by Estevan Vega
That’s right—she loves it. Isn’t the least bit frightened. Me? I need a heart pro, the best Mayo’s got. I go through about twenty-nine blackouts and fainting spells and if I’d had a lunch to lose you could have looked forever with a crew of four thousand and never found it, even if you had search dogs and metal detectors, I would have lost it so good. All I got was the feeling without the relief. I would have loved to have tossed my cookies all over you-know-who.
She ended up riding it again. And again. She rode the darn thing sixteen times, setting what I think is the state record. So much for Plan A.
I didn’t have a Plan B.
Unless...
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GRAVITY HILL.
That was it!
It just might work.
I was sure I was on the right track. About scaring her, I mean. If I could only figure out a way to scare her enough to make her think I was the only one that could help her, I might convince her to trade places back with me. Or better yet, I could coerce her to do so. I liked the idea of force more.
Gravity Hill was an optical illusion. It was a spot on a country road about six miles outside of town, near the old abandoned airstrip crop dusters used years ago, a short stretch of road that appeared to run uphill. If you parked there and put your car in neutral and waited, in a few seconds the car would begin to roll. Uphill! The first time I went there it was the spookiest thing I’d ever experienced. I just about put a puddle on the seat of Jimmy’s car. My nice, sweet boyfriend Jimmy set the whole thing up, telling me that aliens landed nearby sometimes and if they were on the prowl in the area they could make your car go uphill with the motor off. His story was that once the car began to roll the aliens were in control of you and you would roll faster and faster until you were highballing it up the hill and then you would shoot up into the heavens to where their spaceship was waiting.
I snickered when he first started talking about it, positive he was pulling my chain, but then he drove me out there at night and it was the spookiest place you ever saw. Nothing around for miles and miles, no houses, people, dogs, cats, or even other cars. Acres and acres of woods on either side before you got there—it looked like something out of the movie Friday the 13th (Part 1-26). When we got there, he turned the jams on the radio off and there was just the sound of the car as it glided along the narrow blacktop, tires hissing in a mist that was more like a heavy dew than a rain, and Jimmy kept talking about aliens and creatures from outer space and going on and on about it so much that by the time we got there (he drove the last hundred yards at about a foot an hour, creeping along), I was half-believing him. Then, we were there and he stopped the car and when it had come to a complete stop, he turned the engine off and for a long moment there was only the sound of our breathing and some weird night birds, owls or something, hooting or howling or whatever they do, and then, Jumpin’ Jimminy, if the car didn’t start to move. All...by...itself. Uphill.
I died. I mean, I died. Went to heaven and the whole bit, screaming all the way. I was screeching and swinging my arms to keep the aliens off of me and yelling for my mom and dad and the National Guard and Jimmy and Superman and whoever else I thought might be able to save me, and all the while I didn’t even know I was doing it, but I was punching Jimmy on the arm so hard he had bruises for a month and screaming at him to stop the car and let me out and I loved Earth and didn’t want to leave it and all kinds of incredibly dumb stuff like that. It was horrible. I mean, it was absolutely the worst experience I had ever been through. I really believed aliens were controlling us and getting ready to suck us into their space craft. I had the most fantastic thoughts whirling through my brain all the while, like aliens would force me to marry one of them, one of these little purple and orange dudes and we’d have these rainbow-colored offspring with six arms and feelers and a nose that looks like those little bugles you get on New Year’s. It was dark and misting and I swore I could see a glow in the sky up ahead and I could feel it growing icy-cold, but I realized later it was just because of the perspiration running down my neck. I tell you, I was not looking forward to being captured!
It finally crept through my tortured brain that Jimmy wasn’t crying like me but laughing, and that’s when I went totally Fruit Loops. For about five minutes, not only was our relationship in peril, but his survival as a human being in his present form was in serious jeopardy. I finally calmed down somewhat and forgave him. About six months later.
