by Bonny Capps
Chapter Three
The days have slowly elapsed, I feel so empty. I can’t help but relate to the shell that is my mother. I have not gone to see her since that night. But in my father's absence I will find myself in her room, in her bed and sitting at her vanity slowly tracing my fingers over her hair brush and her powder. All of it would be dusty if it weren't for Mary's meticulous cleaning. I look like a mess, my face still showing the trace of my father's fingers. What day is it, Thursday, Friday? I'm drifting through my life. I feel nonexistent. No calls from Matthew, the calls from McKenzie have gone unanswered. Mary is worried, constantly trying to feed me. I can't eat; I just want to fade away right now.
The recital is this Saturday; my chances of the scholarship are gone. Everything I have worked for – gone. Dara has tried to call me over and over but I cannot bring myself to talk to her, she would be so disappointed. Like everyone else. I know deep down I will have to face the reality of my life again, I know I will have to face my father again. And Matthew, oh Matthew. I need you more than anything. But, I allowed my selfish feelings to get in the way of my dear friend and me.
It is a rainy day; I lay on my side in bed, my hair over my shoulder, framing my face. Deep breaths, it’s hard to bring myself to even breathe right now. My eyes are swollen from the hours of crying, sobbing, and convulsing. I feel like everything in my life has faded away, everything that I loved - all at once. I am a burden, no one wants me. No one would notice if I was gone. I hear a gentle knock on the door; I am too weak to answer. Mary allows herself in and sits beside me on the edge of the bed. “Dear, I'm going to town. Is there anything you need? Is there anything I can do hunny?” Her face looks like its aged even more, the worry written in her wrinkles. I slowly shake my head. “You know sweet heart; you will need to eat eventually.” I remain still; my body seems to have made its form in the bed.
Mary reaches over to remove a loose strand of hair from my face and leans over to kiss my forehead. She waits another moment, softly rubbing her hand up and down my back. I remain motionless. Finally she gets up and leaves me alone again. I hear the front door open, close and lock behind her. Over the light tapping of the rain, her car comes to life outside. I slowly lift myself up on my bed and sit on the edge. I'm alone. Dad has been spending the past few days at a bar in town; he usually doesn't come back until early morning hours, that is – if he comes back.
My feet reluctantly greet the cold, wood floor. Oh I am weak. I make my way over to my mirror and examine myself. Boy, I look terrible. My hair is draped over my shoulders; I am wearing a white camisole and blue, flannel pajama pants. I wrap my arms around myself; I despise this girl looking back at me. She is weak. She is awkward. She is worthless.
A single tear forms and escapes my eyelid, working its way down my cheek, into the crevice of my nose and then burrowing into my bottom lip. I look ghostly; I have thinned over the past couple of days due to the lack of food. I examine myself for a long time, making a quiet decision in my head. I'm ready to go away, away from this world, away from this life. I am giving up. Now, it's time before I lose the tenacity.
I make my way to my father's room and open up one of the double doors leading to his closet. I reach in and pull a blue tie from his tie rack, this should do. I carefully shut the door to his bedroom and make my way back into mine. I shut and lock the door. One more glimpse in the mirror, my hand gripping the tie, my face determined, I am ready.
I walk to my closet and open the door. I remove hangers and clothes and throw them in a pile on the floor, clearing a path on the sturdy wooden clothes rod. I grip it with both hands and lift myself, bouncing up and down testing the strength. It seems to support my weight pretty well. I do not want to fail this mission. I double knot the tie's thick end around the rod and create a noose on the other end. I look for something to stand on and locate a wooden box in my closet, its light but can support my body. I position it and step up. The thunder outside is persistent, the rain has steadily picked up.
I breathe in deeply and exhale - this is it. I slowly pull the noose over my head and make sure it cinches properly. Another deep breath and I pull the cinch closer to my neck, another tug at the knot, all seems to be secure. And in that moment, I squeeze my eyes shut and kick the wooden box from under me.
