Looking Glass Lies

by Varina Denman

  Our ten-year class reunion was held in a banquet hall on the university campus. I thought the senior class officers could at least have rented a room at the Amarillo Country Club, but what did I know? I needed to remember where I’d landed and stop looking for Los Angeles.

  Brett hadn’t shown up yet, but with Graham by my side, I had the confidence I’d need to help me get through the evening. We sat at a round table covered with butcher paper and draped with purple and white streamers. When I wondered aloud who was on the decorating committee and what had motivated them to treat us like eighteen-year-olds, Graham said, “It’s meant to bring back memories of school.”

  “It’s definitely working.” My insides were experiencing the same loop-on-a-roller-coaster queasiness they’d had for most of my high school career.

  Graham fingered the crinkled crepe paper. “I guess you’re thinking about Brett.”

  “Since he’s about to walk into the room, and I haven’t seen him in over a year? Yes. I’m thinking about him.”

  “Relax, Cecily.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Don’t treat me as though I’m the one at fault.”

  His words slapped me in the face, causing my spite to soften.

  “I’m not Brett,” he said softly.

  “I know.”

  “And I’m not Al.”

  “Okay.” I verbally agreed, but my heart had its doubts.

  The reunion band, former classmates who had pulled out their dusty instruments, played John Philip Sousa march tunes as people filtered into the building. Sousa was a favorite of mine, but under the circumstances, I would have preferred the tranquility of Jim Brickman’s piano playing. When I thought of the instrument waiting for me in the living room of the cabin, I longed for home. I really should start playing more. Dad would probably enjoy it.

  Zoe Gomez, who had actually squeezed into her cheerleader uniform, bounced from table to table, pinning name tags on shirt fronts while her husband watched tolerantly from a corner. I didn’t recognize him from my school days, and I got the feeling he wasn’t impressed with the evening. Elliot Emerson approached Graham and subtly asked if he had any goods for sale, and from the looks of it, I’d say Elliot hadn’t gone a day without drugs in the past ten years. Graham assured him he was out of the business, then gave him the number for a detox center. Lindsay Timms, a girl I had run with, stopped at our table, greeted me, and asked where Brett was. When she discovered I was not only divorced, but at the reunion with Graham Cracker, she sidestepped to the snack table, glancing at me over her shoulder as she whispered to her date.

  I was about to suggest we leave before the party started when Mirinda slipped into the seat next to Graham.

  My surprise must have shown on my face because she shot me a quick explanation. “Michael is the keynote speaker.”

  Well, of course he was. Our little school couldn’t pass up the opportunity for such a big-name guest, and naturally Brett’s little sister would come with him. To my high school reunion. And sit next to my boyfriend.

  My boyfriend. Is that what Graham was? I supposed so, but it sounded tacky, and suddenly I didn’t blame Lindsay Timms for turning up her nose. Divorced, with a boyfriend. That certainly hadn’t been my ten-year goal at graduation.

  “Have you seen Brett?” I assumed Mirinda was directing her question to me, but her eyes were trained on Graham.

  “Not a sign of him. You sure he’s coming?”

  “Mom and Dad haven’t heard from him.” Mirinda pulled at a lock of her hair, wrapping it around her index finger. “But I figure he’ll show up. With the other woman, right?” Now she looked at me.

  I didn’t answer.

  Brett would definitely bring a woman with him. There had been many back then, but he seemed to have settled on one in the end. Kate. I’d once walked in on the two of them, half-dressed on our white sofa. Brett had merely sat up and looked at me, not even trying to cover himself, or shield the woman, or explain his actions. He only stared at me, his face impassive and tolerant, until I fled to the bedroom and took refuge in the closet.

  For a split second, I wasn’t at my class reunion; I was in that lonely walk-in, scooting deep against the back wall beneath the hanging clothes and curling myself tightly into a ball so I couldn’t see myself in the floor-length mirror. I had stayed hidden in the closet for hours that day, but Brett never came.

  Across the room, Zoe Gomez squealed, and every head turned toward her as she threw her arms around my ex-husband. Brett had barely made it through the doorway, and already, there was a crowd around him. He had that effect on people, like a magnet. Or a virus.

