by Estevan Vega
Liz came in!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EVERYBODY SEEMED TO KNOW her, which cut another chunk out of my self-esteem. I heard two sleazeball boys sitting on the moldy couch just beneath the mirror Jim and I were in say something about “Easy Liz” when she walked in. If I wasn’t already on Cloud Nine, that sure did it. I put my hands over my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear any more. It didn’t do any good, as loud as their voices were. They discussed what a jerk she was, snickering as they made scintillating comments about her character. Or, rather, lack of any. A plus, in their eyes. Kind of a Siskel and Ebert of the Sewer Set. Two thumbs up for the tramp. I wished she could hear how her “friends” talked about her. One of them yelled at her and she came over and you’d never know they’d ever said anything bad about her in the way they greeted her.
“Hi, Liz, how’s my favorite mama!”
and,
“Hey, Babe, yer lookin’ good!”
Barftime. Their lines weren’t any more original than the oily jeans they were wearing. Liz, on the other hand, ate it up. You could see by her expression she thought these morons were great thinkers or Jonathan Taylor Thomas or something. I wanted to yank her hair out. She was destroying my reputation for intelligence by even breathing the same air as these slugs were.
Look at the picture, I screamed inside, wishing with all my might. Look at me!
My heart leaped up close to where my tonsils used to be when she glanced up at the dog for a second, and my mouth opened to speak, but all I got out was “I want” before she glanced away.
“Be patient,” said Jim, standing at my elbow. “You’ll have your chance.”
My spirits went in the same direction as the Titanic when she turned and walked over to the other side of the room where a group of people were passing around a joint.
“Don’t put that stuff in my body!” I screamed, but naturally she didn’t hear. Which in a way was good, since it didn’t alert her as to where I was hiding.
“Let her go,” said Jim. “You want her to get stoned.”
“I do?” I answered. “Why?”
“’Cause. Then she’ll be so spaced she’ll probably stare at the picture for hours. You’ll be able to say what you have to at 78 rpm or a word a week. Just watch and see.”
Easy for Jim to say. He wasn’t the one with everything on the line. Then I thought, I’m not being fair to him. He’s been a really nice guy and if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t even be here and might never have thought of this scheme. I smiled at him, feeling contrite.
“It’s okay, Elizabeth. You have a right to feel like you do. Just don’t be so hard on Liz. She just doesn’t know how to handle all this freedom all at once. Once she’s back in here she’ll change back to the sweet Liz I love.”
Yes, and gerbils will rule the White House on Thursday. I’d forgotten his mind-reading abilities. I felt warm with shame. He was a nice guy, a lot like my own Jimmy. I hoped he was right about her, for his own sake. Wouldn’t it be horrible to be trapped forever in a mirror with a cretin like she was now?
For the next two hours, Liz wandered around the room, smoking dope, guzzling beer, kissing this boy and then that one, and in general, acting like the queen of sluts. Once in a while, she’d glance our way, but never long enough for me to say what I had to. I was going Looney Tunes. She was never going to look at the picture long enough.
Then people started leaving. The dope must be all gone, I thought. There was certainly no other reason for them to stay. Why else would anyone want to be around kids like this unless they could leech drugs off of them? Except for that misery loving company thing, that is. Or birds of a feather flocking together. Or bird-brains. I certainly didn’t know anyone with a modicum of “cool” who would be caught dead here.
It wasn’t going to work. There she went for the pile of coats. She found hers and put it on. My life was over.
She waved goodbye to those who could half understand her and then started up the stairs. Her head had already disappeared and all that was visible were her legs when one of the slimeballs on the couch beneath us screeched out, “Hey, Liz, wait a minute!”
One leg disappeared out of sight and then the other. She hadn’t heard him. I groaned and got ready to leave myself, my heart broken and ready to be tossed in the dumpster. I’ll go to Junior’s, I thought. It’s depressing, but not as sad as here with these Cro-Magnons. And then, just as I was getting ready to mirrorport, her foot came back into view. I knew it was her foot because she had on my Agner pumps I had saved sixty years for. She’d already scuffed them up.
It was her. She was just running on delayed-reaction time. She came back down the stairs, part-way, and leaned over the railing, squinting at the bozos on the couch.
“Whadya want?” she hissed.
“I didn’t get a kiss,” said turniphead. It was a name I’d given him earlier. His partner I’d been thinking of as Pus Brains. Pus Brains mumbled something about he hadn’t gotten one yet either. A kiss.
Don’t do it, I thought. I’d rather stay in here a million years than have someone see me kiss one of these cruds.
So, of course she had to come over to them. I needed something for my stomach. Like ten gallons of Pepto-Bismol. Jim brought me back to reality.
“Now’s your chance,” he said softly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HE WAS RIGHT. THERE she was, not two feet away, facing us. But not looking up. One of the slugs on the couch handed her the joint they had been sharing. She took it and puffed, squinting her eyes like it was a lemon. She looked at the dog. At me.
“I want to...”
She looked back down, passed the roach back to one of the zeros. Rats!
“Well, I gotta be splittin’,” she said, turning.
