Girl In The Mirror (Looking Glass Book 1)

by Elizabeth Reyes

  I shook my head because, as much as I wanted to say I did remember something, I didn’t. It was just that strangeness I couldn’t quite explain. I supposed it was just a nuance of reminiscence. Mama did confirm I’d been here. This was my hometown. Even if my brain didn’t remember, maybe my heart did. The one thing I was grateful for was that going by all my photos, home videos, and everything Mama had told me, I’d lived a very happy life.

  Mama had done a good job of raising my sister and me on her own. So much happiness and laughter were visible in all our photos and videos. So much so it only made me sadder not to remember Madeline. Though my consolation was that, in a way, I got to see her still every time I looked in the mirror because we were indistinguishable: same blond hair we obviously got from our mama, same light blue eyes, and same smile. We even had the same laugh and voice. It was the eeriest thing to listen to in those videos. We were so identical that, if it weren’t for the obvious difference in our demeanor, I’d still get confused in photos as to who was who. I think Mama even had a hard time telling us apart. I’d seen her stare at the photos sometimes when I asked which one was me. It’d take her a minute sometimes to point out who was who. And she openly agreed that though the personalities were a dead giveaway she’d been had a few times.

  “You two brats managed to trick me a few times,” she’d confirmed with a good-natured laugh when I’d asked if we ever had. “But it never lasted long. The differences in your personalities were just too telling.”

  She said she was sure it was always Madeline’s doing, but there’d been a few times where, clearly, I’d been coached by my mischievous sister to act like her while she played the quiet one.

  “Let’s get popcorn,” Mama said, walking over to get in the concession line, even as I stayed behind studying the walls.

  The stuff on them was your standard movie stuff—framed movie posters. Only they were all old movies, so it added to the already nostalgic theater, giving it a more vintage appearance.

  My eyes moved around, taking everything in slowly, and that was the first time it happened. My eyes zeroed in on the photo booth in the corner of the lobby, and it felt like a trigger went off in my head.

  Poof!

  Like one of those old-time camera flashes I’d only ever seen in movies, a flash went off in my head. Only it was nothing more than the image of that very photo booth. I felt what I imagined asthmatic people must feel when they’re having an attack. Except I’d never been asthmatic and I’d never felt this instantly breathless, at least not in the two years of life memories I did have. Unlike all the other times when my breath had caught out of shock, like when I realized I didn’t know who I was and when I was told about my dead twin, I felt something else. Despite the pounding it was doing, my heart swelled, and my insides went wild. A swarm of butterflies danced in my belly.

  I turned to the concession stand, feeling a euphoric-like panic I’d never felt before, but Mama was too busy talking to the boy working behind the counter. Sucking in chunks of air, I tried desperately to remain calm because this still didn’t mean anything. If anything, this had to be the strongest symptom from the trauma I’d experienced to date.

  “Mama,” I said when she finally finished paying the boy for our popcorn and drinks.

  “Well, get on over here, Maggie, and help me with this.”

  I rushed over, took my drink in one hand, and grabbed Mama’s arm with the other. She held her popcorn in one hand and her drink in the other. “What in the world?” she asked as I pulled her along toward the photo booth.

  “Tell me about it,” I said, almost afraid to look inside it. “This photo booth. Did Madeline and I ever take pictures in it?”

  Mama took in the booth then turned back to me with a puzzled expression. “I don’t know. Why?” She scrutinized me from top to bottom since I could barely stand still then peered at me as the excitement in her eyes grew. “Do you remember something?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” I said finally, moving the curtain aside and peeking inside.

  It happened again the moment I saw the small stool inside and the writing etched on the walls. The light flashed in my head again. I read some of the writing on the wall, but nothing I recognized, only the visual of the writing kept flashing in my head. It made me dizzy, and I sat down, bringing my hand to my head.

  “Maggie?” Mama asked full of concern as she peeked her head through the curtain. “Maggie, are you alright?”