  “I take it he just walked into the room.” Graham sat with his back to the hubbub, not making any movement to turn and look.

  Mirinda settled back in her padded chair and took a deep breath, overreacting. So she hadn’t seen her brother in a while. Big deal.

  I leaned to the left, brushing Graham’s shoulder, and finally saw the woman Brett had brought. It was Kate. Her hair had grown longer over the past year, and she looked bustier than I remembered. Brett had probably paid for that. He always wanted me to have surgery, but I refused. Now I asked myself why. If that woman had gone under the knife for him, maybe I should have done the same thing. It seemed like a simple request now, here, among all these people who had dressed in their best so they could look good in front of old friends they hadn’t seen in ten years and wouldn’t see again for another ten.

  I rested my elbows on the table, reminding myself—again—that it didn’t matter what people thought of me. It didn’t matter what I looked like. Even Mirinda appeared dowdy when that woman was in the room. Kate. If Mirinda was a Barbie, Kate was a Bratz doll, big-eyed and sexy. Exotic.

  Mirinda felt it too, I could tell. She had her fingers laced together in her lap as though she were praying.

  And then Brett and Kate appeared in front of us, tilting their heads to the side and looking down at us as though we had come to the event just to see them. And maybe we had. I certainly hadn’t come to see anyone else in my class, and I didn’t really care about any of them seeing me.

  “Kate?” Brett put his hand on her waist. “You remember Cecily, my high school sweetheart—”

  Was that what I was?

  “—and this is my . . . little sister.” He gestured to Mirinda with raised eyebrows. “Who, it seems, has no apparent reason for being here.” He motioned to Graham with a flick of his wrist and a frown. “And if I’m not mistaken, this is Graham Cracker himself, the boy who almost got me kicked out of athletics my senior year.”

  Graham stood and forced a laugh. “I can’t take full credit. You had a little to do with it too.”

  They were talking about drugs, of course. Several other people in the room could’ve said the same thing to Graham, though none of them had.

  “I wouldn’t say that, but it’s in the past.” Brett looked away from Graham, dismissing him along with the accusation he had laid at Graham’s feet. “Cecily, you’re looking . . . wonderful.” His grin sliced me. “Don’t you think she looks wonderful, Kate?”

  “Just beautiful.”

  I couldn’t know for sure if Brett intended to rub salt on the wounds to my self-esteem, but he was giving me the same tiny bread crumbs of praise he had given me in the past, and now he was pulling Kate into the madness, and doing it in front of Graham.

  “Beautiful as always.” He shook his head with a tiny shrug as though to say, Why in the world did you ever think otherwise? Then he spotted someone on the far side of the room and lifted his hand.

  I was nothing to him. Of course, I already knew that, but now it was solidified like drying concrete, and my feet were stuck firmly in it, just waiting for someone to toss me over the edge of the canyon. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I cared.

  “So you guys are together?” Brett’s index finger swung from me to Graham and back again, as though he were scolding us—uh, uh, uh . . . no you don
’t—and then he laughed a little. “Well, I didn’t see that one coming. Cecily, you’re doing”—his smile pulled down at the corners in the facial equivalent of a shrug—“good for yourself. I suppose.”

  His condescension acted as a trigger, and I felt myself falling into the shadowy place. Just that afternoon, on the bike ride, I had been happy with Graham, but now I felt as though I had settled for someone inferior. But as quickly as my insecurity reared its head, it morphed into anger, and I wanted to upturn the purple-and-white table, to yank out handfuls of Kate’s lovely long hair, and to punch my thumbnails into Brett’s eyes. I wanted to hurt him.

  Actually, I wanted Graham to do it. Like a knight in shining armor, I wanted him to come to my rescue. Brett had insulted both of us, and if Graham would retaliate, then I would be vindicated. I would have the better man, the one who fought for me because I was worth it. But Graham didn’t even appear to be angry. In fact, instead of coming to my defense, he was listening intently as Brett continued to speak, blubbering to Mirinda, something about her being a cute kid. The three of them seemed set apart, their bodies turned away from me, as though I weren’t important.

