There was a mirror in Enid’s
kitchen. The room was painted yellow, as yellow as a sunflower’s petals almost,
in slick enamel paint. The mirror was a long horizontal rectangle placed on the
wall beside the table. Enid had thought this would lighten the room because
there was no window on that wall. It would have been a dark little room without
the yellow paint and the mirror.
She was worried about her daughter, but she was looking into the mirror, checking her own appearance. Mirror, mirror on the wall…she almost said it aloud.
She ducked down to be able to see her face, then stood back up to view her torso. Marge would never have a waist like her own. It worried her, for the child’s sake of course, but there was also a little grin of triumph there, inside, where she didn’t have to see it.
Marge wrote her little paper for school alone in her room. She knew that the content of her writing wasn’t the point. It was all mechanics. Quite boring, in her opinion. Wasn’t it content that mattered?
Marge was thinking about what Ralph, the almost incomprehensible being that she had met earlier in the day, had said. She went over it all, word by word. The thing that kept coming up, while she wrote, was that maybe she should try their vanishing trick. Maybe trick was the wrong word, Marge thought. Maybe miracle would cover it better.
Marge was very well read, as we know, and she believed in miracles with all of her 13 year old heart. Why not? But she was shy about miracles too.
She counted “3, 2, 1,” and held her breath. She could still see her hands. One held a pen, the other lay on her desk palm down. Hm. She wondered if Twigg could see himself when he was invisible to others. If so, it was merely an illusion created in the observer’s experience. Maybe he was not absolutely invisible?
While Marge was exhaling the held breath, her mother, Enid stepped into her room to tell her that dinner was ready, and to come on.
“Now where is she!” Enid said. It was not a big house, but Enid took off to check the rooms anyhow.
The obvious complications of the situation occurred to Marge instantly. Should she reappear and try to push her way through the clash, or should she stay vanished for a while and show up in a logical manner?
She opted for the second. While Enid was searching in her own closet for some reason, Marge went outside. She counted, “1, 2, 3,” and puffed out a big breath. Then she stood outside in the cool moist evening air for a couple of minutes. Finally she came back in the house, and kind of let the door slam a little, for the noise.
She clumped into her own room, trying to attract her mother’s attention. It worked.
“Where were you? Dinner is ready,” said Enid, coming into Marge’s room again.
“I felt stuffy, so I went outside to breathe and cool off,” said Marge.
Sitting at table with her mother, having some baked chicken and salad, Marge was thinking about Ralph, Twigg and the rest. The experience was fading a little. She tried to keep the memory alive by rehearsing their conversation together. She recalled every word.
It seemed as if anything was possible.
She was worried about her daughter, but she was looking into the mirror, checking her own appearance. Mirror, mirror on the wall…she almost said it aloud.
She ducked down to be able to see her face, then stood back up to view her torso. Marge would never have a waist like her own. It worried her, for the child’s sake of course, but there was also a little grin of triumph there, inside, where she didn’t have to see it.
Marge wrote her little paper for school alone in her room. She knew that the content of her writing wasn’t the point. It was all mechanics. Quite boring, in her opinion. Wasn’t it content that mattered?
Marge was thinking about what Ralph, the almost incomprehensible being that she had met earlier in the day, had said. She went over it all, word by word. The thing that kept coming up, while she wrote, was that maybe she should try their vanishing trick. Maybe trick was the wrong word, Marge thought. Maybe miracle would cover it better.
Marge was very well read, as we know, and she believed in miracles with all of her 13 year old heart. Why not? But she was shy about miracles too.
She counted “3, 2, 1,” and held her breath. She could still see her hands. One held a pen, the other lay on her desk palm down. Hm. She wondered if Twigg could see himself when he was invisible to others. If so, it was merely an illusion created in the observer’s experience. Maybe he was not absolutely invisible?
While Marge was exhaling the held breath, her mother, Enid stepped into her room to tell her that dinner was ready, and to come on.
“Now where is she!” Enid said. It was not a big house, but Enid took off to check the rooms anyhow.
The obvious complications of the situation occurred to Marge instantly. Should she reappear and try to push her way through the clash, or should she stay vanished for a while and show up in a logical manner?
She opted for the second. While Enid was searching in her own closet for some reason, Marge went outside. She counted, “1, 2, 3,” and puffed out a big breath. Then she stood outside in the cool moist evening air for a couple of minutes. Finally she came back in the house, and kind of let the door slam a little, for the noise.
She clumped into her own room, trying to attract her mother’s attention. It worked.
“Where were you? Dinner is ready,” said Enid, coming into Marge’s room again.
“I felt stuffy, so I went outside to breathe and cool off,” said Marge.
Sitting at table with her mother, having some baked chicken and salad, Marge was thinking about Ralph, Twigg and the rest. The experience was fading a little. She tried to keep the memory alive by rehearsing their conversation together. She recalled every word.
It seemed as if anything was possible.
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