  “I am,” I said as the visual in my head finally stopped flashing.

  “What is it?” Her eyes were immediately on the hand I held against my forehead. “Your head? Are you dizzy?”

  “A little. But I’m fine now.”

  Initially, I had many follow-up visits back to the hospital. Then they narrowed them down to once every few months, until the doctor okayed me for once a year. It had been almost that long since I’d been back, but the look on Mama’s face told me we’d be back real soon.

  The rest of our day at the theater and in town had been uneventful, but I’d never forget what that photo booth had done to me, even though I didn’t understand it. As expected, Mama insisted I make an appointment to see Dr. Esh. I did, and it turned out everything was still fine.

  After explaining to him exactly what had happened, he reminded me of what a traumatic injury I’d sustained and the inevitable symptoms I was to expect. “The brain is very delicate even under normal circumstances. But after the injury you’ve had, it’s susceptible to react faster even to things like anxiety or excitement. In your case, sounds like it was a mix of both.”

  When asked if it was possible that my brain was trying to remember something and told him about the flashing visuals, he wasn’t too promising. He said it was possible but he was more inclined to think it was just a reaction to my anxiety. Then he warned me if it ever happened again that I should try to breathe deeply and stay calm—maybe even sit down until it passed, in case I got too dizzy.

  I hated that it always felt like he was doing his best not to get my hopes up about ever regaining my memory. Mama steered on the cautious side as well. The whole ride from the theater the day of my first trigger, she all but insisted it was nothing more than a dizzy spell or just another symptom like the ones I’d been warned about—one we’d be exploring just as soon as I made an appointment with Dr. Esh. I knew she just worried about me getting my hopes up for nothing and then being terribly disappointed as I’d often gotten in the past. I didn’t tell her then, but the day we left Dr. Esh’s office, I decided I wouldn’t be sharing any more of my flashes or triggers or even dizzy spells again, at least not until I remembered something solid. I just needed to hold on to that tiny flicker of hope.

  One thing I did do was scour through the photo albums and boxes full of photos that had never made it into albums, trying to find any that might’ve been taken in a photo booth. The first couple of times I found nothing. Mama didn’t even have to ask when she saw me searching through it the second time. “Find any pictures taken in a photo booth yet?”

  “None.” I’d huffed but didn’t bother looking up at her.

  I knew she still didn’t think it was any kind of memory trying to resurface to my consciousness, but I refused to give up hope. Then the third time I searched, there it was, in an envelope at the very bottom of in one of the boxes--three photos on one strip of the three of us: Shelby, Madeline, and me. We all had suckers in our mouths in one, made silly faces in the second, and then had what appeared to be sexy sensual expressions in the last. Though we mostly looked constipated. It made me giggle, but curiously, I felt nothing else. No flashes. No poof. Nothing. It was disheartening to say the least.

  The absence of even one memory made it hard for me to continue hoping I’d remember someday, but I still hoped. That incident with the photo booth had renewed my hope but also my growing depression, and I started my therapy again.

  Chapter 4

  As the months turned into more years, Mama made sure
we kept the memory of Madeline alive. Photos of the two or three of us were all over our small house. Every so often, we’d go to the storage unit where mom had stored a lot of our things that didn’t fit in the small home she’d bought. We were there once because she was looking for a George Foreman grill she swore she’d bought years ago and couldn’t find anywhere in the house.

  As she was at home, Mama was so meticulous about how she’d packed everything. She always warned me not to go through anything without asking her first. She had everything in order and didn’t want me mixing boxes up. For the most part, I complied with her request. but every now and again I’d come across stuff that wasn’t in a storage bin, something just leaning against the wall or other bins. The day we were in there and Mama was looking for her grill, it happened again.

  I’d seen enough of my old paintings to recognize the style and indisputable signature M. Hellman on the corners of them to know these were mine. There were several leaned against one of the walls just behind a bin. I began flipping through them.

