by Estevan Vega
“Worse kisser I ever sucked face with,” she was going on. “I don’t know why she’s, er, I’ve kept him for a boyfriend this long.” She was talking about my baby, Jimmy French.
It’s just plain odd in here. I can travel pretty good around in mirrorland, but I don’t always know where Liz is going to be. I’m trying to watch her as closely as I can so I don’t miss my chance to escape. I’m sure there have been plenty of times when she was miles away from where I expected her and gazing right into a mirror and laughing. She doesn’t go to the same hangouts I always did; she’s found her own places to go to and her own crowd to hang around with, and in my opinion her new crowd has sniffed way too much glue. They’re hoodlums and jerks and showoffs.
And the way she dresses! Like Tori Spelling used to when she was twelve and if she’d had to shop on a very skinny budget. In Indiana! If I ever get out of here I’ll never be able to go anywhere and hold my head up again. I’ll just be lucky to keep from going to prison.
I’ve found her flaw. It’s vanity. She can’t pass a mirror without looking at herself. I just have to find a way to exploit that.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TWO WEEKS AGO, AFTER she’d tricked me into the mirror, I waited for almost an hour, hoping she’d return and laugh, saying she was just joking. Yeah, right. I finally realized she’d planned this all along and wasn’t ever going to let me out. I guess I shouldn’t plan on being a cardsharp, what with the quick way I size people up.
I went looking for her. It was easy. First stop was the hall mirror and sure enough, there she was. Telling my mother not to wait up for her; she didn’t know when she’d be home that night. Turns out, she didn’t come back home until the next morning.
I was furious. I would never have dared tell Mom something like that. Our family has always had this big deal about being polite to one another and using common courtesy and it hurt to see the look on Mom’s face when she asked where she was going and Liz said, “None of your business. I’m not a baby.” Mom thought that person was me! I yelled and screamed at her from inside the mirror, but of course she couldn’t hear or see me. It just killed me when I saw the tears in her eyes and the look on her face when Liz slammed the door shut behind her.
After Mom went into her bedroom to begin her nervous breakdown, I resisted the temptation to follow her. It just didn’t seem right. Instead, I went to Jimmy’s house and sure enough there he was, lying on his bed, listening to his CD player. I just stood there and watched him from his bedroom mirror, tears running down my cheeks because I couldn’t talk to him or touch him and probably never would again.
It wasn’t ten minutes later that she appeared, barging right into his bedroom without even knocking. She went right over to him and jumped on top of him where he was laying. He didn’t see or hear her since he had his back to the door and his earphones on, but when she jumped on him he threw the earphones off and gave her a big hug. That hurt!
She whispered something to him. I couldn’t hear what it was, but Jimmy got this serious look on his face and said, “Elizabeth, we agreed to wait. I love you, hon. This just isn’t the right time. Besides, my mother is right downstairs.”
She stood up, put her hands on her hips and said in this icy voice, “I should have known you’d say something like that, Jimbo. That’s okay, buster, I’d rather have a real man anyway. See ya around, lame-o.” She flounced out the door and there Jimmy was with the same look on his face I’d just seen on Mom’s. I couldn’t stand to see him like that, so I cut out, thinking I’d try to find Liz, see what part of my life she was going to trash next.
I didn’t have a clue where to look. I must have searched dozens of mirrors, all over town. Brand X, the record store, all the shops in the mall I thought she might go to; I even went to the truckstop at the edge of town and looked out of all their mirrors except the ones in the men’s bathroom. No Liz. Anywhere. She had vanished off the face of the earth. I searched for hours and then it got late and places started closing. Once they turned their lights off, I could see very little.
I discovered a funny thing. When you’re a mirror person, you don’t need sleep. In fact, you can’t sleep. To keep from going Space City, you have to find mirrors in places that don’t close and in our town that wasn’t easy. I ended up by going to a tavern I never before had even wanted to walk by, just because it was the only place still open except for an all-night gas station.
