by ipam
I slowly slide inside the room, over the smooth flooring of glass. I see the indentation under my chin and inside my hairy nostrils then view the side and forward wall of reflective mirrors with big puzzlement.
My boot toes and heels march forward, without sound or rhythm, inside the quiet room.
Duchie breaks the silent. “Hey, come here, Ketona! I can see me. I mean, I’m seeing me, playing on the mirror, as a little girl, like about four years old.”
I dash to my left, where Duchie stands in front of the wall of mirrors. I narrow my eyelashes, studying the mirror. I see my crossed arms and steamy breath, but no pictures of Duchie. I say. “I don’t see anything, but me.” Duchie reaches for the mirror, when I slap her hand down. “Don’t touch it, Duchie. We gotta figure out, what the park place is, first. I got lots of creepy feelings and bad vibes from here. I don’t like, that it is, so quiet. There’s no sound. No hissing snakes. No singing birds. No croaking frogs. No flying insects. No happy music. No sad music. No dishes of food. No laughing teens. No annoying machines. What are we to do here for our thing?”
Duchie nods, back stepping from the mirror, but pointing at it. She moves along the wall of mirrors. “I am not fibbing, here. I see me. I am a little girl, riding my little tricycle. Now, I see me. I am an elementary child, popping the ball back into the crowd of other kids. Hey, I remember this. This is my real life. That scene, or picture on the mirror, is really me, I was in a grassy park in Dandine, during my birthday day…”
“Birthdays are very special, usually recorded and photographed.” I gasp, running to the opposite side of the room, then stop.
The second mirror shows me. I am five years old, riding a bicycle.
I gasp, “Duchie, come over, here! My personal childhood pictures are located on this mirrored wall. I’m five year old, during my birthday party. I see the cake, and the presents. I’m riding my new bicycle around the city street block, like I did, when I was five years old. That moment is, so clear inside my mind, now, on this wall.”
Duchie stands beside Ketona, gasping. “I don’t see anything, but my face. What’s going on here, Ketona?”
I touch my cat suit. “The cat suit is an electron field and is programmable, apparently. It detects our medical conditions and other encountered life forms, like the snakes, and has been programmed with our life teen history.” I shift to the next mirror. “The mirrors are slightly seamed. I see six different panels of mirrors, which probably contain my other birthday parties. I don’t like this. I don’t like it that the Cubby Hole has spied and recorded me, then tossed it upon the mirrors for everyone to see.”
Duchie walks beside Ketona, saying. “I can’t see it. I can’t see you, only me. I can’t see any events of your birthday parties. This is too weird! Let’s finish what we’re supposed to do and get outta of here.”
“Yeah, let’s finish this! Go back and start at the first mirror panel, too. I think that is the beginning of this vertical maze of mirrors. But, don’t touch the mirror. Let’s do a run-through, just watching the pictures then huddle with an idea.” I order, stomping at the intersection of the wall of mirrors and room of mirrors. I exhale with nervousness.
“Good plan!” Duchie jogs to the opposite wall corner between the wall of mirrors and the room of mirrors.
I stomp in front of the first mirror, smiling and saying. “Awe! My mama is in this moving picture inside the mirror with me. She is riding me, at the age of three years old, on both her kneecaps, lying on the floor. It was a fun game that we both played, together, until I was too big to lift up on her kneecaps, without damaging her tendons. I see my cake on the table and torn unwrapped birthday paper and scattered birthday presents on the floor.”
Duchie stands in front of the first mirror, smiling and saying. “My daddy’s in the mirror, too, with me. Awe! I am two years old. We are playing monster. He hides inside my darken bedroom on the floor then I run inside to find him. Then, he growls, like a tiger, for fun, at me. I squeal then run out the room, giggling, because I know that is my daddy. I, also, see my birthday cake and presents around the room.”
I stomp in front of the second mirror, saying. “I am five years old, riding my bicycle, or trying. This is my new birthday present...”
Duchie stands in front of the second mirror, saying. “I’m four years old, riding my tricycle, which was my birthday present, also, that year.”
