Elizabeth stared at herself in the mirror, a difficult
task considering there was no "her" for Elizabeth to stare at.
The mirror stood over the sink as it had every morning, covering the
swinging door of the medicine cabinet, dutifully reflecting the opposite
wall; the same wall Elizabeth was silently standing in front of.
She shifted slightly; perhaps she was standing at a bad
angle? But the change in position failed to call her image to the
silvery surface. It was disconcerting. She glanced down at herself, to
make sure she was still there. She seemed to be; her hands were clearly
visible on the edge of the sink, as was her nightgown with her feet
peeking under the hem – they were all there, still visible. She raised
her hands to her face, felt her eyes, nose, mouth, felt her hair. She
looked in the mirror again, fingers stroking her cheekbones; it failed
to produce any effect. Struck by a moment of inspiration, she stripped
the nightgown off and looked in the mirror for vindication. Nothing.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall
Who’s the fairest of them all?
Obviously, she thought wryly, I no longer qualify.
Perhaps the mirror was defective? She picked up the
nightgown, went back to the bedroom, and rummaged in her purse. She
found the compact easily and flipped it open. The empty room gazed back
at her.
Perhaps she was invisible?
She sat back on her heels, pondering this. What exactly
are you supposed to do when you wake up one morning and find yourself
without any reflection? Scream and cry? Call a doctor? Or do you simply
shrug it off as a temporary aberration, a 24-hour image-flu, and go
about your day as normal?
She tried to recall anything extraordinary happening
during the night. She didn’t think she had died; there was no corpse in the bed, and
her reflection had been safely in the bathroom mirror last night, so
while it was possible she had become a ghost, she didn’t think it
likely.
Weren’t vampires supposed to be without reflection?
Maybe she had been visited during the night. She instinctively started
to bring the compact back up to check for bites, remembered her
predicament, and felt along her neck instead. The skin felt smooth and
unbroken. She didn’t bother lecturing herself that vampires were only
fiction; she had awakened this morning without a reflection; all bets
were off.
This was ridiculous – she had to get to work. Unless…it
occurred to her that perhaps she was invisible; that she could
see herself but no one else could. Maybe when she got dressed and walked
outside, her clothes would appear to float by themselves, disembodied.
But in that case, shouldn’t she have seen the reflection of her
nightgown in the mirror? That was how it always happened in movies,
anyway.
Perhaps she should look into telecommuting.
Oh, this really is ridiculous, she thought again.
People just don’t wake up one morning and become invisible. Either I’m
tired or something is wrong with the mirrors in this place, but
whichever it is, it is time to go to work.
The lack of mirrors made grooming difficult; she had to
tie her hair back into a ponytail, instead of her usual fancy braiding,
and any thought of makeup was out. After a moment’s thought, she put
her lipstick in her purse – perhaps the office had better mirrors.
She left the apartment in her usual hurry, heels
clattering on the stairs. The front door opened as she reached it, and
her downstairs neighbor entered. She saw Elizabeth and smiled.
"Good morning, Liz."
"Good morning, Mrs. Donato." Elizabeth spoke
with relief; at least Mrs. Donato could see her. "Did Kenny get off
to school okay?"
"He made the bus on time, despite his best efforts.
You’d better hurry, too, if you want to make your bus."
Elizabeth smiled at her, wished her a good day, and went
down the street to her bus stop. The bus had just pulled up (she really
was running late today), and she got in line with the others, dropped
her money in the coin slot, and smiled at the driver, who nodded back at
her. She took a seat near the front, giddy with relief (I’m not
invisible kept running through her head) and then she glanced in the
rearview mirror. As far as it was concerned, her seat was empty. She
turned away and stared quietly out the window for the remainder of the
trip.
There was only one bad moment at work, when she walked
into the women’s restroom and found Sandra there, fixing her makeup in
front of the mirror. Elizabeth stood for a few moments, watching her,
then said hello. Sandra jumped.
"My God, you startled me – I didn’t see you.
How are you?"
Elizabeth studied the mirror; Sandra appeared to be
conversing with the coat-rack behind Elizabeth’s head. "I’m
fine, I think. Having kind of a strange day. You?"
Sandra waved a lipstick. "Couldn’t seem to get
organized this morning."
Elizabeth smiled dutifully, but Sandra had already
turned back to the mirror, fully absorbed in painting her lips. As she
was leaving, Elizabeth called out, "Have a nice day." Sandra
jumped again, then turned and waved. Elizabeth had the uneasy feeling
that when she wasn’t talking to her, Sandra forgot her completely.