The struggle begins, oh it is terrible. I try gasping for air but my throat is closed, my fingers are prying at the tie around my neck, trying to free myself. My toes sweep across the floor as my legs go flailing. I am immediately regretting this. I am starting to see tunnel vision and then I hear a loud noise, BANG BANG BANG. A distorted voice is screaming, “NO!” My vision is blurry; I think I see a shadowy figure running towards me. Suddenly the tie snaps, sending me falling, my head banging hard on the chest in my closet and all turns black. Am I dead?
A loud roar of thunder wakes me; I am in a ball on my closet floor. It's hard to open my eyes. My head is pounding; I feel around and discover a big knot on the side of my head. I examine my hand for blood, there is none. Holy shit. I feel the tie still around my neck and hurriedly free it. I look up at the knot on the rod, it's still there dangling. I look at the noose in hand and it looks to be cleanly cut, it doesn't look like it simply broke. What the hell? Then I recall the voice and the figure running towards me. What, who was that? Surely if it was Mary or even my dad, they wouldn't just leave me laying here.
I spring to my feet. None of this makes sense. I run to the window and there is still no sign of Mary or my father's cars. What the hell is going on? I rush to the door and ensure it is still locked. Balcony, locked. Windows, locked. Oh my God, was this a miracle? A sign? Am I supposed to live? I walk up to the mirror and examine my neck, its red. Surely it will not bruise - any reason for my father to throw me into a mental institution he will.
I hear the roar of an engine. What? Matthew? What in the hell is he doing here? I frantically try and cover my neck with my hair. That will have to do, as I make my way towards the window until I hear a faint noise - from the mirror? I stop in my tracks and before I dare to look at it, I see in my peripheral - a ripple in the glass. A ripple - in a mirror? What? I begin walking closer to the mirror – cautiously. What is this? Am I losing my mind?
I reach my hand towards the mirror, testing my sanity. There was NOT a ripple in the mirror. I hear a tap on the door, there he is. But, the cute boyish grin is absent. He is wearing a black hoodie, jeans and his black converse. I stand in front of the mirror, my arm extended with my fingers barely making contact with the leave him standing in the glass as I look towards Matthew. I don't want to talk to him right now but I can’t leave him standing in the cold rain. I hurry over and allow him to enter.
We stand before each other, he is looking at me, concern on his face, I force a weak smile and out of pure reflex, I reach up and unzip his hoodie and slide it off of his shoulders, revealing his chiseled chest, peeking through a tight black shirt underneath. I throw the hoodie on my bed and grab a throw blanket in return; I hurry back over to him, draping it over his shoulders. His hair is dripping, he is soaked. I put a hand on each one of his sides and peer up into his beautiful caring eyes. His lips are in a tight line. He wraps his arms around me, both of us swallowed up in the throw blanket, my head resting on his chest. I can feel my shirt soaking up the moisture from his as my fingers grab at the shirt on his back.
We stand there for some time before he walks me towards the bed, still in an embrace; he pulls me away and sits me down. Kneeling in front of me he grabs my hands and runs his thumbs over my knuckles. He looks up at me, releases one of my hands and searches my face. He traces his thumb from my forehead to my father's hand print on my cheek, to my lips and oh no! My neck! I quickly reach up and place my hand over the mark. His hand follows, and he removes mine.
He frowns and traces his finger over the mark. I am searching his eyes, I can’t read this Matthew that I see right now. My lips part, I want to explain myself, but how? How do you explain this? Matthew's lips form in
to a hard line once again and after it seems like he was holding his breath forever, he exhales and stands. Facing his back to me, I can see his reflection in the balcony door as he runs his hand through his hair. He is pissed.
“Mandy, what in the hell were you thinking?” He hollers, whipping around to face me. I look down at my lap, hiding behind my hair, my hands firmly planted on the bed. “You haven't called me for days. You seemed pissed last time we saw each other. You haven't been at school… and your neck? What the hell is going on?” He says, exasperated. Really? I have not called you? Is this the type of friendship we have? I have to call you? I spring up from the bed and approach him, “Really, Matthew the phone works both ways! And besides, I thought you were too busy with her.”
