4REFLECTIONS
Tatjana's Journal
June 7, 2007
I've told them I'm not crazy, and I know they used to believe me. I was getting better, I know I was. They knew it too. But now, they're treating me like I'll fly off the handle at any moment. They say they believe me, but I know they're just indulging me – they think I'm insane, whether they say it or not. They think that my worry and pleas are just the ravings of a madperson; They've probably heard a lot of people say things like this before, so they've learned to ignore it and just nod and pretend to listen. But they have to understand, I'm not lying, I'm not out of my mind … They have to understand!
I've asked them several times tonight – can one of their security guards stand outside my door? They always say that yes, of course, they'll put one there right away. But I just looked out through the crack between door and floor in my room, and nothing blocks the light. They have no one outside my door. They agree with me just to keep me calm, keep me out of their hair.
But I also know that it won't help. It isn't like Death from the 'Discworld' books is going to come in here and get me. Other things can happen – I think I want the guard only for my own peace of mind. But no one else believes me, and there is no guard.
I'm lying down on my bed, exhausted (and why is that? Apart from the image in the mirror tonight, there has been no excitement). I think I'm about ready to fall asleep, but I try not to let myself. I lie back on my bed anyway, and I stare despondently at the ceiling, and the only thing my mind will dwell on is the image in the mirror tonight.
Tatjana's Journal
May 8, 2007
My Aunt and Uncle's house isn't as big as my parents' house, but it's still big enough for the three of us. It's a two-story house if you don't include the attic, where nobody goes anyway. My aunt and uncle live in the basement. They've told me that I can sleep on the top floor. Would it be first or second? They called it second, and I guess that'd be right if you counted the basement as floor one.
Everyone keeps asking me how I feel. From last night to this morning, I said "I feel fine, thanks." Then somehow it changed from morning to afternoon – it became a slightly irritated-sounding "I feel just fine. … Thanks."
Now, it's an extremely angry "I feel fine!" But can you blame me? I hate people asking me that, and repeating it, and repeating it – I've told them I feel fine, they should take my word for it.
Oh, sure, maybe the more perceptive ones can tell I don't feel fine. But if I really wanted them to know, I'd tell them. Don't people get the hint – the words "I feel fine," when spoken by someone who clearly does not feel fine, translate as "leave me alone and stop asking."
Of course, the world at large was never good at taking hints.
The odd thing is that I keep wanting to go downstairs and find Mom and ask her what I should do about this, about all the people who keep asking me if I'm okay.
This morning, my aunt came in and said, "Morning, Jana. Are you all right?" Two things about that sentence truly irked me. The first was my aunt's pronunciation of my nickname. My aunt is the kind of person who pronounces things just the way they're spelled. She pronounces my name "Jana" when, in truth, it should be "Yana." A lot of people do the same thing, but her doing it just makes me mad: she's known me for half my life and she still cannot bring herself to pronounce it right. God.
The other thing that made me mad was the "Are you all right" tacked on last, because she's known me forever and should be smart enough to know not to ask it of me. She should know I'd lie, so then what's the point?
I sat up, grumbled, and replied: "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be down in a sec or two." This served to get rid of her, at least.
I got up, dressed and started heading downstairs with the thought that I could ask Mom or Dad what to do about all the people asking if I was okay. It was only when I got halfway down the stairs that I realized – there wouldn't be anyone but Aunt Deb and Uncle Daren down there. And they, of course, couldn't help me at all.
This was partly because Aunt Deb just can't comfort anybody to save her life, and Uncle Daren was too distraught still over his brother's death. His brother – my dad – and my mom had died just yesterday (I couldn't help but think "Yesterday? Was it that recently?" every time I thought about it) in an accident with a drunk driver while heading for the grocery store. And, being the emotional sort and also having been very close to my Dad, Uncle Daren was being very closed off and keeping to himself. He still is.
I was really unhappy all through breakfast today. I guess the whole fact that I couldn't go to Mom and Dad for advice – for anything – anymore hadn't really sunk in. This morning was when it finally started making itself known. I left breakfast as fast as I could and headed up to my room. I didn't really know what to do – it was Sunday and the school week wouldn't start until tomorrow – so I just sat on my bed and stared around my new room.