That’s where I found her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE WAS SITTING AT the bar and she had a real drink in front of her! If I would have had a real body I would have fallen down. She was talking and flirting with some guy who I couldn’t make out real good since I was in the mirror behind the bar and it hadn’t been cleaned in about thirty years and there were whiskey bottles in front of me. I could see parts of her face, depending on how she moved but I never got a clear look at the guy, only that he looked about as old as the oldest living ex-president, that guy from Georgia, and uglier than a pop quiz. Mom will kill me, I thought. Not to mention what’s happening to my reputation which Charles Manson wouldn’t even take now. If I get out of here, I’ll have to pack a bag and leave home. I couldn’t take watching her anymore. I cut out and went to the only other all-night place, Joe’s Gas, and stayed there all night. I know the kid who works there nights, Joe’s kid, Joe Junior. His claim to fame is that he broke his leg blocking on the play in which Jerry Lerendet ran ninety-six yards before being tackled on the one-yard line, the biggest play in our school’s history. We lost the game but no one cared much, mostly because of that fantastic run. Personally, I didn’t get it—I mean, we lost the game. But no one seemed to think that was important because of that long run.
Anyway, that’s all that Junior ever talked about. He would find a way to bring it up in practically every conversation he ever had. Somebody would be talking about the weather or the war in Afghanistan and here Junior butts in with something like, “Yeah, it was raining like this the night I broke my leg in two places when Jerry Lerendet ran ninety-six yards,” or, “You talk about a war! It was a war the night I threw that block that sprung Lerendet for his run.” Stuff like that. You get the picture. It got a mention in Sports Illustrated, in the section way in the back where you have to have a relative point it out and use a magnifying glass to read it, and Junior bought up about three hundred copies of the issue and had that page framed and everything. There’s a framed copy on the wall behind the cash register at the gas station and I’ll bet anything he’s got his bedroom walls papered with it. People used to say, give it a rest, Junior, but he never caught on and after a while they just let him talk. Other than that, he was a decent enough kid even though I’m pretty sure he was in the bunch that teepeed Mary Lou Zanzibar’s house and her dad saw them throwing the toilet paper and ran out to yell at them and tripped over a rake her little brother had left in the yard and suffered this mild concussion and spent the night in the hospital, but then it was never proven for sure Junior was with whoever it was and I think you ought to give people the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, even if he was in that group, they certainly didn’t start out to give Mr. Zanzibar a concussion. They only teepeed their house because Mary Lou was popular and I think Junior had a crush on her. In a way, it was kind of Mr. Zanzibar’s own fault; if he had just stayed in the house it would never have happened, and his own son had left the rake where it shouldn’t have been in the first place. Sometimes people don’t bother to figure out all the extenuating circumstances and then put the blame where it doesn’t belong. It’s an adult trait, one I hope I never get.
Anyway, Mr. Zanzibar was positive he’d seen Junior along with six other boys and for a long time he wouldn’t buy gas at Joe, Senior’s gas station, but it all seems to have blown over now, because that very first night I stayed there, in the mirror behind the cash register, who comes in but Mr. Z himself and Junior even calls him by his first name, which is Herbert. If I was Mr. Zanzibar and was stuck with that, I would never let
anybody call me anything but “Mr. Z,” not even my own wife and children.
I could hear them talking just as clear as cellophane since I’m like two feet away, and I nearly collapse when Herbert tells Junior he’s just gone by Grossman’s Tap and saw Elizabeth Downing sitting at the bar and she wasn’t drinking ginger ale and she wasn’t talking to her science lab partner. He told Junior he was thinking about notifying Elizabeth’s parents and Junior said, so help me Hannah, “Well, Herbert, this is like when I broke my leg in two places blocking on Jerry Lerendet’s run. I didn’t want my parents to know but somebody told them and in the long run, I was glad to see them at the hospital. You can imagine the pain I was feeling.” I couldn’t believe this guy. His parents were sitting on the fifty-yard line when it happened. He went on. “I think, in the long run, Elizabeth will thank you too.”