Getting off the bus that night, Elizabeth turned left
instead of right and went into the neighborhood liquor store. Perhaps
the whole day had been nothing more than a bad dream, and when she woke
up the next morning, no time at all would have passed, nothing unusual
would have happened.
She finished most of the bottle that night, and awoke
the next morning, hung-over and without reflection.
She thought again about seeing a doctor that day, but
work was stressful and she didn’t have time to make an appointment.
The next day she simply forgot. After a week had passed in this fashion,
the loss of a reflection began to seem quite ordinary, one of those
things that could happen to anyone. In her more depressive moments, she
wondered if it had gotten tired of her, perhaps going off in search of a
more interesting person to reflect. But most of the time, she didn’t
think about it at all.
The weather gradually turned warmer, and Elizabeth went
through her closet one day, realizing as she did so that her clothes
were mostly autumn and winter and spring; her dislike of hot summer had
manifested itself in an apparent refusal to buy its clothing. She made a
date with herself to go shopping that weekend; turtlenecks and wool
pants would simply not do for ninety-degree weather.
She visited several shops that weekend, and it was days
later before she reflected on the curious coincidence. In each shop, she
found several pleasing dresses and skirts, but none in her size. She
would ask the sales clerk if those clothes came in her size, and the
clerk would wander off to get them but fail to return. Eventually
Elizabeth would get tired of waiting, and leave the dressing room in
search of the clerk – only to find her laughing and conversing easily
with colleagues. The clerk would always apologize, horribly embarrassed.
"I don’t know what happened, but it simply slipped my mind as
soon as I left you."
On the way back to the bus stop, Elizabeth was jostled
by people who then seemed surprised by her presence.
The incidents kept piling up. On Wednesday, after the
paychecks had been distributed to each office, she had to go to her boss
to track down hers.
"Rod said he looked in your office and didn’t see
you there."
"I was at my desk all morning. How could he have
missed me?"
Her boss shrugged; he liked to keep things peaceful, and
wasn’t about to help her pick a fight. "Well, anyway, here it
is."
On Thursday, a staff meeting for which she’d prepared
a presentation at a vice-president’s request concluded without his
giving her so much as a glance. She was rather grateful not to have to
deliver the presentation, but it was unlike him to forget something like
that. Later, reading his minutes of the meeting, she discovered he’d
omitted her entirely from the list of attendees.
On Friday, in line at the corner deli, she’d had to
bang the counter to get the worker’s attention, even as he was
standing there calling, "Anyone else for sandwiches?"
That evening, the bus nearly shut its doors on her, and
the walk back from the bus stop to her apartment was wearying.
She slept through the weekend.
She was three hours late for work on Monday. She had had
to literally drag herself out of bed, and the walk from the bus stop to
the office had felt endless. She was unsurprised to find that no one had
noticed her tardiness. No one, in fact, had noticed her at all.
At her desk, she went onto the Internet and searched
under "invisibility." She scrolled past websites specializing
in magic, past pages that lectured her on her self-esteem, to pages that
recounted people’s real-life problems with physical invisibility. From
these, though, she ultimately learned nothing. She found no accounts of
people who had lost their reflections, or who felt unusually tired…
She awoke with a start, and looked around her. There was
a mountain of paperwork to finish. The light on her phone was blinking
with urgency. Her email was about to crash from all the unanswered
messages.
It was all too much. No one would notice if she just got
up and left; no one had even noticed her arrival.
She left her purse on the floor beside her desk, left
her office with its lights on and computer humming, threaded through the
cubicles, and walked the three flights down to the lobby (she knew,
without having to try, that the elevator would not acknowledge any
button she might press).
Outside, the sky had grown dark; rain was pelting the
sidewalk. She stood inside the doors, waiting to see if the weather
would let up. After a few minutes, she went out anyway; the rain couldn’t
hurt her, as she had no destination in mind. Perhaps the storm would
help her shake off the lethargy.
The rain touched her and slid onto the sidewalk, leaving
no impression on her body. The sensation was comforting, light and soft,
and she felt instantly better. The wind, which from inside the lobby had
seemed to hurtle down the street, caressed her like a gentle cushion. It
was warm, accepting. She felt safe, like she could finally sleep. Safe
in the wind, safe in its blustery, intangible, invisible arms.
Leaves swirled around her feet and were drawn up and
spun into the heavens. Somehow she knew that she needed only to close
her eyes and lean back, close her eyes and let the wind come through
her. She leaned back and exhaled a gentle sigh, and as she did so, the
wind picked her up and carried her off, nothing more than a gentle
whisper in the breeze.
Rachel Rushefsky lives and works in New York City.
Magazine