I stomp in front of the third mirror, saying. “I am nine years old inside this particular mirror panel. Nine, five, three, these are all odd numbers. I wonder why. I am blowing out the flaming white candles on top of my big white and pink three layer birthday cake.”
Duchie stands in front of the third mirror, laughing. “I was ten years old, playing ball with my friends at my birthday party.”
I stomp in front of the fourth mirror, frowning with sadness. “Buffo is in this mirror with me. I am thirteen years old. He is kissing my lips, for the every first time, as boyfriend and girlfriend.” I wipe the tears from my face, wishing he was, here, with me, now.
Duchie stands in front of the fourth mirror, laughing. “I am twelve years old. I wanted a great big fire on my cake, so I implanted great big candles. The ones were used for decorating around the house, about six inches tall. The cake and frosting exploded into a great big red and yellow fire ball. My daddy had to douse it with the water hose.” She laughs, moving to the fifth mirror. “This is my first boy-girl birthday party. I was fourteen years old. I was not allowed to date a boy, or kiss a boy. But, we teens celebrated my birthday fun, inside the basement, that night, without the parents.” She sniggers.
I stomp to the fifth mirror, saying. “I’m fifteen years old, dancing with Buffo at my party, again.” I exhale with more sadness.
Duchie stands in front of the sixth and last mirrored panel. “I’m sixteen years old, here. I got a very old and ancient used truck for driving to school. It worked about every other day, but I got to school and then got to home…”
I stomp into the sixth and last mirror, dropping my mouth. “Payne Mountain, Buffo and I are on top of the mountain, after my birthday party, that afternoon.” I curl my fists, scanning the ceiling of mirrors, growling. “How do they know of this precious moment in my precious life? I’m seventeen years old on that day.”
Duchie turns and smiles, bouncing and slapping onto the wooden counter. “All the mirror panels are good happy events upon the wall. They’re pictures of me and my family, celebrating my birthday, a happy time. Ya see this is the celebration of our short sweet seventeen years. We’re done and have completed and conquered the Cubby Hole and Citizenship Day. Yay! Hurrah!” She tosses her arms, dancing around the counter, smiling and humming with victory.
I stand and stare at the moving pictures of my past birthdays, inside the wall of mirrors, frowning with worry. “Some of the mirrors are not happy for me. I don’t know, if we are done, here, Duchie. What were the ages of your person inside each mirror?” I swing around, dashing towards the counter in the center of the mirrors.
Duchie stares at the moving pictures. “I was four, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, and sixteen years old.”
I view her. “I was the odd numbers of three, five, nine, thirteen, fifteen, and seventeen. I don’t like, that they didn’t use the same years for the both of us.”
“What do we do, now? I say we slide back into the me-chee chairs and go back into the Cubby Hole.”
“Naw, there’s a forward wall, where our mirror panels intersection. The mirrors are not playing any happy scenes. As a matter of fact, the mirrors are reflecting our true life images.” I finger the wall. “This is a psychology game, Duchie. We still have not encountered my fear, the knife. So, there’s something behind the mirrored wall.”
Duchie exhales with worry, swinging and staring at two sets of mirrors. “Let’s go and get this done!” she walks towards the mirrored wall.
The wall is split into two walls for two schoolers, participating in the Cubby Hole.
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br /> We walk side by side then stand slightly apart in front of the mirrors.
The mirror smokes in black color then changes into an image of me. The image wears my sliver cat suit, where I, first, entered the auditorium inside the Cubby Hole. The image is not animated or moving, like the side walls of mirrors, displaying my childhood pictures.
I exhale. “I don’t like this.”
Duchie says. “I guess, we touch the mirror and see what happens, or we stand here until, something doesn’t happen.”
I frown at her nose profile. “Ya got a lousy set of encouraging words, girl.”
“I’m scared, shaking, and quivering with tons of fear feelings. Ya be lucky that words came out my mouth, instead…”
“Okay, we touch the mirror. Wait! Is it going to turn into a knife or something sharp representing a knife?”
