Through the Looking Glass
She stood looking at her reflection in the kitchen window. Her hair looked mousy and limp, like it had just been out in a downpour. It was dark outside and headlights turned into the drive. Shit, was it already 6 o’clock? She pulled out a frozen steak from the freezer, turned on the hot water from the tap and placed the plastic wrapped meat in a bowl to thaw. She looked around the room and put on a red apron.
“Look busy,” she told herself as she picked up a sponge and started wiping the counter, remains of breakfast still in evidence. He slammed the truck door and reached down to pick up the paper, then came around the side door, pounding his mud caked feet on the matt first.
“Hey,” he said, shutting the door hard.
“How was your day?” she asked, applauding herself for what seemed to her like the proper thing to say. On second thought, maybe she should have said, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re home. I missed you today.” But she couldn’t remember what had happened to today or how long she’d been standing there at the window. He walked over to her and put his hairy arms around her waist but she didn’t turn around.
“You’re sweaty,” was the only thing that came out of her mouth. “It’s not even hot out.”
“Well hon, I did just get off work. It’s not an easy job transplanting trees and digging ditches all day. Oh yea, and Mrs. Reyes had me crawl under her house this morning because she thought her cat was stuck under there.”
“Was he?” She was concerned.
“If he was, I didn’t see him.” He turned her around to face him. She avoided his eyes. She didn’t like to let anyone look too closely.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.” Fine was a line; ought 1, ought 2, ought 3. She walked a fine line, her hair was fine. It hung. He looked at her and she fidgeted in his arms.
“What did you do today? Did you work out with the new DVD you bought?” She couldn’t remember. What had she done? Tiredness ran through all her limbs in that instant and she felt like crumbling to the floor right there in the kitchen at his feet. The pills were strong.
“Yes. I did the whole thing twice.” She wasn’t lying if she had meant to work out.
He looked happy and lightly squeezed one of her butt cheeks.
“I feel those muscles tightening already.” He was a good man.
“You love me?” she asked, half expecting him to laugh.
“Well, what do you think?” His eyes had a gentle look in them, flecks of grey smattered throughout the green hazel colors. Her eyes darted around the room.
“What are you looking for?” He was so patient.
“There’s something in the room but every time I look, it moves away.”
“It’s just your eyes playing tricks on you. It’s okay. Nothing is going to hurt you.” He seemed so sure of himself that she relaxed into believing him. Still, she had to ask, “How do you know?”
“I just do. Trust me. There’s no one here. Just us, right now.” He held her tighter now and something inside her loosened up, let him give her his feelings. It was hard to make room for anyone else’s feelings, even if it was love.
“I thought I felt God today.” She used to feel what she thought was God when she was a little girl. He’d always surround her suddenly, in the arch of the hallway of the first home she remembers living in with her mom and dad and brother. The feeling was so beautiful and safe and peaceful, she remembers just standing there taking it in, until God would go away. “I don’t feel him much anymore.”
He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. They had good water. “You’re lucky, you know. Most people don’t actually ever feel God, they just believe he’s there anyhow.”
“Yes, but I wish he’d stay longer.”
“He’s got a lot of places to go. Give the guy some slack.” He was playing along. “Come on and sit down with me,” and he took her hand to walk into the living room. It was in the same state of disorganization it had been in this morning. He couldn’t expect much from her. He knew it would take some time. “Turn that cute little body around. Let me untie this silly apron,” tossing it to the side and pulling her onto his lap. “Hon.” He stopped, not sure what words would be the right ones to use. “How many pills did you take today?” She couldn’t remember taking any, even though something inside her knew she had. She’d remembered having a glass or two of wine with it but that was during the afternoon, when she was supposed to have been exercising.
“I don’t know.” She felt like a blank slate, all the numbers and letters had been wiped off, no trace of the chalk dust left behind. Rita would be wanting out soon. She came about the same time every night, hearing the familiar knock, a soft tapping, like acrylic nails on a wooden door, and her body tensed.
“Hey, relax hon. Relax.” Scott rubbed her shoulders and she suddenly stood outside her body now, watching him do it. It looked like it felt good. She watched her turn her head and neck slowly, side to side. Then she squiggled her butt up against him, so much closer now.
“That’s right. See, you can do it.” He never knew when Rita came. She was the Queen of Magic. She made no noise as she approached, just suddenly appeared or disappeared at will.
“Um, I like that. Yeah, right there,” Rita said to him, then she turned around and kissed him, her full red lips parting. He liked Rita. He might even love her.
