Mirrors (5 page)

CHRISTY FELT herself being pulled from a dream—one in which she was a student at the Special School for Advanced Placement, which ironically, was best known for its football team. And its cheerleaders.

As the law would have it, every student had to participate in a sport. The problem was, Christy wasn’t exactly cut out for sports. And, worried about morale, the faculty had come to the conclusion that putting her on the cheerleading squad would dampen school spirit. She was too ugly, you see? The fans in the stands would spend the entire game wondering why such a prestigious school would put such an ugly mug directly in their line of sight. The fact that she often broke down in tears didn’t help matters either. They couldn’t very well have a weeping cheerleader.

But a solution had been identified. Christy could be of great use to the school by helping with the sports field.

“How?” she asked the board.

“Why, by watering the grass,” an old board member with a crooked nose said.

“Water the field? How?”

“With your tears, of course. Every night while the rest of the world is sleeping, you will come down to the field and water the grass with your tears.”

Christy opened her eyes and let the dream drain from her head. She was sitting on a floor. The bathroom floor.

As if dumped from heaven, the events of the prior night thudded into her mind. She’d seen herself in the mirror. In the bathroom, which had become a room of mirrors that she could not escape.

Her pulse quickened. White walls. Tiled floor. One mirror above the sink. Only one.

She lifted her hand and saw with great relief that her fingers, although far too stubby, weren’t as thick as those she’d seen last night. Scrambling to her feet, she lurched to the mirror and stared at her face.

At Christy’s face. Still one pimple, angry red, but not perched on a fat face that would scare away fans in the stands. It had been a dream then?

She twisted to the door. If so, what was she doing in the bathroom?

Because it wasn’t a dream, Christy. You were awake and delusional.

Maybe.

She took several calming breaths. Maybe, but maybe just a dream.

Then why is the door locked? From the outside
.

Christy hurried to the door, reached for the knob, and twisted. Locked.

Oh no… Oh no…

Knuckles rapped on the wood and she jumped back, thinking that maybe it wasn’t over.

Oh no… Oh no!

Her heart was thudding in her ears as the door swung open. She stared up into the face of the Kern Lawson, who was chewing on a toothpick, expressionless except for what might be slight curiosity.

He glanced at the room behind her, then fixed his eyes on her again.

“Good morning, Alice.”

She blinked at him.

“You look like you could use some sleep,” he said.

“I…” She wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m fine.”

“Better now?”

“Not really. No.”

“No,” he said. “Not really. But you will be. Let’s go, shall we?”

“Go where?”

“You have an appointment with destiny, my dear. A little ther-I-py to help you see your way to the ugly truth.”

He walked into the room and Christy followed, not sure what to make of the man. Somehow, he didn’t seem as strange to her. More like the man she’d first met than the one who’d spoken to her last night.

Lawson walked to the door, waved his hand over a pad on the wall, and pulled the door open, facing her.

“Tell me, Alice. Did you see anything last night?”

She stopped in the middle of the room, at a loss.
Play along,
Austin had insisted. She had to get out, but right now she was helpless.

No games, just play along.

“I had a dream,” she said.

“I see. And what did you see in this dream?”

“That I was ugly.”

A smile slowly formed on his face. He withdrew his toothpick and flicked it across the room.

“Good. Progress, and so soon.”

She looked at the toothpick lying in the middle of her bedroom floor. She was making progress; let him think that. The sooner she convinced him she didn’t belong here, the better.

“The problem is, my dear ugly duckling,” he said, grin now gone, “you still aren’t making the proper distinctions between what is illusion and what isn’t.”

“Of course I am. I looked, didn’t I? I saw the real ugliness that I secretly imagine in myself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Ah.” Lawson wagged his finger. “But you still don’t understand, sweetheart. You weren’t having a hallucination in the bathroom last night. You’re actually having one now. As we speak.”

For a brief moment, her heart stalled.

She wanted to play along, but doing so felt obscene.

“Of course I’m not. You’re saying this room isn’t real? That you aren’t real? That’s not possible.”

“I’m not saying this room and I aren’t real, Alice. I’m saying the you that you see right now isn’t the real you. You’ve suffered some kind of trauma that makes your mind see yourself differently than you really are. I’m guessing that you saw the real you last night.”

She couldn’t help but to glance down at her hands. Christy’s hands.

“Your mind sees only what it can handle. But not seeing the truth is keeping you locked up in delusion.” He paused. “When you walk into the bathroom, what do you see?” he asked.

“What do you mean? A plain bathroom.”

“And the walls?”

What was he getting at?

“Just walls.”

“Color?”

“White.”

“You see? At this moment, you see this room, you see me, as we really are. Plain as day. But you see yourself as Christy, a far more palatable rendition of the true you. And when you’re in your delusional state, you don’t see that the bathroom is actually walled in mirrored glass, all the way around, every square inch.” The administrator grinned, pleased with himself. “It’s one of the things we do here—a little physical change can often trigger a change in thinking.”

“That was only a delusion!”

“So you admit that you are delusional. Good. But I can assure you, the bathroom doesn’t have white walls. You just see it that way because your mind can’t bear to see you for who you are. It can tolerate one little mirror, maybe, but not a room full of them. It’s too much. Last night you were able to emerge from your delusion long enough to see yourself for who you really are. When you woke, the real you had retreated and the false you had reasserted itself. Capisce?”

The tremors took hold of her bones, deep down where no one could see them yet.

