Eyes in the Mirror (14 page)

I wondered, only for a moment, if I was Samara's angel. And my mother was her mother as an angel. I wanted it to be true because I wanted to tell Samara that her mother still cared about her, that she was still watching. But I didn't want to tell her that I had read her personal letter to her mom. I don't even know what made me do it. I didn't go through other people's personal things. That wasn't me.

As I read and reread the letter, getting choked up by the end every time, I realized that the real problem was that Samara had never had the chance to say good-bye to her mother. That was what she really needed to do. And that was what she so desperately wanted to do.

Broken Down

Samara

Before long, Tanya and I were spending weekends together. She would come over on Friday afternoons, and we'd watch movies. Tanya was a huge Audrey Hepburn fan, so we watched a lot of the classics.

Tanya was finishing up senior year, so she didn't have much to do besides show up to school once in a while. I probably should have been working harder. My teachers kept reminding us that junior year is extremely important for getting into college. But since this had all started, I just hadn't been able to focus on my schoolwork.

One weekend, Tanya went into the guest room and announced, “It's boring in here.”

“What?”

“Well, I've been sleeping in this room two or three nights a week for the last three weeks, and I think it's boring in here. It needs decoration. Doesn't look like me at all.”

“Maybe that's because it's not yours!” I said, laughing. “This is my dad's house. We can't just redecorate his guest room.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “Would he even notice? I mean, does your dad even live here anymore? I've met him twice now, and I've slept here, again, how many nights?”

I sighed. “He says he travels so he can save for me to go to a good college. Not like your parents are much better. Do they even know you're not coming home this weekend?”

“My dad does. He'll tell my mom,” she said, pausing for a moment to walk over to the wall and run her hands along it. “We could repaint.”

“No, we can't.” I laughed again.

“Fine. Then let's do your room.”'

I shook my head. “I like my room. Although…”

“Although?” she perked up.

“I was thinking about…” How could I phrase this without arousing suspicion? “Changing the closet around a little bit.”

“The closet? That's all you'll give me?” she asked. “You can just close the door on everything I do.”

“Well, we can cover the whole door, inside and out. You know, over the mirror and the whole rest of the door.”

“Cover up your mirror? But you're so pretty.” She stuck her lower lip out. “You don't want to see yourself anymore?”

“I would rather see your fancy decorations.”

“Okay. I'll do it,” she said.

“Awesome. Okay. Bedtime. But let's do my room tomorrow.”

“Fine. Good night,” she said, pulling her pajamas out of the top drawer. “My toothbrush is the…”

“Orange one,” I said, knowing that she already knew.

I woke up the next morning and went out to buy muffins. When I walked back in, Tanya was making coffee. “Honey, I'm hooome,” I called.

She turned around. “Massive headache. What were we drinking last night?”

“I was drinking Coke. What were you drinking?” I said, watching her sip at her coffee.

“Whatever was in the flask I swiped from my dad,” she said.

I took the muffins out of the bag and grabbed a plate from the cabinet, pushing the pizza box from the night before behind the trash can. “So, have you thought about what we can do with the closet door in my room?” I asked, attempting nonchalance.

“Yes, I have!” she said. “I think we should do a collage of posters. Audrey Hepburn, of course, and then Marilyn Monroe. Did you know she was like a size 12 or something? Come on,” she said, grabbing the coffeepot and the plate of muffins, “let's go eat outside.”

I guess Tanya had enough quirks that my wanting to cover up my mirror didn't really bother her. I pulled my coat on and followed her out onto the porch. It was still cold, even if it was warm for February.

We spent most of that Saturday wandering around trying to find enough posters to cover up my mirror. When we had enough, Tanya taped them all together and then taped them above the mirror as a sort of curtain on that side. She painted a small mural on the other side, a neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses all in a row. Like Dee's neighborhood. But not like her house. Not like Dee herself.

***

By the time my dad got back from his trip, I had covered all of the mirrors in the house except the one in his bedroom. For some reason, I guess I didn't think my dad would notice. He didn't notice much else lately. I was rinsing makeup off when he walked past the bathroom Monday night and popped his head in.

