Eyes in the Mirror (16 page)

None of This Is Permanent

Samara

Tany
a's parents told her that it was fine for her to move, to travel and try to find herself. But they wouldn't give her money to do it, so we agreed to stay for the summer and enjoy living off our parents' money for the last time, and then leave for Tucson at the end of the summer instead of right after the end of the school year. I hadn't talked to my dad about it. I wasn't sure how to tell him I was leaving.

A few days after Tanya's graduation, we were walking around in the rain. It was the warm spring-type rain that Tanya loved and that I hadn't enjoyed since I was little when my mom and I used to go for walks in it. Tanya jumped straight into every puddle even though she wasn't wearing boots. The two of us were already drenched but when she splashed a young couple, I dragged her away. They had been cuddled under an umbrella and looked less than thrilled at having been sprayed.

As we walked down the street, I noticed that Tanya was staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You just…don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you haven't looked this good in months.”

“Are you kidding? I'm soaking wet and drippy and…gross.”

Tanya grabbed my hand and pushed me in front of a store window. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust. I hadn't looked in a mirror for so long, and my reflection was…repulsive. I couldn't believe it was me; I couldn't believe I had let this happen to myself.

My hair looked shabby—it had been layered and it hadn't grown in well. My eyeliner was crooked—I had taken to applying it with the best of intentions, no mirror, and no way to check if it was drawn well. I looked at my eyes, momentarily surprised that they were mine and not Dee's. I had just assumed she would be there when I looked in the mirror again the first time. If I had thought about it, I would have known she couldn't just stand there and wait for me for seven months.

“Hey, don't be upset,” Tanya said, putting an arm around me when she realized that the drops on my face weren't all rain. “You just need to clean up a little bit. Definitely get a haircut. Start doing your makeup with a mirror instead of at random. None of this is permanent.”

I muttered a thanks and pulled away to walk home.

***

I ended my moratorium on mirrors then. I couldn't believe I had let myself deteriorate so much in so little time. And all because I didn't want to talk to Dee. I had expected her to be waiting for me when I got back, and for some reason I had trouble understanding that she didn't want to talk to me.

I suppose in a way it was a relief. Talking to Dee had taken a lot out of me. Nothing was ever easy with her. It was the opposite of my conversations with Tanya. I could talk to her for hours about nothing. I had reached the point where being with Tanya was as easy as being alone. Dee had done that, somewhat. Tanya had said it months ago: it was because of her friends and because of Dee that we had met.

***

We were at the beach, drip-drying after swimming, when two guys came up to us and asked us to come to a party with them that night.

“What are your names?” asked one of the guys.

Tanya rolled over toward me and propped herself up on her elbows. She looked gorgeous as always, wearing a pink-and-white-striped bikini top and blue board shorts. She looked back and forth between the two guys.

“I'm Jenny and this is Sandra,” she said.

“And we're not interested,” I said. “Thank you, though,” and I smiled.

Tanya shot me a look and said, “We're not?”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Ah,” she said, “that's right. Sorry. Nice meeting you.” They walked away, and then Tanya turned back to me and said, “You know what I'm thinking?”

“What?” I asked.

“Maybe when we're in Tucson we can try to find brothers to marry.”

“Brothers?”

“Yeah,” she said, “that way we'll be related. Wouldn't that be awesome?”

I smiled and lay back down again. What would it mean to be related to Tanya? What would it have meant to be related to Dee?

***

I had put off making the decision about moving to Tucson for as long as possible, having convinced Tanya to stay home at least through the summer. I guess part of me hoped she would be willing to wait forever because I wasn't sure I was ready to leave. But I certainly wasn't ready to be here without Tanya.

At the end of August, Tanya finally had had enough. “Look, I'm leaving tomorrow. I can't put it off anymore. We've both been packed for weeks. I want you to come. But no matter what, I'm leaving for Tucson on the seven o'clock bus tomorrow night. I need to get out of here.”

I was up the whole night trying to decide what to do. My life was revolving around Tanya at this point. I did almost nothing without her. What would I do here by myself? I opened the suitcase that had been packed and repacked a dozen times over the summer. Sitting on top was the stack of letters I had written to my mom. My mom was the only thing that I still felt connected to in this house, in this…life. I hadn't opened any more of the letters after the first, but I couldn't imagine leaving them here.

Or staying here with them.

***

I met Tanya at the bus depot the next night. I felt like I was ready for a change. I didn't want to wait around all year and wonder what it would have been like if I had left. What it was like to raise chickens. To start over someplace where I didn't randomly run into people I knew in the grocery store.

I hadn't had the guts to tell my father, so I had left him a note. I made a few false starts, but eventually I wrote one I was happy with. I wasn't sure how to tell him I had up and left. I finally left this note, held down with my cell phone so that he would know he couldn't get in touch with me.

Dear Dad,

I know this is going to be hard to understand, but I decided to move. I can't stay here anymore. I need to get away from this life. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this to your face. I think I was too scared. I'm going with Tanya to Tucson. We're taking a bus tonight. I'll come back to visit when I'm ready to. I'll call you when I get there. I'll wear a sweater.

I'm sorry to do this, but I need it. For me. To find myself, I guess. I'll get my GED. I'll get myself together. I need to get away from the memories I have here. From school, from you, from Mom. I need to be away from all of this, but I promise I'll try to come back one day. I'm not running away because I hate you or because I think you don't love me. I'm not running away from my life at all. I'm running toward a new life. A better life.

I hope you understand. I love you very, very much, and I'm not trying to hurt you. Please don't try to stop me. This is too important for that. I'll call you when I arrive. Just trust that I'm all right and I don't need anything. Thank you for everything, Dad. And thank you for understanding why I need this. I love you.