Rita is a redhead. Scott’s always had a thing for them. No wonder he looks at her more. She’s beautiful, not like mousy me. My left eye droops slightly and I wear glasses. I am almost 40 after all. But Rita, well, who could blame him? She’s new, like spring, but certainly no virgin. Her skin is like cream and those green eyes of hers would halt any man in his tracks. Still, I feel sad that they spend so much time together, even if I’m not as receptive lately. For some reason, I can never bring myself to leave the room when they decide to do it right on the living room floor. Scott and I bought this great rug almost half price a couple of years ago, mostly because we thought it would be exciting to roll around on it naked. But for some reason, he feels like rolling around with “her” instead. I don’t like her that much. She’s pushy and always tries to get her way. I don’t care for the fight, so I relinquish easily, much to her delight. She’d probably be thrilled as punch if I decided to leave altogether. Well, maybe I will. He’ll miss me, I know it. He’ll wonder where I went and he’d most likely file a missing persons report but even they would have no leads. I’ve learned how to hide well. God, she’s so loud. I think she’s faking it myself but she sure does put on a good show. The one similarity we have in common is our love for peach ice cream. That’s the only time we truly get along. He always calls her Celia but Rita doesn’t seem to mind, probably likes his sweet little love name for her.
This is the time of night that is the most tiring for me and where the rest of my energy slides on out of me like butter on a hot potato. Yeah, I admit Rita is a hot potato. She’ll get tired too eventually and need to go to sleep, but that most likely wouldn’t be for hours. I might as well rest. it’s the only way I know to drown out their cries and moans…
She opened her eyes and the light from the huge slider blasted into her face, heat already pressing in through the early morning. She covered her eyes with her arm and turned, pulling the blanket over her head. The inside of her skull ached, the bones in her nose, over her temples, that part over her lip. Even her ears burned. Thirst commanded her to sit up and reach for the glass of water that sat next to the bed on a small table. She hadn’t heard him get up and leave. Rarely did she these mornings. He always let her sleep and she appreciated his thoughtfulness. She hadn’t remembered taking her clothes off and there was that annoying moistness again rubbing against her thighs. It might be time to get a check up, make sure there was no infection going on. She reached for her glasses and the room came into focus. Their sheets were wrinkled. If she were a good wife, she’d wash and iron them but just the thought of that was more than she could handle. A small beep, the alarm from their cell phone, determined it was time for her first pill. She threw the blankets off and got up to find it. It was never in the same place twice. Rita made sure of that. This time, it was in Scott’s 3rd drawer down, stuffed into one of his shirts. She withdrew the phone but the beep had stopped. No one had called. No text messages. She had gotten up for nothing.
All her friends were pretty much gone. One or two would check in on her occasionally, but she thought it was purely to make themselves feel good by doing some kind of charity good deed. What did she need with charity? They had a very nice home. How many years has it been now? Six? Seven? She’d have to remember to ask Scott later. She played with the thought of hopping back in bed but decided on making oatmeal instead. She pulled a light, silky purple robe from the closet and slipped it over her thinness as she turned sideways, looking at her reflection in the mirror. A mere stick with tits. Things could be worse, hearing all the horror stories about women getting fat as they aged. She could boast a girlish shape, even if those teenage years belonged in some other life.
She lived in the now and often forgot what she was doing in the middle of doing it, which was very frustrating. Her stomach did not need reminding and it was easy to remember what she was getting up to do. The kitchen was flooded with light and she opened the door to let the warm morning air in. The screen kept the bugs out but not the ants. They were smarter. The outside thermometer registered 75 degrees, climbing as she stood there. Within an hour or two, the door would have to be closed to keep the strongest heat from turning the rooms into ovens. She pulled out her favorite saucepan and poured the slow cooking organic oatmeal into it. She loved healthy foods and usually juiced a few carrots to go along with breakfast most every morning. That, and a nice strong cup of coffee, one of her vices, but everyone had to have a few. She was a voracious reader as well, her favorites being heart throbs and mysteries. Lately though, she’d found herself drawn to the horror section of “Mascot and Leane,” the biggest book store around, still family owned and going strong after 50 some odd years. She remembers many weekends that her mom and dad would take her there. She’d walk up and down all the aisles and touch the books, some stacked at least 7 rows high but maybe that’s just how she remembers it. Her mom loved to go to the back, pour herself a cup of tea and pick out a book from the metaphysical section to sit and read. Her dad never did find an interest in that kind of “fluffy stuff” as he liked to call it. For him, it was the Farmers Almanac and fishing and geology. He’d find books identifying rocks, full colored pages of shapes and hues she never believed actually existed in the real world. He’d bring those books along on their occasional jaunts out to the desert, following the directions shown on maps and where they might unbury treasures waiting under the ground for thousands or millions of years. All four of them would walk the desert floor, hunting in different spots for hours. Mostly though, her dad looked for where the water would run in the wintertime and he’d head towards the hills or where more plant life seemed to be.