  My heart nearly stopped when I saw it. It was a painting of a young couple standing on a bridge that overlooked the river. They were somewhat silhouetted, so I couldn’t make out their faces. But the only clear things about their descriptions were that she had long blond hair and his was dark. The painting flashed in my head several times. I felt the mixture of deep aching and euphoria in my heart again like the day at the theater with the photo booth. At the same time, my stomach fluttered with utter delight, and I felt breathless.

  “Mom,” I said, surprised to hear my voice break. “Mama,” I called to her again as I pulled the painting up from behind the others. “Who are they?”

  Mama immediately rushed over to me. “Let me see,” she said, sounding almost as breathless as I felt. She shook her head, staring at the painting. “It was a project you worked on at the community college one summer. You said all the students chose from random photos the professor brought in, and were asked to paint them.”

  My eyes took in every detail of it. Why did my heart ache the way it did? There had to be a reason.

  “Oh, baby, you’re getting worked up again. Maybe you should sit down.”

  She tried to take the painting from me as she moved a tote over, but I pulled the painting back.

  “No,” I said, refusing to let go of it. “Did I ever say anything else about it? Was there a story behind it? Mama, there’s gotta be something. My heart,” I said, turning to her, and as expected, she looked beyond concerned. “I can’t describe it, but it hurts.”

  I felt my face crumble, and Mama wrapped her arms around me tightly. “Oh, honey, I don’t know. Maybe there was a story behind it. But I don’t know anything about it.”

  After crying for a few minutes and having no clue why, I pulled away. “I wanna take it home.”

  Mama stared into my eyes with this unsure look in hers. “Maggie, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

  “Why not?” I asked, feeling completely defensive, and already I knew, short of her prying it out of my hands, I wasn’t leaving it there. I held it against my chest defiantly. “I want it, Mama.”

  “Okay,” she finally whispered with a sympathetic smile and soothed my hair gently with her hand. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

  I hung it in my room, and something about waking and falling to sleep looking at it made me happy. I just wished I knew why? I studied it every chance I got and wondered why my insides warmed every time. Why I felt something so profound deep just staring at it. But nothing came of it. I just refused to let it depress me. Instead, I was determined that this was a good thing and eventually I’d figure it out. Even if the weeks and months passed and nothing ever did come to me, I refused to give up.

  Every year we celebrated the anniversary of Madeline’s passing by accomplishing something new in our lives. Mama said it should be a celebration of having been given another chance at life. So, we should make the most of it and really live. Mama was happy the year I enrolled in a kick-boxing class. Though she wasn’t crazy about the year I went sky diving and the other year when I decided to go bungee jumping. So, the following year, I decided to appease her and did something far less dangerous. I took a very safe art class instead.

  Two things happened around the sixth anniversary of Madeline’s death that brought me a new perspective on life: another brush with death and a new beginning. The brush with death wasn’t nearly as dramatic or horrific as my first one, but it was scary enough to help me appreciate my present and bright future so that I could stop obsessing so much about my lost past.

  It turned out to be nothing more than a cancer scare that was all for naught. After further testing, I came out clear and Mama and I sighed with relief. But it was enough to have me appreciating the second chance in life I’d been given. Enough to remind me my past wasn’t nearly as important as my future.

  The week we got the results, we celebrated by going out for razzleberry pie to Blackbirds cafe, where we always went every year for the anniversary of Madeline’s death. I didn’t even know it at the time, but it was where I met my new beginning. It happened just as we left Blackbirds. An older woman walked in just as we were walking out. The younger guy with her held the door open to let us out first. Our eyes met for a moment when I thanked him; then we both did a double take. “I know you,” he said as his smile widened.

  This was one of the things I dreaded most, meeting someone from way back who I’d have to explain to about why I didn’t remember him—at all. Only my heart thudded with excitement because he looked familiar, until he pointed out from where he remembered me.

  “You took care of my buddy in the ER a few months ago.”