Samara

I added a picture of my mom and dad, the shirt I had been wearing the day my mom died, and the stationery I had had since I was seven to my suitcase. I looked around my room, unable to believe that this was the last time I would be leaving, the last time I would be turning the lights off.

***

When I arrived at the bus depot, Tanya's face broke into a huge cheery smile. “I just knew you would come,” she said, jumping up to hug me.

“I'm so excited!” I said, though part of me still didn't believe this was going to happen. I knew that going to Tucson would be moving ahead instead of going backward. I felt like I had been living in the past my whole life, and I was ready to do something new. Something different.

When the bus pulled up, we looked at each other and giggled. It would take us three buses to get from home to Tucson, but with the first one, we would be on our way. When the doors opened, I put on my backpack and picked up my purse, and we both started rolling our humongous bags toward the bus.

We put our bags under the bus. It seemed like everyone at the bus depot was as excited as we were, and once our bags were stored, we both started to laugh as we got in line to have our tickets checked and get on the bus.

“Are you ready?” Tanya asked me.

Was I ready? Was I ready to leave it all behind, to leave without saying good-bye? Was I ready to give up my family, give up my friends, give everything up in hopes of something better? I looked at Tanya. Was I ready?

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “I'm ready.”

“Then let's go. It's now or never.”

Why was it now or never? Why couldn't it be after I graduated? Why couldn't it be next year or the year after? Why now or never? We got on the bus and found two seats together in the center of the bus. Tanya sat on the inside. Since she had a small pillow, she could lean against the window and I could sleep on her shoulder.

“I'm ready to be a chicken farmer!” Tanya said, and smiled.

“Yup,” I said. Then we sat in silence, watching the scenery go from small houses to big buildings and then open highway until we passed into another state. Tanya had decided to change her socks every time we crossed a state line. I was amazed she had so many pairs of socks in her backpack.

“Kentucky!” she called, pulling out a pair of rainbow knee-highs. I was glad to be out of Ohio where it had been so dreary. It seemed like a cold drizzle outside, not the kind that was fun to run around in but the kind that leaves you chilled until you got home and take a warm shower.

Ohio had been all cornfields, and all the corn seemed to be an even height. Everything about the state was boring. I was excited to be somewhere new, but as it turned out, Kentucky was just the same.

I sat up and stared out the window. Tanya stirred and looked over at me.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“It all looks the same. Is this whole country all exactly the same?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “Look how much more yellow the corn is here. And look at how everyone is smiling. That's totally different than home. Don't you see?”

I guess I didn't. So I just curled up and put my head in Tanya's lap and fell asleep.

I woke up a little bit before our first transfer in Tennessee. I looked at Tanya, who was looking out the window, lost in thought. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she said when I sat up and looked at her.

I smiled, but I was disappointed to find I was still on the bus. Not that I expected to be anywhere else; it's just that there isn't anything to do on a bus. There's nowhere to go. You're stuck there, and you can't get out. So I started to actually think about what we were going to do when we got to Tucson. We had printed out directions from the bus depot to a youth hostel and one cheap motel. Between us, we could afford to go about three weeks if neither of us found a job. We could find an apartment when at least one of us was working.

“So first we need to find jobs, then after that, I think we should rent an apartment,” I said. She nodded. “Can you cook?” I asked her.

“A little. Can you?”

“As long as the food comes in a box. My mom died too young to teach me how.”

“A boxed meal is my favorite kind,” she said smiling.

“And tomorrow we can start trying to find jobs.”

“Yeah. And if we can't raise chickens, we can milk cows or pick oranges or anything. Think of the possibilities.”

“Yeah. Think of it.” This had seemed so great because it was different, but sitting on the bus, I began to wonder why I was running off to become a farmer when I had never worked with my hands in my life.

And we thought about it as we sat in the bus depot in Tennessee, waiting for our transfer. It was a hot, sticky Southern night. Exactly the kind of weather we were trying to find. And as I sat on the bench sipping a Coke, I thought that if we got bored with Tucson, we could go to Southern California. We could do all sorts of things. I really could be anything I wanted to be.

“You hungry?” Tanya asked, returning from the gas-station store and plopping down on the bench next to me.

“A little,” I said.

“Here.” She pulled out a box and handed it to me. I turned the cookies over in my hands.
Lorna Doones.
I felt my heart skip a beat. What was I doing here? Was I running from the one person who really needed me?

I got up and muttered that I needed to go to the bathroom. Once there, I locked the door and looked in the grungy mirror. No Dee. Not that I should have expected to see her.

I counted how many months had passed since I last saw Dee and realized for the first time that she must have had the baby already. Was she okay? Was that why she hadn't come to the mirror? Had something happened to her while she was having the baby? Was she hurt?

I stared at the empty eyes in the mirror. Where was I? I was in a bus-station bathroom. I was going to a completely new place with a girl who, however much I loved her, I had met in rehab in a group therapy program. What was I doing?

Someone knocked on the door.

“Just a second,” I called out.

“It's me. Are you okay?” Tanya called back.

I opened the door and she looked at me.

“What's wrong?”

I ran my hands through my hair. “Tanya, I'm sorry. I can't go to Tucson.”

“What? Yes, you can. Remember? You're excited. You can't wait. Remember?”

I saw our bus pulling up. “I can't. I have to go home. I can't.”

“You're just getting cold feet. Think of the chickens. Come on. It'll be fine.” I could see a certain terror in her eyes that I wasn't able to place for a moment. And then I recognized it as the same fear I'd had for so long. The fear of being alone.

“Come on,” she repeated.

“No. Just…Your bus is going to leave without you. I'm sorry.” My voice was breaking. I hated when other people left me and I didn't want to hurt Tanya, but I knew I had so much else to do. Going to Tucson was just not at the top of my list. “I can't. I have to get out of here.”