Downcast

by Cait Reynolds

Helen whipped out her phone and took a picture of me as we waited at the counter to pay.

  "Wow," she exclaimed. "I can't get over it. You look amazing."

  "I think I'm in shock."

  "You should be. That's eighteen years of history you just cut off."

  "My heart is racing."

  "Come on. Don't stop to think too much. Let's keep going."

  The woman at the counter gave me the bill, but Helen grabbed it and slapped down her credit card.

  "Whoa, wait!" I cried. "You can't pay for my haircut!"

  "Oh, didn't I tell you?" Helen asked over her shoulder with a conspiratorial smile. "Everything today is my treat."

  "No way. I can't let you do that."

  "Tough. I've got Dad's platinum card, and Dr. Jenkins' credit line is pretty damn good."

  "Seriously, Helen!"

  She pressed her lips together in a firm line and gave me her Don’t You Dare Pity Me glare.

  "Look," she said. "I'm the one who pays the bills and balances the checkbook. I know exactly what my mom and dad spend their money on, and if giving my best friend the best birthday ever means less money for escort services and online shopping...whatever. Fine. It's fine. Just say yes."

  I smiled through a blur of tears and hugged her.

  "Clothes now?" she asked as if nothing had happened.

  "Um, no. Lunch next. I didn’t really feel like eating much on my break at work."

  "Okay, food court it is."

  I was starving and ordered a double-bacon cheeseburger, extra-large fries, soda, and giant vanilla ice cream cone with chocolate sprinkles.

  "How you can eat all that and not get a stomach ache is beyond me," Helen remarked, enjoying her own ice cream cone.

  "I probably will, but I don't care."

  She stretched out in the hard metal chair and brushed crumbs off the laminate table. I caught the last dribble of ice cream and declared victory.

  "Now can we shop?" Helen asked.

  "Totally."

  As we hopped from store to store, I wondered how it was that certain people like Jordan and Kara knew what songs were popular, what TV shows were hot, what clothes were going to be in before anyone else did? How did Jordan and Kara show up like clockwork with the newest accessory or haircut weeks ahead of the rest of us?

  I had a Morris-esque conspiracy theory that there was a secret website that pre-ordained cool kids were given the username and password to at birth. That's where they would go to learn how to act, what to wear, what music to like, what movies to watch, what friends to have. How else did you become cool and popular in the first place?

  "What kind of style are you thinking you want?" Helen asked as we pawed through racks of shirts at the Gap.

  "Um, I'm not sure exactly, but I think this is too..."

  "Too what?"

  "Normal?" I hazarded.

  "Do you want to be girly or tomboy?"

  I struggled with an answer, finally replying, "I don't really want either. I want…tougher. Stronger."

  Helen surveyed me, pursing her lips, then dragged me to another store where we hit the jackpot. I shed my baggy sweater and dumpy skirt for skinny jeans, loose cargo pants and tartan mini-skirts. I layered t-shirts and picked a lot of black.

  Just like I had felt suddenly lighter with my hair gone, I felt incredibly different in these clothes. Their lines were tighter, with cleaner lines than my old clothes, and I almost felt too bare and exposed. I didn't look like a walking tent any more. Actually, I had a decent figure. Not too curvy, but not flat either. I stared, fascinated, at my legs in the red and black tartan mini-skirt.

  "You need to wear tights with that," Helen said in a business-like manner. "Something ribbed, I think. Black or grey."

  Soon, I was walking out of the clothing store in dark skinny jeans, a fitted, long-sleeve thermal shirt, and a fake vintage t-shirt over it. I had asked permission to wear my clothes out, and had stuffed my old clothes in one of the large shopping bags.

  "Accessories next!" Helen announced. "My favorite part."

  Shoes were fascinating. There were so many to choose from. I found a pair of black leather ballet flats and some black knee-high boots as well.

  At the same shoe store, Helen picked out for me a cool-looking canvas messenger bag to replace my backpack.