I think at one point I thought, I don't want to live here very much. And I don't. Aunt Deb and Uncle Daren's house is on the very outskirts of the city where there are barely any people and nothing to do. Besides that, it's really stuffy and just … just not my house. My house is in the heart of the city where there's a whole bunch of traffic going by all the time. My house is bigger than this one – three floors instead of two – and my house is always teeming with pets. We had birds, cats, dogs, and lizards and fish, among others. My parents were big animal rescue-type people, so we always had some stray or other around the house. This house – it's small, empty and too quiet. I don't like it.
And besides that, I don't really like my aunt and uncle either. I grew up all my life around two people with quick wits and ready senses of humor. Aunt Deb and Uncle Daren … Well, they're older than my parents, for one thing, and a lot more reserved. I just don't really feel comfortable around them. Or around this place – nothing around here is the same.
… My reflection isn't even the same. I just got up and checked the mirror – just to see something familiar – and even that isn't the same! I mean sure, some mirrors show reflections weird, but this was just odd. I think I'm tired and just seeing things. See, there's this clerk at the 7-11 near my old house that we used to see a lot when we went in on Sundays to get snacks before church. He always works the Sunday shift except when someone else calls in sick. He's really short – almost my size, even though he's just graduated high school, and has a sense of humor just like my family does. … Did.
Well, all of us liked him a lot.
And I could have sworn I saw his reflection in the mirror. And … You know, the very first thing that sprang to my mind when I saw that wasn't "Wow, why is his reflection in my mirror?" it was a resentful, "I bet anything that his life is still perfectly fine and normal even though mine is inside-out and backwards."
See? I must be really tired. It's 8:30 at night… I usually go to bed later than this, but I think I probably need the sleep. I bet I won't even like the beds here as well as I did at my old house.
I'm going to go to bed before I think of something that really makes me start crying. Aunt Deb'll be coming soon and that's the last thing I want her to see.
-Jana
"Aunt Deb – it's Monday! I've got school today!"
"No, you don't. You'll go back to school next week. You're staying home this week. No buts!" This last was added when I opened my mouth, preparing a response. "You're staying home this week. You need rest." Again, I opened my mouth. "No buts!" Repeated Aunt Deb forcefully, shoving me toward the stairs. "you need your rest. I'm sure your tired. Go up and get some sleep, and when you come down we can go out to get a snack."
What happened to staying home for the week? I couldn't help but wonder as I traipsed back up to my room. All I wanted to do was go back to school – return to my normal life. Just lying around forced me to think about things. I'd rather throw myself back into my homework and schoolwork and the normal life I'd lived right up until late on May 7 – two days ago. Nevertheless, I went up to my room and, despite grumbling to myself that I wasn't tired, fell asleep for a while. When I went to sleep, it was 9:45 A.M. When I woke, it was nearly 12:00. Surely that would satisfy my overprotective aunt.
I got up, redressed and headed downstairs to find Aunt Deb and Uncle Daren sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee. They looked up when they heard me enter and Aunt Deb gave me this furtive look that wanted to make sure I wasn't going to burst into tears or anything. I didn't.
"You said we could go out to eat," I commented, taking a seat at the table and pretending that now they weren't both giving me the 'it's okay, you can cry' look. "Can we still do that?"
"Where would you like to go?" She asked me, almost too brightly. There were several not so nice things I could have said, but I chose a normal option, just to keep the awkwardness out of the moment.
"School."
"Well … I said next week you'd go back to school. I meant where did you want to eat?"
I shrugged noncommittally. "What places are close?"
"There's the fast food places nearby … But if you just want a snack, there's that 7-11 over …" She trailed off and I filled in for her.
"Over near my house?" Of all the options, that sounded the best. I don't know why – I just wanted a snack. At that moment, fast food didn't appeal. "Yeah, that sounds good. Can we go there?" Normally I would have been more polite about it, but today I was tired and grouchy and, as far as I was concerned, being polite could take a long, scenic hike.
Aunt Deb nodded and sent me upstairs to put shoes on and get a jacket. Then we headed for their car.
Their car was a little green VW Bug that was about the ugliest thing I've ever laid eyes on. What can I say? I hate green. But it got us where we needed to go, so I tried to forget about how awful its color was. The drive took us something like fifteen minutes … Or maybe it just seemed that long because my aunt kept trying to strike up conversation. She just didn't get the hint that yes, the weather outside was nice and warm, but I really didn't want to talk about it. It was a relief when we got there and Aunt Deb dropped the conversation.
Like practically every other 7-11 I've been in, this one had a little doorbell that rang somewhere in the back of the store when we opened the door. The classic 7-11 smell came with it – one I can't really describe, but which you will undoubtedly find in every 7-11, Kum and Go, or Shell Station you ever wish to visit.