“One more toke,” said Pus Brains.
She turned back, shrugging her shoulders.
“One more.”
She accepted the joint and put it to her lips, pursing them and looking incredibly ugly.
But beautiful. Because her eyes were directly on mine.
“I want to trade places!”
I said it quick and her eyes were on me the whole while. But nothing happened. Not a darned thing. Tears began to well up in my eyes as all hope drained from me. I handed the joint back to one of the boys and started to walk away and took two or three steps before it hit me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I WAS OUT. OUT of the mirror. And in the last place on earth I would ever want to be. I started moving my legs toward the stairs.
“Hey, Liz,” came a voice from behind me. It was Turniphead. “What about my kiss?”
I turned and faced him, very carefully avoiding the painting that hung above the couch.
“My name is Elizabeth,” I said, enunciating each word clearly. “And I wouldn’t kiss you, you slug...” I paused to give each word so they would penetrate his dim-bulbed head, “...if you were to promise me a million dollars for doing so. In fact,” I paused again, “I’m going straight home and shower for about six hours and then spend the next two days brushing my teeth. I don’t think the scum will come off even then, but I’m going to try.”
The room quieted. Everybody was staring at me like I had green hair. I take that back. If I’d only had green hair, nobody in that room would’ve given me a second glance.
I looked around at Derek and the others who were still there. “If any of you dimwits ever even pretends like you know me, I’ll call the police on you. Or better yet, the dog pound. Don’t any of you ever come near me again. Ever.”
I stalked up the stairs. No one breathed behind me.
I found my college education and drove it home. I was manic-depressive—ecstatic over being out of the mirror and suicidal at the thought of how my life had been trashed.
I started getting a glimpse of the way things were as soon as I returned home.
“Hi, Mom,” I said when I walked through the door. Her and Dad were sitting in the living room r
eading. “Hi, Daddy.”
Neither even looked up. I couldn’t blame them, I guess. Be brave, I told myself. Time is on your side. Eventually, they’ll see you’re their sweet, lovable Elizabeth again. Like in about seventy-five years, maybe. I decided not to press it. I went into the kitchen. Mikey was there.
“Hi, Mikey,” I said, a smile on my lips. “Wanna play some checkers?”
Mikey looked up at me and his eyes showed white. “Don’t hit me, Liz. I’ll do anything you want.”
I couldn’t help it. I sat down on a kitchen chair and buried my head in my arms on the table, not even trying to hold back the waterworks. Everyone hated and feared me. All of the time in the world couldn’t fix this or heal it. Miss Blue Eyes had certainly done a thorough job of spoiling my life. I heard Mikey patter around behind me and the kitchen door squeaked as he burst through it. He was sneaking out, scared to death of me.
This should be the happiest day of my life; instead it’s the worst. I suddenly couldn’t even cry. I was so sad the tears wouldn’t come. I lifted my head and found myself staring right into the kitchen mirror.
And there she was.
Liz.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SHE WAS MAD.
I looked away quickly. It might be bad out here, but there was no way I was ever going back in there. At least if I was out here I could begin rebuilding my life. Even though it was going to take an architect with the skills of Frank Lloyd Wright and the brain of Einstein.
That reminded me of what I had to do. I had to make sure she stayed in that mirror. Forever.
I got up and went back out to the living room. Mom and Dad were still there, pretending to be reading but I could tell they were watching me out of the corners of their eyes. Mikey was there, too, sitting right next to Dad. For protection, I guessed.
I walked right by them and outside. Inside, I was experiencing the world’s biggest broken heart but I couldn’t let that stop me. I had to do what had to be done. I had to lock Liz up, once and for all. Then I could start putting the pieces of my life back together.
I got to the drugstore just as it was closing. All the way there I studiously avoided looking into the car mirror. Once inside the drugstore I located what I needed, took it to the checkout counter and paid for it. I drove straight home, resisting the urge to speed. I wanted this over with.
Back home I went straight inside, through the living room where my family still sat as they had when I left and downstairs to the basement. I went over to Dad’s workbench and emptied the large bag from the drugstore. It was all there. Paint, six mirrors and Super Glue. I worked as fast as I could, gluing the mirrors together until I had a box, mirrors on all sides. I was careful not to look into any of the mirrors for more than a second or two at a time. I took the gallon of black paint and using a screwdriver, got the lid off.
Then I sat down on the stool before the workbench and picked up the mirror box and held it above the gallon of paint. And waited.
She didn’t take long. Maybe five minutes.
“Let me out!” she screamed.
I became the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland.
“I don’t think so, cookie.”
“Let me out and I’ll let you trade back any time you want.” Her voice became wheedling, conciliatory. I glanced into the mirror and saw myself. With blue eyes. I got just a glimpse of them before I concentrated on staring at my chin. I had learned well. I let her rant and rave and plead for as long as she wanted. I was enjoying this. Revenge was sweet. I was just waiting for something. A second later, what I was waiting for happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“HI, LIZ.” IT WAS Jim. He was in there with her. Perfect! Just what I was waiting for. I did it.