No, you idiot, I screamed, but of course neither of these two rocket scientists could hear a syllable and then Mr. Z is gone to do his duty and Junior is breaking his neck to get the news out to all points about Elizabeth Downing.
At the rate she was going, Liz was going to have me in slam doing heavy time in about a week.
An idea began to form.
First, I’d gain her confidence, make her think I no longer wanted to be out of here, that this was the E Ticket to Disneyworld as far as I was concerned.
That was the first step.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE WAS IN THE bathroom fixing her hair the next day. If you could call it that. Personally, I’d call it “un-fixed.” I forced a smile and appeared.
“Hi, Blue Eyes. I’ve got an idea.”
She ducked down out of sight. Slowly, she inched back into view, careful to stare at her/my chin and not meet my/her eyes.
“Don’t call me Blue Eyes. My name is Liz.”
What nerve! I decided to swallow my anger and not let it show. Anyway, I hated the nickname “Liz.” She could have it.
“Okay, Liz. Liz, I’ve been thinking.”
She hooted, sounded like one of those owls on “Wild Kingdom.”
“What have you got to think about? You’re nothing but a mirror person. And you’re going to be one forever. How do you like that?”
About as much as I like a pound of pure cane sugar on a cavity, thanks.
“Actually, Liz, I do sort of like it in here. I can go anywhere I want and best of all, I don’t have to do homework.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Homework is a bummer. I’ve decided not to do any.”
I’d noticed that. “Smart thinking, Liz. What waitress needs algebra down at the ol’ truckstop? I’ll bet you can figure most of your tips with just basic third-grade math.”
I saw her furrow her brow and knew she was trying to figure out if I was dissing her or what. I went on, quickly.
“Yeah, you know, the longer I’m in here, the more I like it. In fact,” I paused for dramatic effect just the way Mr. Dawes had taught us in drama class, “...even if you wanted to, I’d refuse to come out now.”
I knew this was too much for her to swallow and I was right. She gave a snort that would have sexually aroused a stallion. No matter. Before I was done with her she was going to be convinced I loved it in here.
“It’s great in here,” I went on, “but there is something I miss. Like riding on the roller coaster at Indiana Beach. I’d love to go for a ride on that again.”
She looked at my eyes for just the tiniest second before she glanced away. I’d never noticed how mean her eyes were. They were filled with cruelty. I had created this? I felt nauseous, like the first time I saw hair under my armpits.
“Well, you can just eat your heart out, ‘cause that’s something you’re never going to do again.” She hesitated and then spoke again, a conciliatory note creeping into her voice. “Is it fun?”
“Is it! It’s the best! A super rush!”
She didn’t answer, only flounced away, out of the bathroom and my sight. I felt like smashing the mirror with my fists which was impossible and supremely frustrating.
The rest of that day and all of the evening I followed her around, from mirror to mirror, but she refused to talk whenever I said hi or tried to start a conversation. That night, I spent a bor-ring eight hours at Joe’s Gas watching Junior count out change and talk about his big football block. I found myself wishing I could re-break his leg so he’d really have something to talk about. I was almost ready to spend the night anywhere but there but most places in town except a couple of sleazy bars were dark and closed. I suppose I could have gone to a bigger town or even another country but mirror travel at night was harder and didn’t seem worth the effort. And I was sure getting tired of hanging out in bathrooms.
What went on isn’t worth repeating. I found out who I wouldn’t ever go out with. About eight of Junior’s friends showed up and spent hours swilling beer and telling jokes, mostly the kind that put girls down. At least three guys I’d had on my “maybe I’d go out with” list got x’d off and transferred to the “not until a talking geranium is elected president” list.
Next morning, I was back at my house, waiting for Liz in the bathroom mirror. It was a Saturday, so I wasn’t sure when she’d get up. She was lazy, on top of all her other sterling qualities. This Saturday, she was up early for her, ten o’clock.
I tried talking to her as she put on my lipstick. I made my voice sweet, even though I felt like a Sour Tart inside.
“Good morning, Liz.”
