Looking Glass Lies

by Varina Denman

  “Came down hard off a steep jump and had the front end turned too far to the right.” He thumped the wayward wheel with his finger. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Just driving. I hung out with my dad at the gatehouse for a while.”

  “I didn’t see you when I came in, but I’ve been here since early afternoon.”

  He looked tired, and dust had dried on his arms and neck along with sweat, leaving brown paths up and down his skin. The area around his eyes was a little cleaner, and I noticed sunglasses dangling from a cord around his neck.

  “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “My car’s down at the Givens, Spicer, Lowry trailhead, but I’m doing all right.”

  “That’s over a mile.” I glanced at his footwear. “And those shoes aren’t made for walking.”

  “No, I suppose not.” He lifted one foot.

  “What do they do?”

  “They’re designed so I can clip in. They attach to the pedals.”

  “Ah.”

  He grinned as though his pride had been knocked down a few notches. “And you’re right. I feel like I’m walking on marbles.”

  The good doctor seemed different today, more relaxed, but maybe it was just the bandanna around his forehead. Or the tight shorts. It seemed cool for shorts, but I supposed he warmed up when he was cycling.

  I opened the hatch of the SUV, and Graham maneuvered the bike into the back end. As I settled into the driver’s seat, I adjusted the mirror.

  “I started with Shanty’s group yesterday,” I said as I pulled away.

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s quite a character.”

  “Sure is. Did you ever hear about her chaining herself to the flag pole?”

  “That was her?” Graham and I had been in junior high at the time. “Why did she do that?”

  “Some kind of protest, but I don’t remember what. She’s always had strong opinions.”

  “I get the impression she’s out to change the world.” And change Nina and me right along with it.

  “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  I pretended I didn’t hear him. “Do you ever do any hiking, or are you strictly a biker dude?”

  “I hike every now and then, but I’m addicted to the speed that comes with biking.”

  The wind whipped through my open window, and I tugged on my rolled-up sleeve, suddenly aware of my tattoo. But maybe Graham wouldn’t notice. I cut my gaze toward him. “I heard a hiker fell the other day.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, my goodness. You didn’t know her, did you?”

  “No, I was just thinking about the man who died from a fall a few years back. At that same spot on the trail.” He held his water bottle in his hand, opening and closing the pop-up lid.

  Was he nervous? Were we both nervous?

  “I always wondered if that guy jumped off,” I said. “That would be a horrible way to go.”

  “I heard he fell,” said Graham softly.

  “You said your car’s at Givens, Spicer, Lowry?”

  “Yep.”

  I maneuvered into the parking lot and stopped next to his Toyota pickup.

  “So . . .” He turned toward me with his eyebrows raised.

  “What?”

  “You avoided my question back there.” He shrugged. “Does the support group make you uncomfortable?”

  What a persistent little bulldog. “Only a little.” I glanced at the mirror. “Shanty seems to know what she’s doing.”

  “She’s been around the block a time or two.”

  “The other girl barely said a word. Nina? You know her, I guess.”

  “I do.” He nodded. “But I can’t discuss her situation.”

  “Of course not, but if I wait for her to talk, I may never find out her story.”

  “Her story?”

  “That’s what Shanty calls it. You know, what each of us has been through.”

  “I call it a journey.”

  “I call it a nightmare.”

  In the glow of the dashboard lights, I could see his eyes soften. He had nice eyes. He started to say something but stopped himself.

  We sat quietly then, neither of us reaching for the door handles, neither of us continuing the conversation, and I wasn’t sure why we weren’t. It just seemed right to sit there. With Graham Cracker, for goodness’ sake. I remembered sitting quietly with him in a car years ago. We had talked a while. Then sat a while. Then . . . he had held my hand.

  I looked toward him, wondering if he remembered that day, but he was only watching a cloud of flies swarming in the beam of the headlight. Then he blinked. He wasn’t watching the insects. He was staring into space. And thinking.

  He turned and caught me watching him.

  “Cecily?” he said softly.

  I lifted my eyebrows as though whatever he was about to say would be light and casual.

  “A lot of people live through nightmares.” His smile was genuine. “You will too.”

  Suddenly we were in high school again, and Graham was holding my hand and listening to my problems. Only we weren’t in high school, and he wasn’t holding my hand, and I didn’t want to tell him my problems. The feeling in my stomach was the same, though, and so was the pull I felt. As though he were magnetized and I were a paper-thin sheet of metal. “Thanks,” I said. “I know you’re right.”

  He popped his door open and the spell was broken.

  But that was silly because it wasn’t a spell. It was nothing more than a veiled memory from a time when I was young and naive. The only reason I was even thinking about it was because that night, long ago, Graham’s friendship had seemed so uncomplicated. He still seemed that way, but I couldn’t let myself make more of it than was real.

  Graham was just an old friend. My boss. A recovering drug user.

  But more than all of those, he was a therapist.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Text from Graham to Cecily: Even if you’re not a biker, you should exercise. It’s excellent therapy.

  Cecily: Thanks for the tip.

  Cecily (Two hours and thirty-nine minutes later): BTW, I’ve decided to take the job on a permanent basis. I’ll be there at 10 a.m. tomorrow.