She loved these times together, exploring and discovering, always returning with a box full of rocks. Her dad would usually find one or two round rocks, larger than a man’s fist and when he’d get home, he’d go right to the garage and crack them open. Sometimes, they turned out to be duds, but he had a knack for seeing through them somehow, uncovering the crystals that lived inside.
The tea pot boiled for the single cup of coffee, its sound too much like a wet scream. She turned off the flame and poured the water through the strainer. She loved it black with no sugar. Nothing to take away from its richness, like the earth. She could almost smell the dirt it had grown in.
The flying gnats circled around outside the screen door, wanting in. A car flew by on the main road they lived on. “90,” she thought. “No, maybe 85.”
The oatmeal, as always, was perfect and would tide her over for hours. She reached for her cup and saw Rita’s long painted fingernails reaching it before she could.
“Get your own,” she said to her, grabbing it out of Rita’s hand. The phone rang and she held her cup to her breast as she walked quickly to answer it.
“Hey babe, how’re you doing? I didn’t wake you did I?” Scott asked.
“Oh no, I’ve been up for hours.” At least she thought so. Time was strange more often than not and there were blank spaces on the pages of her life.
“Want to meet me for lunch in a couple of hours?”
“I just ate.”
“I don’t mean now, say around 1:30? How bout at the deli?” He paused. There was silence. “My treat.” He laughed.
“Okay, sure. What time did you say?”
“One thirty. I’ll call you 15 minutes before.” He stopped again. “Did you take your morning pill?” She couldn’t remember. She thought she had. She remembers getting up because of the alarm.
“I think so.”
“Hum, that doesn’t sound like you know you did. Celia, you have to remember hon, I can’t think of it every single time for you.”
“I know. It’s not as if I expect you to Scott.”
“Uh, oh, the boss is looking my way. I’ll call you soon. Be ready. Love you.”
“I love you.” They each hung up. She thought there was time to shower and water always had a way of bringing sensation back into her body. She chose a flowered summer dress she’d had for almost 15 years now. The store had long ago gone out of business but the mall remained. She wasn’t much of a shopper and hated places where people roamed in packs like dead sardines.
The shower was refreshing. Even her hair shined after being washed and blown dry. The ends were always splitting like her fingernails. She chewed a jagged edge off her pinky and spit it out, filing it with her teeth. She heard the familiar beep going off, a slightly different tone, informing her once again it was time for the other pill. She was on it this time and reached into the medicine cabinet to retrieve it. She downed the pill with the rest of her coffee, feeling proud she was keeping up on her meds. The doctor would be happy.
She looked scrawny in the flowered dress. It hung, shapeless on her weedy body. Makeup was a nuisance to her most of the time, but she managed to darken her brows with a pencil and dabbed at her lips with “Perfect Pink,” forcing as a second thought, earrings through the closing holes in her ears. She’d suffer later with the small infection. Beauty, or the challenge of it, was more important right now.
After cleaning the dishes, she walked outside bearfoot to stand under her favorite tree, in the cool of the grass. This was a particularly beautiful spot and she’d enjoyed watching this tree grow over the years they’d lived here. It was a fast grower. The flowers had formed a month early and their sweet scent languidly danced around her, almost lifting her off the ground. She laid instead on the grass, staring up through the branches, following one just off the main trunk like a dancer, weaving its way toward the sun. Times like this, she found herself wondering what it felt like to be the tree. Its life was good. Here there was peace. It had few needs and did well for the most part, being left to be all the tree it could be. She, on the other hand, needed much more than that. If only a little water, dirt and sun could be enough for her. Maybe the tree liked having her under it, felt her weight resting over the top of its more shallow roots. The grass under her was kept longer because she didn’t like it cut too short as the blades would pierce her skin and cause hives. The earth below felt like it too, was caressing her, as a child might, who held on as if for dear life, afraid if they lost sight, she’d disappear forever.
Bugs flew past her closed eyes as she experienced the sensations without the visual interpretation. The earth breathed easily, slow and deep, the slightest rising and falling of her body into the great round ball, a little patch of green and a teenage tree.