  I finally realized why people shopped for "therapy.” For whole chunks of ten minutes, I'd forget about Mom and Haley, though a few times, I did daydream little victorious scenarios where Jordan died of jealousy when Haley dissed her for the new me. I felt less tired and worried. All my problems were on the outside of the mall. I could deal with them later. The only thing I needed to focus on right now was the choice between the grey sneakers and the navy blue ones.

  "One more stop," Helen announced as she dragged me toward the drugstore in the mall.

  "Seriously?" I exclaimed. "I hate to admit it, but I'm starting to get shopped out."

  "You're not done yet."

  "What's left?"

  "Makeup."

  "No."

  "No? But it's essential!"

  "You don't wear any, so why should I?"

  "I do on special occasions," Helen replied, tossing her golden curls. "And you will, too. Besides, you can at least trade out your lip balm for a gloss with a little color. I'm also thinking some dark nail polish and eyeliner and mascara."

  It sounded kind of frightening to me, but Helen wouldn't let me back down. Finally, though, we were done. My transformation was both on the outside and on the inside. I was shiny and new, light and free. I was both frightened and frightening, a totally different creature. My heart hadn't stopped racing the whole time, and I finally started to realize the consequences of everything I had done. There was no going back, no more hiding, no more hoping not to be noticed.

  Weighed down by bags, we finally stepped outside. Immediately, I squinted into the brightness that assaulted my eyes.

  "Whoa," Helen said. "Is that actually sunshine?"

  "And it's warm!" I added, slowly opening my eyes, enjoying the balmy air on my face.

  "Hello, September!"

  "Finally."

  "You ready to go home?" Helen's question was cautious.

  "Might as well." A wave of nervous nausea swept over me.

  ***

  Mom's car was in the driveway when we got back to the house, and the sight of zapped all my post-mall bliss, replacing it with gut-wrenching anxiety.

  "You can do this," Helen said. "Remember, you're a legal adult."

  "What if she throws me out of the house?" I whispered.

  Helen snorted derisively and replied, "Please! It will never happen. That is the last thing your mother would ever do. But if she did, and that’s a wicked big ‘if,’ you'd…you’d just come live with me until the end of the year. You can pick up more hours at work or get a different job. Then, you can work full-time during the summer. We'll find a way to go to the same college together, and we can be roommates. You'll get a job on campus, and I'll take care of paying the bills. It'll be perfect."

  "Wow," I laughed. "You've really thought this through!"

  "Not really," she shrugged. "That's just what I could come up with on the spur of the moment. I could do better if I really thought it through."

  "Still," I said. "If that's the worst case scenario, it sounds really good. Can I just come live with you now?"

  It was Helen's turn to laugh.

  "You can," she replied. "But, only after you face your mother. Like it or not, you’ve gotta at least try to come to some resolution with her."

  "Killjoy," I muttered, smiling despite the growing panic in the pit of my stomach as I got out of the car. “Well, I guess no point in putting off World War III any longer.”

  "Yeah. Hey, Stephanie?"

  "Yeah?"

  "It's been nice knowing you."

  I stuck my tongue out at Helen, who made a face back at me. Squaring my shoulders and summoning my courage, I marched up to the door of my house
and went inside.

  ***

  "Hi, Mom!" I called out as I ran in the house. I went upstairs, taking my bags with me. My brief spurt of courage had carried me into the house, but it wasn't enough to get me out to the kitchen where I suspected she was hanging out.

  Once in my room, I closed the door and emptied out all my new things onto the bed, proceeding methodically to take off the tags and fold them up. There was a knock at my door.

  “Stephanie, dear?” Mom’s voice wavered from the other side of the door. “Can we talk, honey?”

  "Come in," I said, and my voice shook a little as I readied myself for her reaction. Sure, she sounded calm now, but I knew that wouldn’t last after she got a good look at me.

  I heard the clacking of her wood bangle as she entered. Then there was utter stillness and silence for a moment.

  "Oh gods," she whispered. "What have you done?"

  I turned around and tried to smile cheerfully.

  "What have you DONE?" she screamed.

  I jumped back and cringed, not expecting quite that amount of hysteria. Her reaction triggered my own angry response. She had no right to be this unreasonable!