  Graham: Excellent!

  The volume on the television in Midnight Oil was turned up, and a male character and female character, on a beautifully staged daytime drama, were in the throes of a bedroom romance. Shanty stomped behind the counter, snatched the remote control from a lower shelf, and pointed it toward the love affair. She flipped through channels, landing on a game show, then tossed the remote to Michael as she returned to our table.

  “Okay, ladies, come clean,” she said. “Did you smile at yourself in the mirror?” She wasn’t wasting any time.

  “Not me.” Nina turned off the Kindle she had been reading, but her eyes didn’t leave the device. “I don’t see the point.”

  “That’s all right, hon,” said Shanty. “You can do it later if you want.”

  I looked between them, expecting a discussion, if not a debate, but Shanty only smiled at the top of Nina’s head—as close to eye contact as she could get—then turned her gaze to me.

  “How did you make out, Cecily?”

  A part of me wanted to stare at the tabletop, just like Nina was doing, but what good would that do? If I was going to get over my stinking problems, I was going to have to go along with Shanty’s assignments, whether I liked them or not. “I did it.” Or did I? “Sort of. It felt weird.”

  Shanty nodded in empathetic agreement. “Like you were faking it?”

  “Yes! And like . . . like it was vain for me to be doing it.”

  “As though you’re not supposed to like yourself?”

  “As though I don’t deserve it.” I slumped back in my chair. “But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not ridiculous,” said Nina. “Your feelings are real, and you shouldn’t i
gnore them.”

  I let her words roll around in my head for a second, then answered her cautiously. “Feeling as though I don’t deserve happiness is one thing, but telling myself—rationally—that it’s true? That’s counterproductive. Logically, I know better, but emotionally, I believe the lie.”

  “Yes,” Nina said slowly, “we need to pay attention to our emotions—respect them—but not let them take over our minds.”

  “I’m pretty sure my emotions have been in the driver’s seat for a while now,” I said, “taking me on one heck of a wild ride.” I sipped my coffee, hiding my face behind the cup.

  “My emotions have been all over the place this week.” Shanty rolled her eyes dramatically. “My husband’s family has been bickering over his uncle’s inheritance, and he’s been on the phone with lawyers and cousins and whatnot.” She sighed. “But enough about me.” She rubbed her palms together, then rested her hands, one on top of the other, on the tabletop. With her long, brightly painted nails, she looked as though she were doing a commercial for nail polish. “It’s only been a few days since we met, but I’m wondering how you’ve been doing, what’s been going on in your lives, how you’ve changed your thinking so far.” She looked back and forth between the two of us, but didn’t give us time to answer. “While you’re thinking on that, I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening in my world. I think I told you guys the other day that I write a blog.” She paused until we nodded. “Well, I heard about a blogger up north somewhere holding a demonstration to raise awareness of body shaming, and now I’ve got a bee in my bonnet to do the same thing.”

  “What kind of demonstration?” I asked.

  “This is what I’m thinking.” Shanty grinned. “I’ll do it at the mall in Amarillo. My goal is to get people to see their own prejudices, and the judgmental attitudes of others. So my plan is to stand in the middle of the mall in my bikini, holding a sign that says something about body shaming and how I’ve struggled with self-esteem my entire life.” Her lips pursed as she thought. “And as shoppers walk past, I want to get their feedback in some way, but I’m not sure how. Maybe have them sign their names on the poster or write their own struggles. What do y’all think?”

  I thought she was absolutely insane. “That’s an interesting idea.”

  “What good will that do?” Nina asked. “People will just make fun of you.”

  “Well, there’s always that possibility,” said Shanty, “but I like to think the human race isn’t as foul as it seems. And even if people laugh at me . . . I’ll still make an impression on them, because later, when they think about what they saw and the reactions of others, they’ll have to figure out what they think about it, what they’ve been told, and what they believe. Maybe even ponder the lies that the world tells us.” She shrugged and her voice lost its intensity. “It’s not like this one demonstration is going to change the world, but it could change the hearts of a few people in our area. It could start a domino effect of awareness. Just enough that people will start thinking for themselves instead of latching on to whatever notion they’re spoon-fed.”

  “Wow.” I honestly didn’t know what to say. “I would rather die.”

  Shanty’s laughter seemed to echo in the small shop. “Bless your heart, Cecily, I had a feeling you’d say that. But, hon, rest assured you don’t ever have to do any kind of demonstration. That’s my calling; not yours.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “But what has your life looked like the past two days? Better? Worse? The same?”

  I picked up my coffee cup and swirled its contents, feeling the pressure of the mini waterspout inside that mimicked the pressure in the pit of my stomach.

  Shanty said nothing, just waited.

  “Okay.” I set the cup down and slid my hands into my lap where I pinched them between my knees. “I spent some time with my dad at work.”

  Nina’s eyes met mine.

  “It was nothing monumental,” I continued. “Just sitting with him at the ranger headquarters, but I had a good time, and it made me think how I ought to be enjoying myself more often.” Daddy had been right after all, and as I said the next words, the pressure inside me eased. “I need to stop wallowing in self-pity and try to be happy.”

