literally every hour of the day. The world, to me, seemed blank and featureless, while this woman became the sun around which I revolved.

    In my morning, afternoon, and evening inspections of her, I discovered that there was a rather large skylight in the ceiling of her entrance hall, and the idea of sneaking onto her roof to peer at her through this skylight seemed enormously appealing. Dangerous, but that was part of the charm.

    There was a large maple tree on the left side of her property, perfect for climbing. When nightfall arrived, I silently crossed the street to her house. Staring up at the maple tree, excitement coursed through me. I needed to look through that skylight. I needed to see Evangeline now, I needed to see her forever.

    With relative ease – I had scaled trees back in my day, back when life meant more than this strange gray woman – I made my way from branch to branch, scaling closer and closer to my Sun. Hoisting myself onto her roof, I began to shiver, more out of anticipation than chill. She was sitting on a large, dark couch, her face impassive, watching television. Interest sparked in my brain. What kind of television shows did she watch? Did she actually have hobbies, likes and dislikes? Was she more than just a colourless apparition that took over my life?

    I leaned closer. The knowledge that, very, very soon, I would have another glimpse into her life was more than I could take.

    Unfortunately, I was more than the skylight could take.

    My plummet down into her featureless house was just that – featureless. One minute I was up on the skylight, the next minute I was sprawled on her dark carpet, barely noticing the throbbing my in leg. All I could think was that I was closer to her, to my obsession. I’d never seen her up close before, just through windows and from behind buildings, hiding. Now I was out in the open. Would she find me as fascinating as I found her?

    She bent close to me, to see if I was seriously hurt? I had no idea. Was I? Even her eyes were gray.

    Up close, her face was just as expressionless. I couldn’t read a single line. Now was my chance, though. With her crouched in front of me, this moment suspended in time, I could ask her anything I wished. I could find out anything I wanted about her. The dream would end, but did I really want it to?

    Collapsed there on the floor, the one thing I needed to know, the one thing that I’d always wanted to know, fell out of my mouth.

    “Who are you?”

    Her face leaned in even closer to me. What was she going to do, this blank, expressionless mask of a face?

    One word, and that was all.

    “Apathy.”

    She smiled. The first time she had ever smiled.

    Before I blacked out, I heard a whispered warning:

    “Don’t you ever end up like me.”

    **

    Time went by as usual. My broken leg healed. My friends visited me when I was immobile, and I began to pick out subtle differences in their appearances, their hobbies, their personalities. They had interests, things they loved and believed in. School had redeemable qualities and interesting, knowledgeable teachers, some who were irritating and pompous, some who were kind and helpful. I didn’t care which they were, I was just enthralled by the fact that they were even separate beings. My parents, when they were around, were fairly interesting people, with hopes and dreams and aspirations, just like my friends, just like my sister. Just like me, if I tried hard enough. Little by little, it began to work.

    My mind began to work. My emotions began to work. And I never saw Evangeline again.