“Samara, what's going on here?” he asked, tugging at the light blue curtain I had put over the bathroom mirror.

“Hmm? Oh. I covered the mirrors,” I said, trying to sound light and cheerful and to walk away before he figured out how to respond.

“Why?” It was a logical question. But I couldn't come up with an answer fast enough.

“It doesn't matter to you. You're never here anyway. I left the one in your room. You can look in the mirror there.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but why are the rest of the mirrors covered?”

“My support group,” I blurted out before I was sure where the explanation was going. “They told me to focus on my inner self by not seeing my outer self.” My support group—Tanya—had helped me. And that
was
what they'd said in rehab. So it was kind of true.

His hand dropped and he said, “Oh. I guess that's a good idea then.”

***

I tried to focus on my schoolwork. A new semester was starting and I settled back into the mundane pretty well, but I had trouble keeping Dee and Jamie out of my mind. A few weekends later, I tried to explain my situation to Tanya without really telling her anything.

We were sitting in my living room, and she was painting my toenails bright green. She says that one of the awesome things about winter is that since you always have to wear shoes, you can paint your toenails any color you want. I almost hadn't let her. I was actually that embarrassed by how long it was since I'd shaved my legs. But it was winter, and, well, I had run out of razors a long time ago.

I had taken down the mirror hanging over the fireplace instead of covering it since that one seemed too conspicuous to cover. It was behind the piano facing backward. I looked over and saw it and felt a small shudder between my shoulders.

“There's something I wanted to tell you. I've been having kind of a hard time lately,” I began.

“I've noticed,” Tanya replied. “And lately? It's been what, three or four months now? And you've looked horrible since we covered your mirror. I mean, come on, have you even seen yourself? I've been waiting for you to bring it up because I felt bad, but what happened in the last few months?”

Four months, I thought. Four months since I had seen Dee. Since I had seen Jamie. Heard about the baby that they would be having together. Without me. But instead of saying all that, I said, “Yeah. See, I have this friend, and I got her into some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does matter.”

“Some trouble with a guy and her mother. Life trouble. Then I tried to fix it, but she seems like she doesn't even want my help anymore. I haven't seen her in months. And I can't talk to her now because she wouldn't listen even if I tried.”

“So you just gave up on her? You just gave up on your friend? Were you two close?” she asked.

“Yeah, we were, but I don't know, things just went downhill.”

“If things got tough with us, would you just give up on me?”

“No, of course not. It's totally different with you and me.” I looked down at my toenails. “Wanna do the same color on my hands?”

“Really?” she said, and I nodded. “Yeah, give me your hand.” I did. “Look, if my friends had just given up on me, where would I be now?”

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“Well, they're the ones who turned me in. I know I told you that it was after I crushed my finger, and it was, sort of. I started wearing gloves all the time, but I took them off one day and a couple of my friends saw my finger and took me to the hospital. They talked to our school shrink. They made me go to our support group. That's how we met.”

I looked down at her hands. She couldn't paint her nails because of the bruise, but I could see it was almost healed. She saw me staring and pulled her hand back. They
had
done the right thing.

“Can I take a guess at something?” she asked.

“Shoot.”

“Was this the friend that got you into our support group?”

“Well,” I thought for a second, “she's the one who turned me in to my dad. So I guess so. She's the one who sent me to rehab.”

“Forgive her.”

I looked over at the mirror that was turned around behind the piano. “She won't talk to me,” I said.

“Forgive her. She's responsible for us meeting. If our friends hadn't been watching out for us, we never would have met.”

“Fate?”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. “Other hand.” I gave her my other hand.

“But what if I think fate is telling me I shouldn't talk to her again? What if fate says to give up? What then? What if my decision is to give up a friend?”

“Then you wouldn't have had to ask me.”

Tanya didn't know the whole story, though, and I wondered what she would've said if she did know the truth.