Yeah, I thought. Gravity Hill was the ticket. If I couldn’t scare the snot out of Miss Blue Eyes there, I’d never be able to.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RIDING BACK FROM INDIANA Beach, I broached the idea to her.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” What a liar I’d become!
“It was okay.”
You loved it, you witch.
“Anyway, thanks for letting me go along. You get a whole different perspective in a compact, especially when you don’t have anything to hold on to. That was the most fun I’ve had in days.” Yeah, the only thing that could compare would be if someone pulled my fingernails out by the roots and then poured turpentine on them.
“I know something else that’s fun, Liz.”
She didn’t say anything. I didn’t either. I was getting to know her personality, if you could call it that. I was willing to bet a hundred bucks that her curiosity was aroused and before long she’d break down and ask me what it was. Sure enough, ten minutes later she peeked into the rear-view mirror and said, “What kind of dumb thing would you call fun?”
I sniffed. “Well, you might not think so, but it’s the neatest thing in the world.” I shut up. The seed was planted.
“What is it?”
“It’s this place I know about, that’s all.” (I have to inject here that the whole while this exchange was taking place, she was driving at about a hundred and ten miles an hour and all I could see was a blur flashing by...backwards. I don’t know which was worse, this or the Hoosier Hurricane. It took all my effort to appear calm.)
“So what does that mean—‘it’s this place I know about’—doesn’t sound like anything to me.” (She was driving with one hand! Actually, with two fingers!) I wondered what would happen if she got into a wreck and got killed. Would I get killed, too? No. I suddenly remembered Betty. One hundred and sixty year-old-Betty.
“Well, it is. It’s a place where UFOs land sometimes. Sometimes you see aliens. You know, beings from outer space. From Mars and Jupiter and places like that. It’s the coolest thing. They’re weird. It’s kind of dangerous, though. I’ve heard of them capturing earthlings sometimes and they carry them off to Orbitron 13 or wherever they’re from and make love slaves out of them and stuff like that. Experiments. I’ve heard of experiments they do, like cut off your arms and sew them back so they’re growing out of your butt. They don’t even use Novocain.”
She gave that horsy snort again. I guess it was supposed to be her laugh. A laugh like that makes you want to reward it with a sugar cube or an apple.
“Aliens! And sometimes they carry you off? To be love slaves? How do you even know what a love slave is? You’re so lame!
“You know, it might be interesting, after all. It might be worth a yuk or two. Tell me how to get there.”
Huh-uh. No way. If I told her how to get there, she might sneak out and go on her own or cover the mirrors so I couldn’t be there. I wasn’t about to let her trick me.
“I have to take you. I don’t know the names of all the roads. I can show you easy enough, though.”
“Nah, forget it. Doesn’t sound like much to me.”
Rats! I’d almost had her. Now I’d have to figure out something else, Plan C, whatever that was. I considered various possibilities, each dumber than the last. I felt like bawling. And then she said, “All right. We’ll go.”
“We can’t go until tonight. The aliens never appear when it’s light out. Sunlight gives their skin a rash. And they don’t always appear. Just once in a while.
And I don’t know for sure if they always carry people off. I’ve just heard rumors...but what I heard was that if they’re going to capture you they take your car and everything. You know you’re in deep doo-doo if your car starts rolling up the hill and then they just whoosh you up into their spacecraft. There’s only one way to stop them at that point.”
“What’s that?”
I had her! Hey, yoohoo—Miss Potato-Head—don’t bring a muskmelon with a nose on it to a battle of wits.
“You have to yell out a word. Nobody knows why, but this word terrifies them and whenever they hear it they drop everything and split for their ship and get out of Dodge. Fast.”
“What’s the word?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“No, I won’t. What is it?”
“Louie. Only it doesn’t work if you just say, ‘Louie.’ You have to say it twice, like this—Louie, Louie—then they’re history.”
