The Wall Crossers

Feb 1998 - Florian Changes Everything Forever

Barbara's perspective

My name is Bob Reary, and I am living in the Amador Valley of northern California's Bay Area. I am married and have three children. I work in high tech for a local, but internationally known, software company. We have a modest two-story home on a nice residential street nestled in the lower rising slope of the hills that form the southern boundary of our large valley. We have lived here for twelve years and the population growth has been unbelievable. Our once-quiet street is now busy and where open rising hilly pasture was once just a block away, now new homes crowd the lower hills.

I am sitting at a table in the upstairs bonus room, the largest room in our house, above the garage, and I have my Windows-based laptop open.

The first time I saw the world-wide-web was in 1995. I did not think much of it. By late 1996 I was using the internet fairly regularly and had an e-mail address at work, but no personal e-mail account. By late 1997 I had an AOL account for personal e-mail!

I am looking out a large double window from the upstairs bonus room, peering down into our neighbors' back yard and I am thinking and am excited!

With my recent adoption of AOL, I am finding it fun to be more closely connected to people in a way I never imagined. One such person I have somehow been able to link up with is the famous mathematician, Greg Chaitin. Greg is American, is a Fellow with the IBM Watson Research Center, and is the inventor of Algorithmic Complexity Theory.

I have been trading a few e-mails with Greg and feel giddy with amazement that he would converse with me! Just minutes ago, I wrote another e-mail to Greg with a question I hope will further challenge him and his theory. He has already granted me a point, saying in an earlier e-mail, You are right, there may be some problem with this aspect of thinking regarding my theory. I plan to save this e-mail from him forever!

As I wait and look out the window, I am wondering, Will Greg reply to me in five minutes, or will it be five days from now? It is hard to know. E-mail is instantaneous, but still depends on the availability and interest of the other person for frequency of communications.

So I wait. I check the time on my watch—11am pacific time, 2pm in New York. Of course Greg may not even be in New York! My image of him sitting at his—home since it is Saturday?—could be flawed. He also teaches college in New Zealand!

I am about to decide to exit my modem connection, close my laptop and go have brunch when I hear the familiar You've got mail of the AOL application. Excitedly, I glance at the inbox!

But it is not from Chaitin. I open the email. It is fairly short. I check the sender and see:

florian1246@aol.com.be

At first, I think the e-mail must be spam, and I am poised to delete it, but then I note the subject:

Subject: Announcement of birth of Lizet

My heart begins to beat more rapidly and I open my mouth, which is suddenly becoming dry, eyes widening. I read the body of the e-mail:

Dear Olivia,

I am Florian, nephew of Elisa, and writing to you from Belgium. I had the difficult time finding you! Elisa asked me to inform you of some things:
1. Lizet was born to your daughter and Adrian in September last, 1997, as predicted by my Aunt—Elisa, many years ago. Do you remember?
2. Leida has been out of touch with family since your daughter was born. Have you seen her? We believe this must answer be No.
3. Your daughter was cared for and brought to adulthood by Leida's sister.
Olivia, this is here most important thing! Lizet will not learn about you until year 2025. This is given to us all from her overgrootmoeder (great grandmother), Frau Elisabeta—my aunt. Lizet may contact you then.
So sorry, but dear Olivia you will be not able to contact us until that year.

With warmest regards,
Florian.

As I read these words I feel my blood pressure rising. I am a daily runner, but this is not elevated heart and blood like that. This is panic.

I try to stand, but feel unsteady. I look across the valley to Mount Diablo—Devil Mountain, and I see it is wavery in my field of vision. I am dizzy. I bump against my chair as I stand and turn and somewhat stagger to the bed here in the bonus room, falling across it, and begin crying.

I lie on the bed for a long time, tears eventually run dry, staring at the sloping ceiling. I hear the garage door open—wife coming in from some errand.

I raise myself from the bed and return to the table and the laptop. I connect to the modem again and sign in once more to AOL and re-read the e-mail. I cannot believe it and think This must be some kind of hoax. I decide to write a response.

At first I type a simple reply, Who are you?... but then I add, No, I have never heard from Leida, and hit Send. I wait—one minute, five minutes, ten minutes. My connection times out.

I hear voices downstairs. They think I am working at my computer. I go to the bathroom. I return to my laptop and start it up again and check: still no reply.

So I reply for a second time to the e-mail, with this:

Florian,
What are you talking about? Why are you telling me this? Who are you really? Please reply.

In less than a minute, I get a MAILER-DAEMON reply. Florian's account has already been disabled. But... he did learn from me—I have had no contact with Leida. I wonder... what happened to her?

There is no way in 1998 to find a person with only a first name and country of residence. I continue to panic.

My family knock on the door, asking about me. I say I will be down soon.

My past life crashes on me hard. I feel guilt, regret, loss, heartache, weakness, thrill, devastation, hope, crisis. The grief cycle begins anew for me and goes around and around at the speed of neuronic electricity. I feel like I may lose my mind.

Anja crashes on me. Horst crashes on me. Patrizia crashes on me. Leida.... I begin to cry hard. I lie back down on the bed, sobbing. I am forty-six years old. It has been twenty-six years since I saw her last. Throughout that time, I have been a fake. I have been hiding. I have neglected myself in order to be acceptable, to be presentable.

A fragment of Supertramp's Logical Song plays in my head:

In those times, when worlds whir in slumber,
Enigmas stir, thoughts encumber,
For souls like mine, so plain.
Please kindly share what gains we've earned,
Though concealed is what we've learned,
Reveal to me my true domain.

After a while, I stop crying, and I make a decision. Ultimately, I decide that, this very morning, I will come out of that stark, locked, empty room. But I cannot be the same person I once was. I will come out instead as Barbara. I decide to do the only thing I am certain I must do—I summon my warrior girl spirit one more time, after all those years of neglect, and she arrives, and she takes over, and she leads me down the stairs. And then, under her direction, I say to my wife, "There is something I need to tell you."