***

When Dad was home the next weekend, he suggested we go shopping. Being gone so much, he said he was worried about what I was eating all the time. And I was running out of shampoo too, so I agreed.

We had some trouble making conversation in the car. He told me more about the new—well, not so new anymore—job. It sounded like he was happy. It was a good fit for him. I told him I was taking an art class for my elective.

“I design in it.”

“Like when you were little? With your mom?” he asked, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

I nodded. “I think I'm okay at it. I'm going to try actually making a dress at some point. Right now, it's just drawings.”

We pulled into the grocery-store parking lot. As we pushed the cart around the store, grabbing as much freezer food as possible, it started to feel more natural being together. Until we got to the aisle with home goods. I put the shampoo in the cart fine. But when I picked up razors, my dad shook his head. He took them and put them back on the shelf.

“Sam, do you really think that's a good idea?” I noticed he was looking down at my arms. I picked them up and reached them out to him.

“Nothing,” I said. “I told you I stopped.”

“Then, what's going on with the mirrors still? What happened to the one in the living room?” I had thrown it away after my talk with Tanya because I didn't want to be tempted. I just couldn't see Dee yet. “Do you really think you can handle having razors back again?”

“Dad, if I wanted to be cutting myself, I would. And if it makes me more comfortable, does it really matter what I did with the mirrors? Or why?”

“I'm trying to be supportive, Sam. I'm doing the best I can. I'm trying to understand.”

“Then understand that I want to shave my legs.” I said it louder than I intended, but he still looked skeptical. “Look,” I said, hearing my voice rise, “you're gone all the time. You leave money under the plates. Great. Thanks. If I wanted to buy razors to break and cut myself with, I would.”

I was crying. In the grocery store. “I just want to be normal,” I said, leaning back on one of the shelves and covering my face with my hands. “I want you to stop treating me like I'm some crazy kid. I want to shave my legs like a regular teenager. I want you to stop looking at my arms instead of at my face. This is why I didn't want to go to rehab. I knew it would be like this. I knew. I knew you would always see me like this, and I just want to be normal.”

“Okay. Okay, Sam. I'm sorry. Come here,” he said, and put his arms around me. Over his shoulder, I saw Eva backing out of the aisle, eyes wide.
Great, another thing she can think I'm a freak for
.

Everything wasn't fixed. He was still hardly around; he couldn't help it. He couldn't quit his job. But at least he let me buy razors and shave my legs. At least he looked at my face when we got home.

***

It was a sunny, beautiful day. The trees on my block were all budding, and it was just warm enough that a T-shirt without a jacket was fine. Tanya was sitting on my porch in a neon green shirt and a long brown skirt with big blue stripes. I was on my way home from school, and I was thinking about how there were only three more days until I was done with this year. Until summer, when I could do whatever I wanted and not have to worry. Tanya jumped up when she saw me.

“Guess what!”

“What?” I asked.

“I'm leaving. I'm going away.”

“For how long? Where?”

“Forever. And Tucson, Arizona.”

“Why Tucson?”

“I've read all about it,” she said, pacing up and down the stairs. “I'll get a job raising chickens. It's hot and dry, so it won't snow all winter. It's not here. The people who know me here aren't there, and the people there don't know me. I can be anyone. I can do whatever I want.”

“But you can't leave. I need you. You can be anyone you want here. You said never give up on a friend. I don't want you to leave.” I couldn't believe what she was saying. I felt myself getting worked up, getting scared.

“Why do you think I'm here? Come with me. We'll raise chickens, and one day we'll start our own farm. Imagine it. Leave all this behind. Forget rehab. Forget homework and parents who don't listen to anything we say, who aren't even around. Forget winter and muggy, horrible weather. Forget the support group. I just go to see you anyway.

“Forget it all. Come with me. We have the money between us. I'm eighteen so I'll sign whatever needs to be signed. We'll both close out our bank accounts and we'll go. Let's do it. Come on.”

“We can't just up and leave. What about our lives?” I asked, but I could already feel a jolt in the bottom of my stomach. Would it be possible? Could I leave crazy Samara behind?