Oh my God, yes I just said that. Stupid Mandy! Matthew is awe struck; his eyes look wild as he tries to search mine. I reach up and run my hand through my hair, in an attempt to keep it from invading my face while the tears begin to fall. Matthew sighs; he looks exhausted as he hunches his shoulders.
He walks closer to me, to the point where we are toe to toe. I look up at him, if he only knew how much I need him. These feelings that I feel are so confusing. The love that I have always had for him, it’s evolving. I didn’t recognize it until I saw him and McKenzie exchange that look the other day at school. Is it only because it’s McKenzie? Is it only because I have always been jealous of her?
He grips my arms gently, “Mandy, what do you want from me? I am trying to be there as much as I can but it's hard when you're pissed at me and I don't even know why. I love you.” My heart flutters, oh those words... from those lips sends a shock through me, I feel fulfilled until he adds, “You're my best friend.” Those last words hang in the air above us; there goes my heart, dropping from its place in my chest to the pit of my stomach. I wrap my arms around myself and look out the window, the rain is still gently tapping. Yes, you are his best friend but are you going to continue to suffer as a result of this friendship?
He touches my shoulder and pulls me away from my deep thought. I still look out the window, trying to keep from looking into his eyes, trying to keep from throwing myself at him. “Mandy, I am going to stay with you tonight.” He whispers. Oh but I know why, sympathy, feeling bad for me. I smile as I look up at him, my lip trembling, “No, no Matthew you're not.” The hurt in his eyes is overwhelming. I am purposely pushing him away. Why? Why Mandy?
Matthew forces a smile and nods; he makes his way towards my bed and grabs his hoodie, throwing it over his shoulder. He stops in front of me once more, grabbing each side of my face before bending down and kissing my forehead. He looks into my eyes with a silent plea – that I do not hurt myself again. My breathing is shaky, tears well up in my eyes as I look into his. He hurriedly turns and opens the balcony door, he looks back once more, and his jaw tense. He jumps over the railing and retreats from my balcony. I stand staring out the open door. The rain is falling ever so gracefully.
I walk to the door and slowly shut it. I turn the lock until I hear it click. That was rough. Life is rough, but something tells me I need to stick around.
Chapter Four
Last night with Matthew was difficult, I know I hurt him and swallowing that pill is hard. I love him; I would never want to hurt him. The look in his eyes haunts me. What if he did stay last night? Would he have held me? I smile at the thought of being with him, his masculine arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, keeping me safe. I have never even kissed a boy, well other than Keith Perkins in first grade. I shudder at the thought; he is now a theater junkie with craters all over his face. But, who am I to judge? I am the anti-social freak, the anti-social freak that drove away two of my best friends – my only friends, one whom I am head over heels for.
I need to call McKenzie. She’s worried and none of this is her fault, or Matthews really – but for some reason it’s easier to justify my anger towards him. I pick up my phone for the first time in couple of days and unplug it from the charger. Wow, this is probably the most charge my phone has ever had. I look at the call history, twelve calls missed from McKenzie, twenty two calls from Dara – wow she is persistent. I press dial and put the phone up to my ear, it rings once when I hear something faint coming from the mirror- again, but I can’t make it out. I pull the phone from my ear and hear McKenzie faintly saying, “Mands, hey, hello? Mandy?” I press “end call” and walk up to the mirror, phone still in hand. The sound has stopped, I think it has. It was so faint. I put my ear up to the glass. Wow you really are losing it Mandy. What's that? A bird? A stream? Oh my. What the hell. I step back, and frantically walk behind the mirror, feeling around for... some type of answer as to why it seems there is a forest in my mirror, because that is clearly not logical.
“I highly doubt you'll find anything back there!” The voice makes me jump ten feet it feels like, enough to knock me over on my rear, before I can reply I hurriedly crawl across the room and sit by my door, pulling my legs up to my chest. My mirror looks normal, but there is something talking in it. This is not OK. Whatever it is has a charming, what is that – Irish accent? It's somewhat distorted. “Well? Did you find anything back there?” The voice asks. The mirror looks to have rippled as it spoke.