What surprised me was who was working behind the counter. It was the clerk, the one that usually works on Sundays. My mind raced and came up with his name after a moment of searching: Jay. He was leaning on the counter and looking bored out of his skull, but he gave me a smile when we passed through the doors. Aunt Deb looked at him like he had just done something society deemed "gross." What that thing may have been, I don't know.
Jay knew me quite well; My family and I used to come into the 7-11 more-or-less every Sunday. Besides, my older cousin, who often visited us, knew him – they had both graduated high school the year before. Jay and I weren't what you might call good friends, but we were at least casual ones.
Doubtless he had heard about my parents, but Jay, mercifully, did not ask me how I felt. He's cool like that. And, might I add, tactful.
When we reached the counter, he greeted me with a "Hi, Jana!" He was much more reserved with my aunt and uncle, and his greeting was much more formal. They gave him smiles, although Aunt Deb seemed to think that not immediately asking if I was all right was some kind of horrendous breech of conduct.
"What are you having, then?" he wanted to know. He always asked us this, and it had become something of a habit. I considered.
"Tic-tacs, I think," I replied finally. "And … a bottled Dr. Pepper."
"Nothing else?" Aunt Deb cut in sharply. "That's hardly even a snack!"
"You said I could pick. Well, I picked." I don't remember her ever actually saying this, but she had implied it. I saw Uncle Daren elbow her none too discretely, and she shut up.
The tic-tacs were all the way at the other end of the store, and so I wasn't at the counter when I heard the doorbell chime. I didn't think much of it – customers came in and out all the time – but then Aunt Deb and Uncle Daren came pelting down the isles toward me like there was a fire on their heels. Aunt Deb skidded to a halt beside me and motioned at the back door. I tried to glance back behind me, but I couldn't see anything but shelves. Aunt Deb's face, when I glanced her way, looked like there really was fire at her heels.
"What?" Was all I could manage to get out before she started towing me out.
Uncle Daren was the one who explained, being much calmer than his wife. He withheld the information till we were out of the 7-11, though.
I like Uncle Daren a lot. While Aunt Deb tends to treat me like a child (which, at fourteen, I suppose I am), Uncle Daren takes my maturity into account. Things Aunt Deb thinks would upset me seem different to him. He treats me like an adult who can stand adversity.
Which was why it was he, and not Aunt Deb, who told me what was going on. "A couple of guys came in the front door," he explained. "That clerk seemed to know them, because he told them to get out of the store, and they both pulled guns on him." My stomach seemed to drop out through my feet. A heroic, lunatic version of myself appeared inside my head, also standing outside the 7-11. The hero-Jana burst in through the front door and stalked up to the counter just as one of the guys was getting ready to fire. Hero-Jana grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard on the tendons there, making his hand open and release the gun. Still holding the one man's wrist, she did the same to the other. Behind the counter, Jay dialed 911.
The real, sane, logical me didn't even think about doing such a crazy thing. I wondered if my stomach, which had dropped through my toes, had followed Hero-Jana into the store to try and save Jay all on its own.
I dragged both my aunt and uncle back around to the front of the store; Uncle Daren had the cell pressed up to his ear, dialing 911. Part of me still wanted to run in there and make sure everything was okay – Jay was a friend, after all – but logic and the instinct for self-preservation in me won over.
We emerged from around the last corner just in time to hear a gunshot that, despite the closed door, was unexpectedly loud. Aunt Deb let out a little muffled screech. So did I, before I could stop myself. This time, in my mind, Hero-Jana was replaced by all the bad images my mind could conjure up in response to the shot.
The door burst open and the two guys Aunt Deb and Uncle Daren must have seen came pelting out like bullets from a gun. Amazing comparison, I thought wryly as Aunt Deb cowered around the corner. I'm sure those guys saw us, but I guess they were worried someone had already called the police on them and all they wanted to do was hit the road. They did so, in a screech of skidding tires, and were gone.
Hero-Jana stormed into the building again. Logical Jana didn't even want to think about what had just happened. I tried not to think about it at all, but it was useless. First my parents, then this … What was happening to my life?!
The police didn't let us come in, but I didn't let Aunt Deb drag me home either. They carried him out on a stretcher a little later, and formerly strong, brave Hero-Jana suffered a mysterious and fatal overdose of horror inside my mind. It was then that I finally let my aunt and uncle drag me back home again.