  “Well, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!” Shanty’s smile was contagious, and I softened in spite of myself.

  “I’m beginning to believe I can get over the problems Brett caused me.”

  Shanty’s grin froze. “You saying Brett caused your problems?”

  “Well, he sure didn’t help.” A spark of indignation singed my pride.

  “Ain’t that the truth, though?” she said. “Making the decision to be happy, regardless, is probably the greatest secret to beating anything life throws at you.” Instead of looking at me, she leaned toward Nina. “Don’t you think?”

  The girl nodded, but she did so hesitantly, as though the concept of happiness were a little far-fetched.

  “But . . . ?” Shanty prodded.

  “It’s just not as easy as it sounds,” Nina said. “A person can’t simply decide to be happy and be done with it. Not always, anyway.”

  “You are so right, girl,” Shanty said. “Sometimes it’s the hardest thing in the world, but it’s not impossible.” Her eyebrows lifted. “What have the last two days looked like for you, Nina?”

  “Well . . . I know it doesn’t sound like much . . . but this morning, I walked through the JBK during the busiest time of day.”

  “What’s the JBK?” I asked.

  “The student center on campus. It’s named for some man, but everybody calls it the JBK. I usually avoid it because so many students hang out there, and it always seems like they’re making fun of people. My friends don’t go there either.”

  Shanty lifted an eyebrow. “How’d that work out for ya?”

  “It was all right, I guess. I walked really fast, and sort of ignored anyone who might have said anything to me, but”—she shook her head a smidgen—“I made it through. That’s what counts, right?”

  Shanty’s nod was slow, and I got the feeling she didn’t completely agree. “You were brave and you didn’t allow your emotions to dictate your actions. That’s good.” She squinted. “But some people are just mean, you know? You don’t necessarily have to expose yourself to them, especially now—you can keep yourself in safe places until you’re ready for the tough spots.”

  Nina lifted her hands helplessly. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

  “How you ladies doing?” Michael appeared at our table, his hand on the back of Nina’s chair. “Your coffee all right?”

  Nina smiled for the first time all evening, and Shanty answered enthusiastically, “Fabulous as always, Michael. How do you do it?”

  “Oh, it’s not me. The girls make all the drinks.” He tilted his head toward Mirinda and another girl, who were working behind the counter, then his hand eased from the chair onto Nina’s shoulder. “Nina, isn’t it? You’ve been in a few times before, I think.”

  She tucked her chin and smiled, and I watched as she became a different person.

  “Yes, I’m not usually here this late, but I’ve started meeting my friends here.” She seemed to think Shanty and I were something to be proud of. And maybe we were.

  “I’ve been trying to talk Cecily into playing the piano here,” Michael said, “but I may need you two to convince her.”

  “You play the piano?” Nina asked me.

  “Now there’s a hobby for you,” Shanty pointed at me, then Nina. “And you’re going to start painting more, right?”

  I wasn’t sure if Shanty knew I didn’t want attention drawn to my piano-playing abilities, or if I just got lucky, but either way, I was grateful.

  “You paint?” Michael asked Nina.

  Even though I barely knew her, I felt a protective urge to slap him away. Not because Michael was necessarily a bad guy, but because Nina didn’t need him around, confusing her.

  Mirinda interrupted. “Michael?” She
inserted herself between Michael and Nina, pressing her breasts against his arm.

  The way she used her body parts as props made me sick to my stomach.

  “There’s a delivery truck out back,” she said. When she walked back to the counter, her eyes caught mine for a split second, just long enough to give me the impression that she wanted Michael away from me as much as I wanted him away from Nina.

  “I’ll have to check on that,” said Michael, and then he disappeared behind a door labeled office.

  Shanty clucked her tongue. “That one’s causing fruit basket turnover around here,” she mumbled.

  Nina nodded absentmindedly as she watched the office door. “I got his autograph when he held his book signing. Stood in line all day.”

  “You were a part of that hullabaloo?” Shanty shook her head. “Girl, we’ve got a long way to go with you. Anyhoo, I’ve got two things I want y’all to do this time.”

  “More homework?” I teased Shanty, but honestly, I was a little worried about what she would dish out.

  “A little homework and a little fun.” She held up a printed list for each of us. “This is my Be You Challenge. I post this stuff on my blog all the time, and my readers love it. It’s just a list of ten challenges that I’d like you girls to try. See here, the first one is just to make a list of things you like about yourself. Easy smeasy, no problem.”

  Easy smeasy? That’s what she had said about smiling in the mirror. I took the list and skimmed the first few items, feeling doubtful but willing to give it a try.

  Make a list of things you like about yourself. Name at least five.

  Write and tell yourself you are beautiful and amazing. Then tell yourself why.

  Write about a mistake you made and how it impacted your life in a positive way.

  “Do we have to do all ten before we meet again?” I asked.

  “Oh, honey! You don’t have to do any of them, and certainly not in a week. This is just a tool for you to use when and if you’re up to it.” She tapped her nails on the table in front of Nina. “What do you think?”

  Nina shrugged. “I like writing.”

  Shanty looked at us as if we were her pets and had just learned a new trick.