He stood over her and she sensed him before she saw him. Scott looked down, reaching for her. She opened her eyes then and he seemed strange, there and not there at the same time, like heat quivering in the air. Then as quickly, he disappeared and instantly she knew Scott had been calling her. Maybe a couple of hours had passed in the blink of an eye and she stood and walked quickly back inside to check on the time. The cell phone showed his missed call only five minutes before and she hoped he wouldn’t be upset.
“You ready?” he answered, knowing from caller ID it was her.
“All I need are my shoes and I’m out of here,” gathering her purse and keys, sliding on a pair of sandals.
“See you in ten then?”
“Yes my love,” feeling oddly close to him through the phone. She was out the door when they said goodbye.
Luckily, nothing was far away. Most everything they needed was at the most fifteen or twenty minutes away. That was as far as she felt comfortable driving since starting this new round of “meds” the doctor had prescribed. They made her tired and she lost track of time, though she couldn’t be sure that element hadn’t manifested in her before. The parking lot at their favorite deli had plenty of spaces in it. The place had cleared out, the noon customers having eaten and gone on their way. From the road, it would be easy to pass by without noticing it, but the ma and pa business had earned its reputation by their good greasy food, friendly waitresses and most importantly, Myra and his wife Jean. They looked like they should have retired at least a decade ago. No matter when she and Scott came in, they always seemed to be there, working just as hard as their help.
Scott held the door open for her and cool air greeted her skin along with his kiss. There were a few empty tables at the back and Myra led them to Scott’s favorite spot, the most private in the room. She sat next to him and touched his thigh. He was strong and worked hard for a living. They were both the same age but his level of physical activity led many to believe he wasn’t much more than in his early 30’s. With Scotts dirty blond hair, his lovely eyes and tanned skin, she often wondered what he saw in her. He was by anyone’s standard, “a hunk,” though he had no notion of his good looks and rarely wore anything more elegant than clean jeans and a button down shirt, often forgetting to comb his hair. He had a heart that was inclusive and strong and his tendency was to see the best in everyone, even in her. She turned to look at him as he read the huge, ten page menu which included everything from breakfast all day to sushi and everything in between, even ¾ of a page dedicated to vegetarians. His nose only slightly turned up, but was mostly straight. Love blossomed inside of her sitting beside him and she held tight to that moment of being in love and living a simple life.
She reached for her menu and once more, saw Rita trying to get to it first but she slapped her right hand, inwardly warning Rita to back off. Scott looked over at her then.
“Bugs?” He eyed her hand.
“Yeah, or something.” She knew he wouldn’t believe her if she told him about Rita. Sometimes she had to question who had come first, who belonged to this body? She seemed to inhabit it much more of the time, until most evenings, when the pills and the energy of the day would simply zap her into an almost comatose state. She didn’t blame her completely and for all intents and purposes, Rita was pretty patient, usually waiting her turn. But lately, she’d been stretching the rules, even though they both knew there weren’t any.
“What’s looking good to you two today?” Molly, their waitress asked. She was their favorite. They liked her easy spirit and way of talking.
“Hon?” Scott motioned for her to go first.
“Oh, its always so hard for me to decide. You have too many choices,” Celia declared. “But, I think I’ll have the spring rolls and rice, and a cup of chamomile tea with milk and honey.”
“Again? You’ve got to push those limits sometimes. But don’t listen to me. I eat meat,” Molly said as she wrote. Scott chose a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings. “I haven’t had those in awhile,” he said, closing the menu. Molly left to place their orders and Scott turned towards Celia, his eyes looking at her with a strange seriousness, as if he might be trying to see through her into what was going on inside her mind. He held her hand.
“You seem distant lately. Talk to me. Don’t keep me out. You’re my best friend. When things aren’t right with you, they’re not right with me.” He almost looked like he was going to cry. She wondered if having to fight Rita made her seem far away.
“No, it’s just the pills. They make me feel a little loopy. He looked at her hand, turned it over in his, ran his large strong hand up her arm, feeling her soft cool skin. “I don’t know Celia, I don’t want you to get upset, it’s just…” he sighed. He never wanted to make her angry. Sometimes she’d lose her temper so badly that once he’d had to duck out of the way of an incense holder she had thrown across the room, an old brass piece that might have done some serious damage had he been its final destination.
“What?” she looked at him, her heart jumping just a bit. “Finish what you wanted to say.”