  I almost frowned because, for a moment there, I thought I actually remembered something from before the accident. It took me a second, but then it came to me.

  “Oh, yeah, I remember now. Your friend fell off a ladder?” I winced because I remembered how much pain his friend had been in. “Broken rib, right?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed, and it reminded me of that night because this guy had been laughing at his poor friend. “That’d be the one.”

  “How’s he doing?” I asked, trying to keep my eyes on his face and off the big muscled arm that still held the door open.

  “Better,” he said, turning to the lady who was still waiting for him. “Mom, go grab a table. I’ll be right in.”

  I saw Mama sneak in a top-to-bottom take on him when he wasn’t looking; then she winked at me. “I gotta make a phone call, honey. I’ll be in the car.”

  “Yeah, he’s better,” the guy said, turning to watch my mom walk away. He let the door close, and we stepped off to the side so we wouldn’t be blocking the entrance. “I’m Ryan, by the way. You’re Maggie, right?”

  His remembering my name made my face flush. But I was glad I didn’t have to ask him for his name now. “Yes, I’m Maggie.”

  I glanced over at Mama making kissy faces at me from the car and felt my face get hot. Trying not to laugh because she looked so stupid, I turned back to Ryan. “Well, I’m glad your friend is better,” I said, determined not to look back at my mother again.

  Ryan chuckled, making me breathe in deep. I remembered thinking he was attractive when I’d first laid eyes on him in the ER, but I dared not gawk at him when I was supposed to be tending to his friend. Now that I could stare at him a little longer, he was definitely hot: tall, dark hair, well-built, and a very sexy smile. “I call that guy Captain Klutz, so don’t be surprised if you see him in there again soon.”

  “He can’t be too bad,” I said, still doing my best not to look in Mama’s direction. “I’ve been working in the ER off and on for years, and that was the only time I’ve seen him in there.”

  “You’re an RN, right?”

  Once again, it surprised me that he’d remember there were students, LVN’s, and RN’s working in the ER. Obviously, he’d been paying attention, but that was months ago. He still remembered?

&n
bsp; “I am,” I said, confirming with a smile.

  “You look too young to have been working there for years. You married, Maggie?”

  He slipped that last question in so quick and dirty it caught me by surprise. I was tempted to glance away from his curious eyes, but I dared not chance catching a glimpse of Mama making stupid faces again. “No, I’m not,” I said, gulping as casually as possible.

  “Me neither,” he said, indulging me with yet another sexy smile. “Have a boyfriend?”

  I brushed a strand away from my face in an attempt to appear less unnerved by his line of questioning. “No, I don’t.”

  “Excellent,” he said, smiling even bigger as his eyes dropped to my lips for a second, unnerving me to no end; then they were back to searching mine. “Can I get your number? I don’t wanna keep my mom waiting, but I’d love to chat some more with you. Maybe get together sometime?”

  He pulled out his phone, and I rattled off my number without giving it much thought. Within seconds, I had a text from him, and I clicked on it, feeling my face go hot when I read it.

  I’ll talk to you later, beautiful.

  I smiled, glancing up at him as my insides danced wildly. In all the years since the accident, I’d dated a few guys here and there, but something always kept me from feeling what I was feeling at that moment. I just couldn’t put my finger on it, but it felt like something was missing. Mama always said I just hadn’t met the one and that I should just be patient.

  When I got in the car, Mama turned it on, but she already wore a big grin even before I got in. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” I asked, putting on my seatbelt and biting my lower lip.

  “He’s cute and tall,” she said, pulling out of the parking space.

  “He is,” I agreed, feeling excited for the first time in . . . wow, since I could remember.

  The only times I’d felt this kind of giddiness were when I graduated from nursing school, got my first nursing job, and when I’d perfect something about my art. It also happened when I had some of my triggers. But those mostly confused me, so while there was some excitement, it was also frustrating not to know what they meant.