Welcome to the Summer of Eve

BY GOD, from the August issue of ‘For Adam Magazine’

Styled by Lucas Cranach the Elder

Eden is so far gone, We have to go to your rib to make a suitable helpmeet. In case you’ve missed it, her name is Eve. She is today and beautiful, not in that otherworldly, Lilith-y way but in a whole land of Havilah, where there is gold, corner of The Garden scenario; a spirit moving over the waters; a mist from the earth. She is blonde, but only in European paintings. She might be tall, but who knows because We have nothing to compare her to, and there’s no such thing as shoes yet. (Don’t get Me started on what’s going to happen when there are. I’m sorry for all of you.) She can be sexy and composed even while naked but she’s also always naked and she isn’t aware of that at the moment. She has curves in ways you don’t have curves. She smells pretty, like the flowers of the garden, not in a whore-y way but just close enough that you feel like you’re being a little naughty, if you catch My meaning. As I said, she is from your rib. To understand her, you should think about what that means. Your rib is Eden at the beginning of the sixth day, sunny and slow, a throwback, a place where giving names to the animals passes for entertainment. And here she is, Woman, made for you by Me to enjoy and envision in whatever way you wish. Just make sure she doesn’t eat too much fruit, you’re not going to like her when she puts on the pounds.

I met Eve by the banks of the river Gihon (the same is it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia), in a booth toward the back. It’s good for a private chat because nobody goes there, there not being anyone else around but Me, and you, and now her. She wandered through the room like someone who had just been created moments ago, which was in fact the case. She skittered like a doe, which is the female version of the animal you are calling the skinny-legged head-horn horse. (We’re going to have to change that, but don’t get Me distracted right now.) I didn’t pay attention to what she was wearing, because, again, no clothes yet. She was naked, naked, naked. Not a big deal to Me, but boy is it gonna be a thing when all your sons grow up. She had her hair arranged artfully like in some Renaissance painting around those painfully blue eyes (the eyes are actually brown but by the time Western culture gets through with this story they are for sure going to be blue so let’s just stay with that). We sat in the corner. She looked at Me and smiled.

“I’m terrified of you,” she said. “You’re God.”

“Honey,” I said, “you have no idea.”