I just let the mirror fall. Into the bucket of black paint. And I nailed her. In the split second before the paint covered the top I heard her screaming, “Oh, no. No, no, no.” And then she was gone. I had her. Locked away for eternity.
I took one last look at the paint can before I left. I’d replaced the lid and shoved it to the back of the bench. Tomorrow I’d take the bucket and hide it where no one would ever find it. Somewhere safe where the mirror couldn’t ever be broken and release her.
I went back up the stairs and turned off the light. Now to work on getting my life back together.
As I passed the hall mirror, I took a quick glance at myself. Brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes.
I grinned at myself and headed into the living room and went in and sat down and pretended to read part of the paper. My family was still there but they didn’t acknowledge me. It wouldn’t work to rush things, I figured. Just take it one day at a time until they saw I was the old Elizabeth. I had realized I couldn’t rebuild Rome in one day.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SCHOOL WAS A JOYRIDE through Bluebird Heaven. My friends (make that former friends) looked at me like their shoes were too tight, while the unsavory element welcomed me with the same glee the local undertaker must have when introduced to each of Henry the Eighth’s new wives.
It was the longest day I can ever remember. At noon, I went into the bathroom where my group always went and the reception was so frosty I felt like rubbing snow on my nose to get the circulation going again.
I paid no attention to any of it. I was determined to smile, smile, and then smile some more, and in general act so sweet that cavities would act up when I walked by. By the time the last bell had rung for the day, my face had freeze-dried into a permanent smirk and was beginning to crinkle into tiny porcelain pieces. My heart had already crinkled.
I saw Jimmy in first-hour algebra. That was sure some fun. I said a cheery “hi” to him and he gave me an equally-cheery “drop dead.” My plan was obviously working. By the time I rounded my first century of existence we would once again be on a first-name basis.
Somehow, I got through the bliss-filled day and headed home. Walking. I’d never see the inside of Jimmy French’s car again, that seemed certain. When I passed by Mrs. Brown’s interior decorating shop on Oak Street, I couldn’t help it. I glanced in. Sure enough, she had her usual mirror display up. I had avoided mirrors all day. No reason, I knew, just force of habit. This was the first one. I just gave it a fast peek and walked on. Halfway down the block it hit me and my knees buckled. I had blue eyes.
Liz was out!
She’d escaped, somehow!
No! That’s impossible. I must have imagined it. There’s no way she could have gotten free. She’s at home, in a six-sided mirror sitting in a bucket of black paint. It’s just nerves, I kept insisting to myself. Just dumb old nerves. I need a vacation. Some distant country where, if they saw a mirror they’d think it was from their demon god.
Nevertheless, I used my Olympic walk the rest of the way home. Once I got there, I burst through the front door and headed straight for the basement. Dad intercepted me before I could reach the door that led downstairs.
“Liz!”
I turned to face him. This was the first he’d spoken to me since I’d been back. He wouldn’t look directly at me, like he thought I was going to sass him or embarrass him.
“Liz, would you mind helping your mother a minute?”
“Of course, Dad. Where’s she at? And, Dad, would you please call me Elizabeth?”
He looked at me like he was amazed my head hadn’t started spinning and barfing green pea soup. Poor Daddy! He looked so forlorn! I hated Miss Blue Eyes more than ever for doing this to my family.
“Your mom’s upstairs. In the bathroom. Trying to wash off Mikey.”
I turned and started for the stairs, my heart fluttering around in my mouth like a bat caught outside his cave at dawn. I went up the stairs, two at a time. Behind me, I heard my father.
“Mikey got into some paint. It’s all over him. Ask Mother if she needs any more towels. I’m going to clean up the basement. There’s paint all over and it looks like glass as well. Your brother!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I
SAW TWO THINGS at the same time. Mom bending over Mikey in the bathtub, black everywhere and Miss Blue Eyes leering out of the mirror at me. It was stacking up to be a banner day.
“Let me help, Mom,” I said. First things first. Get Mikey cleaned up. I couldn’t even get mad at him. I was just so glad to be back out here with him that I didn’t care that he had loosed the demon.
“Get Liz out of here!” he screamed when he saw me. “She’s gonna hit me and I don’t want her to see me neked.” He said it like that—“neked.”
“Mikey,” I said, walking over to the tub and picking up a washcloth. “You’re six and a half and have at least another year to go before you’re allowed to be modest.”
I looked up at the mirror. She was still there. I was careful to not look at her eyes for more than a second.
“I’ll take care of you soon,” I said to the mirror.
“What?” said Mom. Mikey just screamed something unintelligible as I reached for his arm.
“Nothing, Mom. Here, you hold one arm and I’ll hold the other and you hose him down.”
Together, we got the worst of it off of him. Luckily, I had purchased water-based paint. We got all of it off except for his hair. His blond hair was now the color Elvis favored. Mom and I both laughed at the sight. Mikey wasn’t too thrilled at the change in his appearance but the age of six is a wondrous cure for problems of this sort. Sixty seconds later he was interested in something else, some rediscovered toy and he was off and playing with it, unaware of his uncanny resemblance to a dead rock-and-roll hero.