  "I got a haircut, okay?" I snapped. "And I bought some clothes that I like. I don't see what the big deal is."

  "But your hair! Your beautiful, long hair! And why are you dressed like some punk? Why didn't you let me come with you? I would have stopped you from doing these stupid things!"

  Now, I was really angry.

  "Mom, get a grip," I said coldly. "The world isn't ending. I wanted to change my look. I wanted to look like me, the real me."

  "I know the real you!" Mom screeched. "Nobody knows you like I do!"

  "Nobody except me."

  "You are flesh of my flesh. You are part of me. I am a part of you. Nothing can separate us!"

  Rage burned white hot in my heart.

  "I'm not you!" I exploded. "I am not a younger version of Deborah Starr. I'm me, Stephanie Starr, a totally different person with totally different dreams. I'm not going to just blindly do everything you tell me to any more. I have a life, and I'm going to live it!"

  Tears were streaming down Mom's face, and she grabbed fistfuls of her hair and yanked hard. She paced agitatedly around my small room, her face getting redder and redder. I felt small beads of sweat pop up on my scalp, and my skin prickled.

  "You don't know what's out there," Mom hissed, coming over to me and taking me by the shoulders. Somehow, the anger in her face had changed to panic.

  "There are things out there that could take you away from me forever," she continued, pulling me into a surprisingly strong embrace. "You have no idea. I've had to protect you all your life, and now you want to throw that all away, to put yourself at risk with unimaginable consequences!"

  My own anger fell away as I seriously began to worry about Mom's sanity. She was sounding completely paranoid. I cautiously hugged her back, gently patting her on the shoulder in an odd reversal of roles.

  "Mom," I said, my voice muffled against her shoulder as I tried to push away. "I promise I'm being safe. You raised me well, to be careful and aware. I'm not going to do anything dumb. Getting a haircut and some new clothes is normal and not taking any kind of stupid risk, okay?"

  "You're my whole world. There is nothing that makes me happy except for you. What would I do if something happened to you?"

  Ah, the old sucker punch to the emotional solar plexus. It's not that I didn't appreciate her sentiments—after all, I’d heard this for years and year. It was just that today was not the day to try that with me.

  Before, I had always sought to soothe her and reassure her, but now? Now, I simply said nothing and looked at her as impassively as I could. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings any more, but I was done sacrificing my own for her sake.

  Her eyes were wide and swimming in tears. Then, she frowned. "I need to think, to think..."

  She turned around and left my room. I closed the door and leaned up against it. Finally, the air around me seemed to cool down. After a few calming breaths, I went back to folding my new clothes and thinking. I was going to have to keep an eye on Mom and maybe take things a little more slowly, since she obviously wasn't handling this well. My ever-helpful imagination immediately took me to an extreme scenario of Mom completely losing it and me having to call Dr. Jenkins to come over and help me restrain her.

  I shook my head and tried to just put it all away in some black box in the back of my mind. After last night's scare and today's drama, I was so done with it all. Wearily, I sunk down onto my bed and started doing some homework.

  As I studied, my fingers unconsciously went to hold the ruby-studded golden pendant around my neck. It felt cool even though it had been resting against my skin, and the slight chill felt good against my skin.

  It occurred to me that neither Helen nor my mom had noticed or mentioned it. Maybe Helen had missed it in the chaos of trying on so much stuff. After all, she wasn’t exactly all that interested in clothes and jewelry, and she had gone about my makeover with a faintly long-suffering, almost scientific precision. But, for my mom not to notice was weird. Or, maybe the shock of my appearance caused her to miss the details. In both cases, though, I was glad they hadn’t asked me about the necklace. Explanations would have been tricky and embarrassing.

  That evening and Sunday passed in a kind of uneasy truce. Mom barely spoke to me except for the bare essentials, but she watched me every second I was in her presence. Her expression would go from neutral to pained, to enraged, and then to something much darker before she would resume her mask of aggrieved indifference. Needless to say, I tried to not be in her presence as much as possible.