Duchie winks at Ketona. “Only if, you touch it and find out. Okay, we touch with the right index finger the mirror on the count of four…”
I frown at her. “Why, the number four?”
“I like to think, differently, from everyone else. Okay, four!”
I exhale, slowly pacing along with Duchie. I touch the mirror with my shaking right index finger.
The mirror vanishes into white smoke, when I yelp, then back pedal from the smoke.
I halt, narrowing my eyelashes, seeing darkness inside an interior room.
Then, a light shines in the far distance as I gasp with fear.
I exhale, holding out my left hand.
Duchie grabs it, squeezing my fingers, painfully.
Chapter 18
Blue park place
We walk inside the dark room, looking at two focused beams, without any more mirrors.
The room is squared shaped and enclosed, if I believe my eyeballs and my neurons.
We stroll inside towards two shining lights, bombarding the far wall, which is opposite from the archway.
I gasp.
Duchie gasps, squeezing my hand. “That’s a rotating wheel, what’s the purpose, here, Ketona?”
I close my eyelashes then open them. “My smart neurons recall the rotating wheel from an ancient form of knife throwing, a long, long time ago, before my great-grandparents were born. The knife throwing was an entertainment show in the traveling circuses, before the circus was illegal to operate. A person was strapped onto the wheel then it spin around and around, when the knife thrower impaled the knife into the wood…”
Duchie gasps, back stepping from the wheel. “No, not true.”
“Yes, true.” I say and release her hand, walking to the wheel, studying the wood. “It’s a wooden circle. Yeah, it is a knife throwing show. My picture face is located in the center, inside the wheel. Come and look, Duchie!” I tenderly hold my finger over the wood, not touching. “And, there’re actually splintered wood openings, like a knife impaled the wood, too…”
“No,” she back steps from the wheel, shaking her ponytail, studying the wheels.
I scan the rear wall of blackness. The entire room is dark, almost black, except for two spot lights shining on each wheel. “There are two wheels for two schoolers, me and you. We gotta stand inside the wheel, while it rotates in a circle. This is ‘the thing’ inside the blue color tone. This is my fear, the knife thing, too.” I view the front wall. “There’s no forward wall, only a rear wall. Why’s that?” I exhale, tossing my arms. “This is so confusing and frustrating and unnerving, all at the same time.”
Duchie views the wheel then her boots then Ketona. She exhales, running and yelling. “You helped me with my fear of the snakes. I will take the plunge with the wheel.”
I gasp then swing my face.
Duchie dashes then slams into the wheel, landing in a spread eagle position, face first, onto the wood. Her ponytail bounces side to side from the body impact. Her body poses upright onto the wooden wheel circle, like a glued portrait of her backside.
Wide straps suddenly emerge from the wood, wrapping around both ankles, kneecaps, the buttocks, both hips, the entire rib cage and back muscles, both wrists, both elbows, both upper biceps, the neck, and around the top of her eardrums.
I scream, running to the wheel. “Duchie!”
Duchie grunts in slow words. “I…stuck.”
The wheel slowly spins with her body glued inside the middle, clockwise. Her skull shifts into the one o’clock position, like an analogy clock.
She gasps for air molecules from her parted lips, not being able to scream from her tight chest cavity against the wood. The leather straps securely hold Duchie in place, not sliding her off the upright circle of wood. Her left cheekbone is lying against the wood. Her right cheekbone is exposed, allowing her to breathe in short huffs.
The room is quiet with no sound.
I stand and stare with my mouth open. I can’t hear any noise, except for my breath, when I inhale for air molecules.
The rotating wheel doesn’t squeak, or crack with sound from its rotating motion. One of the shining beams of lights focuses on the entire circle of wood with Duchie stuck inside.
Duchie yelps then gasps for air molecules, when the knife appears beside her left kneecap, making a swishing sound.
I gasp, seeing the protruding knife. The knife is facing the wrong way, showing the pointy blade, not the smooth handle, through the wood and against Duchie’s body parts. I shout. “Don’t move! You’re safe. You’re not harmed. Don’t move, Duchie! Just relax and close your eyes. This will be done, shortly.”