“That’s impossible.”

“Not at all. Entirely common in my trade.” His eyes shifted in the bathroom’s direction. “Now that you’ve heard the truth, you might even be able to take a peek and see for yourself. Maybe it’s too early.”

His eyes alighted on her.

“Would you like to try?”

His suggestion, that she really was the girl she’d seen last night, was screaming though her mind, stopping up her lungs, tilting the world.

Something’s really wrong with you, Christy. Something is very, very wrong with you
.

“It’s all right, Alice. Let’s take this step by step.” He extended his hand, palm down. “Come with me. Let’s get you to your appointment with Nancy.“

She pushed back her fear. He was messing with her. He had to be. She couldn’t possibly be the girl she’d seen last night and still have all the memories she had of herself as Christy. The orphanage, Austin, high school…

“Alice?”

She walked forward and took his hand.

“That’a girl.”

Lawson led her from the room, turned to their right, and walked down the empty hallway. His hand was large and warm, and she felt comforted by his gentle grip.

“You remember Nancy, don’t you? The kind lady who interviewed you yesterday?”

“Yes.” She kept wondering if the bathroom would have mirrored walls if she took a peek now, as he’d suggested. But that was absurd.

He stopped at the fourth door on their right, released her hand, and twisted the knob.

“You’re doing well, Alice. Just a little deeper now.”

He opened the door and ushered Christy into a cozy room with a couch and an armchair. Tan walls with bookcases. An aquarium on a credenza, paintings… The first inviting room she’d seen since arriving.

Nancy Wilkins stood from her chair behind a wooden desk looking as pretty as she had yesterday. Dressed in a blue blouse with a black skirt.

She smiled warmly and removed a pair of glasses from her face. “Hello, Alice. Good to see you again.”

“Hi.”

“Have a seat.” She motioned to the sofa.

The door closed behind her. When she sat, she saw that Lawson had left them alone. His departure was more comforting than his hand. With Nancy, at least, Christy felt heard.

The psychiatrist settled into the armchair and spent a few minutes asking her about her experience so far, not once addressing Christy’s concern that she didn’t belong here. Naturally she didn’t. Many patients felt the same way. It was par for the course in their world.

Play along. Just play along.

With Lawson’s suggestion still gnawing at her mind, she took every opportunity to glance at her arms and legs, reassuring herself that he was wrong.

When Nancy asked about the night, she decided that talking about it wouldn’t hurt her. She put it out there in summary, avoiding the details, focusing only on Lawson’s conclusion that she was, at this very moment, delusional.

“But I know he’s wrong,” she said. “I mean, really… Do I look fat to you? This is me, right?”

Nancy smiled kindly. “Of course you’re not fat, Alice. These are only perceptions and labels. Dr. Lawson is only trying to help you see the truth.”

“But you see me. How can I be that girl I saw last night?”

The psychiatrist folded one leg over the other, elbows on the armrests, lightly tapping her fingertips together.

“I don’t know who you saw last night or who you see now,” she said. “But you’re going to learn that the illusion is as powerful in its effect as the truth. When you have a delusion, it will feel just as real as any other perception of reality. Remember that.”

Christy considered each word as she spoke them aloud.

“The illusion is as powerful in its…”

“Effect,” Nancy filled in.

“As…”

“As the truth.”

“As the truth,” Christy repeated. “The illusion is as powerful in its effect as the truth.”

“Good.”

“Then how do you know which is the illusion?” she asked.

“Very few people do.”

That was odd. Most people were confused? But before she could think about the matter more, Nancy redirected the session.

“I’d like to help you see into your repressed memories, Alice. Often, understanding what happened to us and why it happened helps us deal with hidden emotional blocks that imprison us.”

Her pulse surged. “What memories?”

Nancy hesitated, then smiled warmly.

“Memories of your childhood.”

“My childhood?” She had no memories. How much did Nancy really know? “I… How?”

“Using a tool we call hypnotic therapy, which is a fancy way of saying we calm the mind enough to allow memories to surface. You’ll be entirely aware the whole time—it’s not like what you see on television. You can stop it any point you like. I will only help you relax and see into yourself.”

The appeal of knowing more about her childhood blossomed in her mind.

“Would you like to try?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would.”

—

THE EASE with which Nancy Wilkins methodically and gently led Christy away from her current concerns and into a place of deep peace felt at once strangely beautiful and surprising.

No swinging pendulum, no bright lights, no crystal balls.

She’d only asked Christy to enter a room with gentle music playing, then led her down a flight of steps that led to a door which opened to a beautiful garden, where they spent some time around a pool.

Then down another concrete staircase, even deeper under the ground into a magical place with doors. It was through those doors that Nancy asked her to see her childhood.

“Open the door, Alice. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

She put her hand on the round metal knob and turned it. The door slowly swung open on creaking hinges.

“Tell me what you see.”

“I… I can’t see anything.”

“Is it dark?”

“Yes.”

“Can you step inside for me?”

She hesitated. “It’s dark.”

“It’s okay, Alice. Nothing will hurt you. Just put one foot in front of the other and step inside. I’m right here behind you.”

Christy took a tentative step over the threshold. Then another, and another before stopping three feet in.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Can you see your feet?”

She looked. “Yes.”

“What does the floor look like?”

“It’s hard. Concrete or maybe cut stone.”

Nancy paused for a moment, then spoke again, tone light and low.

“Good. Now look around and tell me if you can see anything?”

Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Walls took shape.