She just grunted. The best part of her vocabulary.
“Have you given any thought to what we talked about yesterday?”
Again a grunt. It was like talking to a 4-H pig. The one who lost the blue ribbon.
“About the roller coaster, Liz. See, you could go and just open your compact while you were riding and I’d get to ride too.”
Silence. Blusher being slapped on. Too thickly. My blusher, bought out of my meager allowance money.
Abruptly, she snapped the compact closed, tossed it in my makeup bag and stalked out of the bathroom.
Great. So far my scheme was working about as good as General Custer’s Big Victory Battle Plan.
I zoomed into the front hall mirror. She was there talking to Mom. I just caught a few words before she turned and walked out of the front door. “...for me. I’m going to Indiana Beach.”
My heart flipped a UCLA-cheerleader-class cartwheel and I mentally crossed my fingers. Maybe my plan would work after all!
She left in her car. Bought with the money I’d been saving for college. I don’t even want to think about that episode. She bought it the very next day after she trapped me in here. There went my future, speeding away at ten miles to the gallon. Not only did she use my hard-earned bucks, she totally alienated Mom and Dad. There had been a fight that Don King would have loved to promote.
With college in the dumper, I could see my dismal future looming before me. I’m behind this counter, my finger on a cash register key that looks like a hamburger with a Smiley Face. I’m sixty-five years old and wearing a name tag on my uniform. Jimmy walks in with his drop-dead gorgeous wife who’s a stock broker and their four lovely kids who have all been accelerated at least six grades in school. I’ve got this hairnet on to keep my frizzy gray hairs from dropping down on the NastyBurgers and my spine is crooked because of eating too much cat food and not enough milk. Jimmy sees me and goes all white and slips me a five-dollar tip. I thank him for it, prostrating myself on my knees and kissing the hem of his Armani pants. After my twelve-hour shift is over, I feel so terrible I go out right away and buy a cheap gallon of port wine and take it back to the dumpster I live in, pulling a hunk of cardboard over the opening to keep the snow out.
All the while we’re driving to Indiana Beach, I’m thinking stuff like this and my feelings for my mirror twin are intense, to say the least. I rode in the rearview mirror and if you don’t think that doesn’t make your stomach roll after a couple of miles, watching everything go by backwards! This plan better wor
k!
What I’m hoping for is this. When Miss Blue Eyes gets on the Hoosier Hurricane, she’s going to get an experience she’s not quite ready for. What I’m counting on, is she’ll get so scared when they make that first zooming dive to the ground that she’s going to turn to the only friend she’s got, me, and that’s when I’ve got her. She’ll agree to anything to escape the terror.
At least that’s the way I see it in my imagination.
It turns out a little different than I figured.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHE CLIMBS INTO THE roller coaster seat and doesn’t even bother to fasten the seat belt. The attendant finally makes her, but she’d rather ride without it, she says. He makes her though and already I have a sinking feeling. There was a chance she might have gotten thrown from the car, but thanks to the dimwit attendant, fat chance now.
We start out and she does the strangest thing. She takes her compact, the one that used to belong to me, and opens it and points it dead ahead. She’s chosen the seat I always call the “death seat,” the very first one, the one I’d have to be flatlining on my cat scan to even consider putting my body unit into. My only view is dead ahead, pun intended. I have a choice—I can stay in the mirror or I can go someplace else. It isn’t much of a choice. If I leave, there goes the only opportunity I’ll have. If I stay, there’s no guarantee she’ll turn the mirror around so I can face her.
I stay.
We reach the top of the first drop-off, up where the air is thin and clouds gather. I looked around for some angels but they must have all been on their coffee break or maybe it was just too high up for them. We hang up there for two or three lifetimes and I can’t tell which would be better, to hang there some more or get it over with. Either option stinks. Then we start falling, barely moving at first and then we’re moving at about the speed of light and I’m aware of three distinct sounds—the whoosh of the roller coaster, a high-pitched keening that seems to be coming from me, and an insane, maniacal laugher that is emanating from Guess Who.