“Its just that there’s something different about you. I can’t tell if it’s the drugs you’re taking but I don’t think now’s the time to go off them. I guess I’m trying to say, you have a far away feeling about you. What can I do to help? I don’t blame you. I really don’t. Just sometimes, I need you to be with me.” He looked down and said so quietly, “I miss you.”
“I’m right here Scott. Have a feel,” she teased him, nudging up closer to him, bending to kiss his neck. He smiled. “I love you Scotty.”
“I love you too Celia,” but he looked sad. She hadn’t seen that in him in a long time. A young mother chased her little boy, not more than 2 years old, past their table, grabbing his hand to lead him into the bathroom.
“He’s a cutie,” Scott said. He wanted to say that Win would have been just about the same age, but decided against it. She wasn’t ready, that was obvious. He wasn’t sure if she would ever be again. It was hard for him to keep it all to himself and be the strong one all the time. Still, he understood that something had snapped in Celia when their sweet little son had died. In him too. He couldn’t look at any child without thinking of their own and what he would look like right now, what kind of mischief he’d be getting into. Win died in his sleep, a victim of SIDS just before his first birthday and the devastation of losing him had sent her reeling over the edge. He needed to be there for her, saw the demons she kept at bay as best she could, for they came for him as well. But he feared she was losing herself. She never spoke of their son and he had taken away any pictures they’d had of him, packed carefully away in a box until some later, unknown date. The last time he’d tried setting a picture out, a beautiful shot of the three of them, holding little Win between them, in love with this amazing being they’d brought into the world together, she had dropped to her knees and wailed to the sky, then fainted on the bedroom floor. When she woke up, she hadn’t realized where she was. When she did, she was curiously different, bubbly, as if she’d just won the lottery. Even her posture had changed. She looked taller and had proceeded to jump on him, wrapping her legs around his waist in a snake like hold. He’d gone along, although he was completely confused. He thought that she was overcompensating as her way of apologizing, although she had nothing to be sorry about. That afternoon, they’d made love so passionately and long, she’d worn him out, and he was finally the one to say “uncle.”
“Tomorrows your visit with Paula.” he reminded her then. Paula was her counselor, referred by a good friend. “How do you feel about her?” She was okay, no one special really. She went because Scott insisted.
“I guess she’s fine. I don’t know. She’s fine.”
“You know, it’s important you communicate with her. She can’t help you if you don’t open up. She’s there to help you babe. Hasn’t she given you homework, you know, the exercises for you to do?”
“I’m trying but I have to admit that sometimes I don’t remember. Days can go by before I think about it again. I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to get you a personal notebook that you keep with you. You can write down your exercises and note whenever you take a pill and what time you took it.” He looked at her closely. “Are you hearing me?” She forced her mind to stay on its task.
“Yes, I hear you.”
“You have to take responsibility for your healing. I am here to help you but I need you to help yourself. I can’t do it all honey. But really, doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”
She hoped it would help her, space case that she was. It was remembering to remember half the time. She smiled and put her arms around him to kiss his cheek. “Yes darling, that’s a really good idea.”
Molly brought their plates of hot food. The great thing about Myra and Jeans deli were the portions. Scott was most fond of that part. She, on the other hand, never could finish what was on her plate but they made tasty leftovers for the next day. The rest of lunch seemed to go on without a hitch. For some reason, Rita had decided to show up earlier than usual and it made her wonder what that girl had up her sleeve next.
After she and Scott had finished with lunch, he’d had to leave quickly. His boss was fairly easy going but he could be a jerk just as well and threaten to dock him pay for being even five minutes late. She had driven straight home, feeling tired, from what she didn’t know. As she pulled the car into the drive, she noticed a medium sized box sitting on their front porch. For some reason, a tingle slid along her spine and her breasts buzzed, a strange sensation of prickles and needles. The tiniest wet spot formed on her dress where her right nipple was. Her hand went to it then, not comprehending what had caused it. She got out of the car and went up the four steps to the porch to retrieve it. Its weight was all box, as if it had been wrapped as a joke, with nothing inside. She shook it lightly, holding it to her ear but nothing moved. It was addressed to their last name so she couldn’t tell if it was for her or Scott. Heat pulsed through her arms and legs and it felt as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Was he trying to hide something from her? She didn’t think so. She knew he loved her greatly.
Once inside, Celia set the box on the kitchen table along with her purse and keys. It was wrapped so plainly and no return address identified its origination. Maybe he bought a porno tape. She knew they sent things like that as unobtrusively as possible. The mailman probably knew all the secret tactics. You can’t fool the post office. It didn’t feel to her as if it had been sent to her, yet she felt a compulsion to know what was inside….