The wheel slowly spins with her skull is positioned at the number three, like shown on an analogy clock.
Duckie yelps then gasps for air molecules, when the second knife appears beside her right elbow. She can’t see the knife, feeling the smooth metal gently touch the cat suit with the knife pressure touching her bone.
I gasp then kneel, sobbing with tears. Now, I understand. The park place is a knife throwing show, since my fear is the knife.
The wheel will slowly rotate around in a circle, until the knife completely saws through the wood, from the opposite side of the wall, by some force, or fierce person. I slap my hands to my face, sobbing with tears of fright and fear.
Duchie slowly twirls around inside the wheel. Her skull is positioned at the number six, like shown on an analogy clock. She yelps then gasps for air, when a third knife appears beside her neck. She feels the cold steel tickle her neck, behind her skull.
I must jump onto my designated wooden wheel, too. I must allow the wheel to spin and the knives to cut through the wood, too. I must finish the blue color tone, too, or I will remain, here, forever, becoming a teacher, or a shoe maker, a cake maker, a jewelry maker. I don’t how to perform these specific jobs.
I have studied and learned to become a medical technician, like my parents.
I lift my red tear stained face.
Her skull is positioned at the number nine, like shown on an analogy clock. The wheel slowly turns. Duchie yelps then gasps, when the sixth knife rubs against her right foot.
I sob with tears, feeling fright, watching Duchie spin around the wood. I feel fear that I must do the same thing, too. I slowly stand, viewing my boot toes.
The room is dark and quiet, except for the two spot lights on Duchie and my wheel.
I slowly scoot towards the wheel. My boots don’t make any sound along the wooden floor. I sob with fear and fright.
I wish for Rincon, holding my hand, as I walk towards the wheel, like he did on cliff jumping and the spider web.
I curse my parents, not tattling about the Cubby Hole and the danger. I stand parallel to the wooden wheel of light color.
It doesn’t move or squeal.
Duchie yelps then gasps, when the ninth knife rubs against her rib cage.
I see my picture face with a bright happy smile, inside the center. I exhale, wiping the snot from my face and hands. I close my eyelashes, not breathing. I open my eyelashes, exhaling.
I run then leap, landing in the center of the wood.
The wooden wheel holds a stick substance, gluing me into the center. The leather straps, quickly, wrap about my body parts, the same body parts, like Duchie.
The wheel doesn’t make any sound, slowly rotating clockwise towards the number one, like shown on an analogy clock.
The room is quiet and dark.
I close my eyelashes, when the knife tickles my left thigh. I yelp then gasp from the shock of the smooth touch. I close my eyelashes, breathing out my mouth, drooling from my lips over the wood and my throat.
I remember this is a psychology game.
The wheel shifts sideways, well, I am sideways. My right eyeball sees the open wall, leading into the wall of mirrors, re-playing my past birthday parties. Since, I jumped then slammed the left side of my face against the wood, sticking.
I gasp, feeling the tip of the blade tickle my right elbow.
The wheel slowly twirls towards the number six, like shown on an analogy clock. My skull is almost upside down, making my brains want to fall out my eye sockets. My guts are touching my esophagus. I feel like I’m going to puke. Good thing! I haven’t eaten, since the pink color tone, when I ate the nuts and fruits.
I gasp, feeling the knife slide, too close, to my rib cage.
The wheel slowly rotates towards the number ten, like shown on an analogy clock. I close my eyelashes, breathing deeply, trying not to vomit from seasickness. I feel, like my guts are falling into my rib cage, but that is not possible, medical thinking.
The knife swishes upward from the wood, rubbing against my left thigh.
I gasp, feeling the back of the protruding blade. I had the unfortunately opportunity to see the knife tips, coming out the wood around Duchie. Therefore, my body part feels the stinging knife blade as my mind re-plays the visual picture.
I lost count of the number of knife tips, protruding around my body.
The wheel slowly rotates around in the whole numbers, like an analogy clock.
I exhale in short breaths, since my lungs are crashing into the hard wood. I can breathe heavy or deep, without jerking on the leather straps.