  Then Graham walked away and left me there.

  He ushered Mirinda to the hallway leading to the restrooms, his hand hovering near the small of her back, not quite touching her, and I was left standing with Brett and his girlfriend or lover or whore. I hated Kate. Maybe I hated Brett too, but at the moment, I was more concerned with whether I hated Graham.

  Brett’s neck briefly disappeared into his shoulders in a mock cringe. “Looks like Graham Cracker may have his eye on greener pastures, Cecily.”

  That was absurd. Graham may have enjoyed looking at Mirinda’s body, but he was too smart to think he stood a chance against Michael.

  Speak of the devil. Michael was standing two tables over, watching us. He lifted his chin in greeting to me, then walked in a slow arc behind Brett, coming to a stop by his side. He extended his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Michael Divins.”

  “Michael—” Brett laughed through an open-mouthed smile. “Michael Divins?” He pumped the athlete’s hand, and I thought he might start drooling. “It’s good to meet you.” Brett straightened to his full height, scoping the room as if to see who might be watching the exchange, but he seemed oblivious to Michael’s body language: shoulders back, right foot forward, arms bent. “What brings you here, Michael?”

  The athlete’s smile was tight. “I’m dating your sister. She’s told me a lot about you.”

  “Has she?” Brett shrank. “Well, you can’t trust everything the girl says.”

  Michael squinted at Brett, then turned to me and smiled robotically. “Do you know where she is?”

  Brett didn’t give me time to answer. “She was here a second ago, but she left with Graham Cracker.”

  “Graham . . . Cracker?” A vein in Michael’s neck twitched.

  Brett pointed, and when I followed his gaze, my knees quivered.

  Graham and Mirinda were standing a few yards down the hallway, talking with their heads close together. Then Mirinda pressed herself against Graham, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

  Brett snickered. “I see she hasn’t changed much.”

  As I turned back toward Brett, it was evident that Mirinda had plenty of people to come to her rescue, to tell her she was worth it, to clamor for her attention. Not only was Graham comforting her in the hallway, Michael was fighting for her honor. He reared back and punched Brett square in the face, laying him out on the floor of the banquet hall.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I sat in front of my closet door, staring at the plastic brackets that had once held the mirror. Even without the silver glass, I could see my image from memory. Tear streaked, makeup smudged, slouched posture, frumpy. No wonder Graham left me alone with Brett.

  I felt myself spiraling downward. What had Graham called it? Cognitive distortion. That’s what I was doing now, and that’s what I was feeling. Negative thoughts about myself, which led to crappy feelings, which led to a bad, bad, dangerously bad mood, which led to more negative thoughts that felt like the ugly truth. Those horrid grooves in my brain.

  But Graham said those thoughts were lies. So did Shanty. They certainly didn’t feel like lies, but I guess that was the point. I wasn’t supposed to pay attention to what the lies felt like. That was the distortion, the pinch. My bad feelings didn’t make my thoughts true. Lies were lies no matter what I felt, and truth was truth, no strings attached. Somehow, I needed to break the cycle, see the lies for what they were, and start talking to myself with someone else’s voice.

  Think happy thoughts was an oversimplification of the entire process, but it had become my internal, never-ending, not-quite-enough mantra. I would form new grooves if it killed me.

  I was kneeling on the floor with my feet tucked beneath me and my hands resting on my thighs. Those stupid thighs of mine, wide, dimpled, and now scarred. My thumb rubbed against my jeans, and even as I thought my thoughts, I knew I was giving in to my emotions. The nail of my thumb dug into my thigh, causing more pain to my cuticle than to my leg, and that angered me. I reached for the nearest object, a tennis shoe I had last worn at the canyon, with Graham. I gripped it in my fist, raised it over my head, and brought the heel down hard against my leg, just above the knee.

  But only three times.

  After the third hit, my logic outweighed my emotions, and I threw the shoe into the corner of the room, where it landed with a thud, the toe leaning precariously against the wall before sliding to the floor. I stared at the lifeless piece of footwear, thinking how meaningless everything seemed, and how damaged I still was, and how far I had left to go before I would be healthy.