  Something was simmering beneath the surface in my mother, and though I tried to ignore it, I heard a clock ticking down the time on the bomb that was now our relationship.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FOR A CHANGE, I actually dreamed in the usual flits and blips of moments and images. I was trying to bake a cake, and the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland came in and started to give me tips on waterproofing my shoes. And then, all of that vanished as if someone had pulled the plug and left me in a world without signals.

  I was alone in a place that I felt I knew, though I had no idea where I was. It was dark, and there were no walls...or floors...no inside or outside, no horizon line...nothing. Just dark and cold.

  "One change," a raspy, echoing voice called from my right.

  I tried to turn my head, but found I couldn't. I was frozen.

  "One choice," a second voice, dry as dust, intoned from my left.

  "ONE CHANCE!" screeched a third voice, raw and shrill like a vulture's cry above me.

  I winced, and my heart started to pound so hard I was afraid I would have a heart attack.

  "One change for life!"

  "One change for death!"

  "One choice to chance!"

  "One chance to choose!"

  "The unwinding has begun."

  I tried to call out, but I couldn't move my lips. No sound came from my throat. I was trapped and paralyzed. The darkness closed in, wrapped around, smothered my face and choked off my breathing. The voices were gone, even their echoes silenced. For half a heartbeat, everything in me burned, but it wasn’t from any heat or even extreme cold. Somehow, I was burning with light.

  The light winked out, and I found myself sitting up in bed, gasping for air, trying to fill my lungs as sweat poured down my face and neck. My heart was pounding so hard, it physically hurt. The alarm clock was buzzing.

  Trembling, I got up and turned it off, trying to remember all the fragments of my nightmare. The darkness, the cold, the voices, the void.

  Shuddering, I glanced out the window to see that it was cloudy and cold. Again.

  Lovely.

  I did a double take, feeling that there was something I had missed. It was definitely cloudy outside, but somehow, it seemed brighter than a day of full sunshine. The light was purer, colder...sh
arper. I looked at the trees and down at my garden.

  Clutching at the reassuringly cool metal of Haley's necklace, I tried to focus on the outlines and edges of the trees, bushes, wilted plants, and paving stones. All the edges seemed to be too sharp and too bright. I wondered if the stress of my nightmare had irritated something in my eyes. There wasn't much time to waste speculating on this, though. I chalked it up to some kind of anxiety head-trip from my nightmare and went to get ready for my day.

  ***

  I came downstairs to the kitchen, my chest rising and falling as I took exaggerated breaths to calm myself.

  It had happened while I was brushing my teeth.

  I had casually glanced at myself in the mirror and dropped the toothbrush into the sink.

  My eyes.

  My eyes were green. Overnight, they had gone from a muddy, mossy hazel to the clear, vibrant green of a new leaf. My pupils were pinpoints, and repeated blinking didn't change them at all.

  Staring at my reflection, I got lost in the lines of my lips and the smoothness of my pale cheeks. I knew what I looked like, and I was damn sure I had never looked like this before.

  Trying to rationalize everything, I wondered if maybe it was just my new haircut that made my face look different. But deep down, I knew it had something to do with my vision. Those bright green eyes staring back at me in the mirror told no lies.

  I also knew that Mom would flip if she saw my eyes. She'd probably rush me to the doctor. Though, now that I thought of it, other than for vaccinations, I'd never been to a doctor in my life, even though she had always told me my health extremely delicate.

  The dishwater glittered in the sink, reflecting the dim morning light. The chairs and table had edges I'd never seen before. Frowning, I lowered my gaze and kept them away from Mom.

  "Good morning," Mom said coldly, drinking tea and reading the newspaper.

  She pulled her robe closer around her.

  "Are you okay?" I asked cautiously.

  "Yes, why do you ask?"

  "Well, you're in your robe. Don't you have to work today? And, I need to get to school."

  "You're not going back to school today."

  "What?" I said numbly.

  "Something very bad has happened to you there," Mom replied evenly, never looking up from the paper. "You need to stay home, to stay with me and recover."