My eyes are popping out of my head; my heart is literally leaping out of my chest, “This... this isn't happening.” I whisper, peering over my knees. “Why would you say that, love?” The voice sounds playful, is it taking pleasure in the fact that it’s freaking me out? This is starting to piss me off, there is no way there is a voice coming out of my mirror, and if there is, it must be in my head. Is it because I bumped it so hard last night? This is not real.
I decide I will play its game or my heads game rather - whatever it is. I get up shakily and walk towards the voice. I look at the mirror quizzically, “Because mirrors don't talk.” The mirror ripples once again, “Is that so?” I look at it in awe, gesturing towards it, “Well, yeah.” The voice sounds more powerful now, “Well, I’m not just any mirror.”
“Well, then what are you?” I ask, hands on my hips, irritability rising in my voice. “What am I? That's not very nice, I think 'who' are you would be more suitable.” I can't help but smile. “Is it funny? Calling me a 'what' tickles your fancy?” I let out a giggle, “No, the fact that I am talking to a mirror and the fact that 'it' is offended that I called 'it' a 'what' is funny.” The voice sounds a little offended, “Well, I am a 'he' and my name is Fynn.” I walk closer and reach to put my fingers on the glass. “Going to frisk me?” I pull my hand away as he speaks, “Why can't I see you?” I ask, my eyes frantically searching the mirror. “Because, you do not believe in me.” The mirror responds. I laugh, “What – who are you, Santa Clause? I'm all grown up, err Fynn...” The mirror responds, “That you are, quite beautiful as well.” I look down at my hands. “You're blushing.” It says as the ripples become more prominent and several of them appeared this time, sporadically across the glass.
I sink to the floor, crossing my legs and resting my hands on my knees, “So, why are you in my mirror?” I ask, tilting my head. This is crazy, but it's nice interacting with someone after these tumultuous few days, well someone other than Matthew. “I like it in here, nice, spacious, there are some that can be too cramped – but yours is wonderful.” It replies. “So, everyone's mirror is different?”I ask. It laughs, “Well, yes. I guess you could say that.” I frown, still trying to take this all in, “Well, how many mirrors have you occupied?” I hear what I think is a sigh, “Let's not worry about that Mandy. I want to know more about you.” Oh, more about me? What am I supposed to tell it? “Well, what do you want to know?” I ask. I hear yet another chuckle, I must be hilarious. “That's what I like about you Mandy, so eager to learn about others but so reluctant to tell about yourself. Well, for starters – Why are you so sad? Why don't you ever smile? Oh, and of course why are you in love with a boy who doesn't love you back?”
I feel blood rush to my face, who does this mirror, thing... boy think he
is? “That is none of your business!” I exclaim, sneering. “You – you think you can just come into my mirror and make observations? You don't know me!” It lets out a bounding laugh, oh really? I have stood up straight, my hands balled up at my sides, my chest heaving and cheeks burning. “Also, what are you doing in a teenage girl's mirror anyways? You're some type of pervert!” The laughter becomes more prominent as I glare at the mirror, the glass rippling uncontrollably now. What is so funny? This freak has some nerve! “Oh, oh I am so sorry!” He says as he continues his uncontrollable – annoying laughter, “It's just, it's just hilarious how serious you are!”
I'm pissed; this thing needs to shut up. I run to my bed and grab my throw blanket; I turn and face the mirror clutching the throw in my hands so hard my knuckles are turning white. The laughter finally begins to cease, “Oh no! Not the blanket! Mandy, I am simply not a bird. You cannot -” I hastily throw the blanket over the mirror and the nuisance ceases to talk. I let out an annoyed sigh through my nose and turn on my heal, walking towards my bed. I plop myself down, and stare at my cloaked mirror for a minute or two. I am losing my damn mind, arguing with a mirror?
This is, without a doubt the strangest thing that has ever happened to me. The feelings I feel are so confusing, sad about the situation with my mother and my father. Pissed at Matthew when I don't even think I have the justification and hurt by McKenzie. Heartbroken over the scholarship, I am struggling with the idea of even dancing again because the harder I try, the further my dream drifts away - and now, this? I am talking – arguing even... with a mirror, a mirror that I have now hidden under a throw blanket?