  I was so exhausted from it all.

  Lying down on the shag carpet, I pressed my cheek against the floor and asked myself for the millionth time if I even wanted to try anymore.

  Chapter Forty

  Group text from Nina to Shanty and Cecily: im doing it! blindfolded demonstration in the jbk this morning 10 am will let you know how it goes so excited! shanty how long does it take for the marker to wear off?! :)

  When I read Nina’s message, I didn’t panic. Nina knew what she was doing, and even though I wouldn’t have taken my clothes off in a public place for a million dollars, Nina had a point to prove, not only to the student body but also to herself. Then I stopped to think about it. Sure, Nina had something to prove, just like Shanty, but Nina wasn’t just like Shanty. Bold, daring, loud. If anything, she was hesitant, like me, so the thought of her holding a demonstration rubbed me the wrong way. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that Nina, bless her heart, was a follower. And she followed in the footsteps of those she admired.

  As I sat at the receptionist’s desk in Graham’s office on Monday morning, I realized, with alarm, that Nina was only doing a demonstration because Shanty had done one. She idolized Shanty. Good grief, we both did, and who wouldn’t? Funny that I should say that after being so disdainful of her only a few weeks ago, but now she seemed so strong, and such a leader, that I found myself wanting to be like her.

  Not a bad idea. But not a good one either.

  I nibbled a hangnail. Tapped a pencil against the appointment book. Wiped dust from the phone. Read the text again.

  Nina sounded so positive, hopeful, uncharacteristically upbeat. No need to worry.

  My phone dinged.

  Text from Shanty to Cecily: Oh, my goodness! SHE’S DOING IT!!! I shouldn’t take off but she needs my support. Gotta take Gage’s forgotten lunch up to the elementary, then I’m heading to the Student Center. Will Dr H let you leave for a while?

  Would he? Did I even care? The reunion had become a fiasco when Michael punched Brett. Zoe Gomez had screamed, Lindsay Timms had called the police, and Kate, interestingly, had stood back from the commotion, patiently waiting to take Brett away with her. They had left almost immediately.

  After the r
eunion, Graham and Mirinda’s actions seemed forgotten by everyone except me, and I didn’t want to confront him. I’m not sure why. Maybe I didn’t want to sound like a whiny, insecure nutcase, and maybe I didn’t want to know the truth. Now we were two appointments into our day, and we had barely spoken. I glanced down the hallway at his closed office door. He swore he needed me in the waiting room for propriety’s sake, but propriety hadn’t stopped him from hugging Madam X at our class reunion.

  Text from Cecily to Shanty: Pick me up at the office. We can talk about Nina on the way.

  The JBK Student Center was packed, so I figured Nina had deliberately chosen a crowded time of day. All the feelings of insecurity that had suffocated me when I was in college now came flooding back. Brett had been my anchor, boosting my ego when we walked around campus together, but when I was alone, I’d felt as if a million pairs of eyes were scrutinizing my every move.

  When I dressed that morning, I had put on a long-sleeved shirt over my blouse as a loose cover-up, and now I pulled it tightly around myself, hiding oh-so-much more than my tattoo. I lifted my chin, ignoring the bustling college students as I followed Shanty through the dense crowd that seemed to be anything but a typical cross section of the student population. Surely there were nerds somewhere, academics, holy rollers—but they certainly weren’t in the JBK. Shanty and I were surrounded by sorority and fraternity kids, fashionistas in designer jeans, and preppy types with trendy haircuts.

  No wonder Nina never wanted to walk through this place.

  Nina, with her all-American good looks and down-to-earth humility, didn’t fit in with this crowd. I cringed. Nina probably wanted to fit in just as badly as I had wanted to at UCLA.

  “Lord almighty!” Shanty stopped and stood with her hands on her hips, turning in a circle in front of a Quiznos and peering around her with the concerned look of a mother trying to figure out which child to scold first. “This explains a lot about sweet Nina, don’t it?”

  “If I had to come in here every day, I’d probably kill myself.”