She laughed. I knew she would. She had the manners of a gerbil. But she at least half-believed me. I could tell she was hooked and that we were going to end up at Gravity Hill. And when the car started rolling and she began yelling “Louie, Louie,” that’s when I’d have her. That car was going to continue to roll uphill and nobody in the world would be able to help her cold sweats then. Except me, who would offer to save her if she would just look in the mirror. And guess what would happen then? You guessed it. That would be the end of Miss Blue Eyes. All that would be left to do then would be to convince my parents, Jimmy and about a hundred of my friends that I’d gone temporarily insane and try to patch my life back together.
“Okay,” she said after she quit choking on her own laughter. “We’ll give it a shot. Tonight, we go to this alien place.”
“At nine o’clock. I’ll meet you in the front hall mirror.”
She hooted again. Hoot all you want, I thought. In just a little while you’ll be back in here.
It was four-thirty. Just four and a half hours to go until I’d be free. I couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WITH FOUR AND A half hours to go, I had to do something to kill time. Just hanging around would have driven me insane. I decided to go over to Jimmy’s. I was in the hall mirror at home.
But before I could mirror-port—that’s what I’d started calling going from mirror to mirror—something happened. Something that took about a thousand years off my life.
Jimmy appeared beside me. In the mirror where I was. Standing beside me, two and a half inches away
All my internal body organs went into Turbo Freak Alert Meltdown.
“Hi,” he said. That’s all, just “hi.” I can’t properly explain what was happening to my heart. It wasn’t in its natural rhythm, I can say that much.
“I guess it’s a shock to see me, isn’t it?”
Shock? No—discovering Ed McMahon on your front porch with a camera crew when you come home from school would be an example of a “shock.” This was pretty much way beyond that.
“You think I’m your boyfriend Jimmy, don’t you?”
No, actually I think you’re John Lennon and I’m Yoko Ono. Won’t my parents be pleased we’re back.
“I’m not. I’m Liz’s boyfriend, Jim. Pleased t’meetcha.”
This was fruit. He was fruit. I was fruit. The entire universe was fruit. All of a sudden, I knew where I was. In the psycho ward. Now it all made sense. I could be content here, I decided, putting on my happy face. I can learn to love macramé and I’ll bet we have a great croquet course on the yards. I just hope the nurses aren’t mean.
“Let me explain.”
Oh, please. It would be ever so nice. Please, please, please!
“Liz created me. Sort of like when you created her. I’m a second-generation mirror person. Which means I have restrictions. Like never being able to leave Mirror World.
“But that’s okay. I like it here.
“Not like ol’ Liz.
“She always wanted to see what it was like out there.
“But she doesn’t belong out there.
“She belongs in here.
“With me.
“I guess we both have a problem.”
I just listened. The rubber in my legs was beginning to solidify. He was sure one talkative cowboy!
And he had blue eyes. Jimmy’s—the real Jimmy’s—eyes were brown, like my own. Our kids didn’t stand a chance. Doomed to eyes of prose, not poetry. The guy, whoever he was, kept talking.
“I can help you solve your problem.
“Which will solve mine.”
He talked in paragraphs. I’d never heard that done before. Kind of like this girl Felicia Kearns in my drama class when she was learning her lines. She talked like that. Say a sentence, stop, like it was the end, and then say another one.
I found my voice.
“How?”
“I can show you how to get her back in here.”
“You can?” I couldn’t hide the thrill this news brought. I grabbed his arm. Nothing there. I’d forgotten we were mirror people.
“Yes, I can. It won’t be easy though. You’ll have to trick her.”
Whoa! Easy with the surprises, big guy.
“I know that, Austin Powers. I’ve already got a plan.”
“It won’t work.” He gave me this little knowing grin. I detest smugness in mirror people. It’s obnoxious. And how did he know my plan wouldn’t work? How’d he know my plan? Oh no... I knew why. He could read my mind too. This was terrific. Was nothing private in here?