Tatjana's Journal
May 9, 2007
You know what's truly sad? Well … Sure, I cried for my parents, but it took a while. I was just kind of closed off, just like nothing mattered. But this afternoon when I got home from the 7-11, I couldn't help but start crying. What's wrong with me that when my parents die, I close myself off, and when a friend dies, I start to cry? How is that right? How does that make sense? It doesn't make sense – not at all! It just isn't right.
But that's what happened. I lost my appetite. I'm still not hungry, actually. I have a bad feeling, somehow though – like something I should remember, but that I've forgotten about since yesterday. That doesn't make sense either, and it doesn't help me any right now. Now I think I'm glad Aunt Deb didn't send me to school and isn't going to send me to school for the rest of this week.
But isn't that just screwy, too? I wanted to go to school when my parents died, and now I just don't. I just want to go to sleep again and sleep for a long, long time. Someone tell me that makes rational sense. Someone explain that to me, and then maybe I'll believe it.
But … I just can't believe that happened. It was so sudden … I mean, I was just browsing for which kind of tic-tacs I wanted, and then suddenly one of my friends is being carried out on a stretcher and the guys who shot him are speeding away in a big truck. How do normal days go so wrong like that?
And on Saturday, too … One minute I'm watching TV at home, the next I'm at the hospital being told both my parents have died. How do normal days just spiral down into Hades like that, so fast? It just doesn't make sense.
I can hear footsteps on the stairs. I bet it's aunt Deb. I'd better go before she gets in here … She wants me in bed, so I'd better be there before she gets in here.
-Jana
I rose from where I'd been sitting on my bed and dropped my journal on the comforter. I glanced around for my toothbrush and toothpaste, remembered that I'd left them in the bathroom, and headed that way at a snails-pace walk. I still felt like I wanted to cry (and it still didn't make any sense!), but I tried to ignore the burning at the back of my eyes as I left my room.
I closed the bathroom door just as Aunt Deb came into my room. "Tatjana?" she called.
"here," I replied, not even finding the energy to get mad at her pronunciation of my name – she said it "Tot-jana" instead of "Tot-yana" as she should. She cracked open the door and saw me brushing my teeth.
"Do you want me to wait for you to come out?"
"No," I muttered through a mouthful of bristles and paste. "I'll be fine. Thanks though." She nodded and closed the door, but her footsteps didn't leave the room. I decided I'd brush as slowly as I could, just to make her wait for me.
I did this, taking at least three minutes to brush my top teeth. About the time that I wondered whether they'd start flaking because of how much I'd brushed them, I heard Aunt Deb sigh and turn to leave.
I finished brushing at a normal pace, and about the time I'd finished, I glanced up briefly into the mirror above the sink. It happened so suddenly that I didn't quite register it until a few seconds later: as soon as I glanced into the mirror, I found my eyes captivated, and not even by my own reflection. I tried to tear my gaze away but it seemed locked there, like it was magnetized. An image began to form slowly; first it was distorted and fuzzy, then it began to sharpen. What the -? I thought incredulously. Mirrors don't do that! They just don't!
The toothbrush had stilled in my hand as the image finally came into clear focus, almost seeming to leap out of the mirror at me. I spit out the toothpaste and dropped the brush on the side of the sink, leaning in close to examine the mirror despite myself.
The image shoed a short, slightly overweight girl I knew from somewhere … But where was it? I studied the image intently. Dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin …
Lina, that's who it is! I finally recalled the girl's name after several moments of pondering. Lina went to my school – she was a grade above me, a ninth-grader. I wasn't good friends with her, but I knew her.
She was the reason I was late for class yesterday, my mind whispered. She caught me in the hall and just would not stop talking! Why that mattered, especially now, I didn't know.
I pulled my runaway mind back on track. Lina looked nothing like me. So why was the mirror showing her rather than me? How was that possible?
Suddenly, the whole world seemed a lot scarier. My stomach clenched with sudden fear and I whirled around, searching the bathroom from top to bottom. How could the mirror be reflecting someone who didn't look at all like me? How was this possible?
No one was in the bathroom with me – and why should anyone have been? But irrational fear gripped me – maybe something was hiding under the sink, my subconscious whispered. I grabbed the door handle and wrenched the door open, abandoning the toothbrush where it lay and fleeing the bathroom as hastily as possible. I slammed the door behind me.
I tucked myself into bed still pondering that question. When I went to sleep, I dreamed about my parents, then about Jay, then about the bathroom mirror and the strange, impossible reflection it had shown me.
I woke up the next morning feeling like I hadn't slept at all.