“Not much.”
I groaned. Why didn’t I have a mind like our neighbor Mrs. King? Nothing in there but alcohol and cockroaches. Bet the mindreaders in here would give her a wide berth.
“I don’t know who Mrs. King is,” he was saying, “but if it makes you feel better, I can’t read your mind all the time. Only when we’re in the same mirror.”
I guess that means he’d been in a mirror with me before. Behind me or something. Good thing I hadn’t known. I’d be in intensive care, hooked to a monitor and eating my ribeye through a tube.
“All that’s unimportant, Elizabeth. What’s important is getting Liz back in here and you back in your own world.”
Now he was saying something. As a summit meeting, that was a wrap. We were both in complete agreement on the main point of the agenda. I didn’t agree with his opinion of my plan though. I didn’t have to voice my feelings. He already knew.
“Go ahead and try it. It won’t work. Liz can’t be scared and she already suspects a trick. She’s pretty smart.”
Well, maybe it wouldn’t work, but so far he hadn’t shown me a better idea. Then he did.
He was right. Next to his scheme, my plan was crappola. But, I’m stubborn and didn’t want to give up on my idea. If it didn’t work, I’d give his a shot. Besides, I didn’t know if I could trust him. Look what happened the last time I put any faith in a mirror person!
He said something then that made complete sense.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“EVEN IF YOU GET HER back in here, you’ve still got a major problem. How are you going to keep her here? The rest of your life will have to be spent on guard against a slip. Look into her eyes one second too long and she’ll trade back with you. Now that she’s been out, she can say the phrase and presto! you’re back in here and she’s out there being a lovable brat.”
Lovable brat? Her and baby Hitler. When Attila the Hun ran a day-care center she’d be a lovable brat.
“There’s a way to prevent that, though. Keep her in here forever. With me. I love her.”
He told me what to do once I was out. To keep her in here permanently. It was brilliant, yet so simple I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it myself.
Just then I heard her voice. Jim and I were still in the hall mirror. I could see the back of her head in the kitchen door.
“I’m going out, Ma. Be back later. Maybe.”
I could see the living room clock. Eight fifty-five.
A
nd Jim had disappeared.
Liz walked up to the mirror and looked at me.
“Ready?”
I started to say the words but she’d already looked away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE WHOLE WAY THERE I tried to build the tension. I chattered on and on about aliens and how they hauled unsuspecting earthlings up into their spacecraft. None of it seemed to work, unless you count nonstop giggling as a sign of fear. The truth was, even though I was the only one in the car aware there weren’t really any aliens, I was also the only one growing more and more nervous about the possibility as we got nearer to Gravity Hill.
I hate that. It’s so fruit. I’ve been like that all my life. I can know, I mean really know, something to be made up and I’ll still get scared when someone starts talking about it. Like I knew for a fact that Old Man Fishbottom who lives on our corner is not a crazed killer who preys on young girls and chops them up and puts them in his meat loaf, but whenever we have a pajama party and my friends start talking about Mr. Fishbottom, I get the heebie-jeebies and sleep all night with my head under my pillow. And then the next day, when I have to walk by his house, I cross the street to the other side, even though it’s out of my way. It’s just fruit, that’s exactly what it is. Fruit.
That’s the current saying at our school. Fruit. It doesn’t mean anything and it means everything. It means whatever you want it to mean. Like if something is rude or crude, then it’s fruit. If you do something dumb, that’s fruit. If a teacher chews you out in front of your classmates, that’s fruit. If he chews out your worst enemy, that’s sweet fruit. You get the idea.
This whole trip was fruit. Here I was, riding out to the middle of nowhere inside a mirror with a person who looks like me except for prettier eyes, in a car paid for with my future, to a place that gives me the willies. For what? To try and trick her into letting me out of the mirror. The way I was shaking already, things would get reversed and she’d probably be able to talk me into getting my family in here with me.
