Waterlogged
Jeffrey stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself as he folded the clothes from the warm pile resting in front of him. His hands moved mechanically, twisting each article of clothing into complex geometric shapes and then throwing it into the appropriate pile on the floor. He was not watching his hands or verifying that each t-shirt or pair of underwear made it into the right area of the floor. He was instead staring at himself in the mirror. He hated the mirror.
He studied each area of his body, noticing each unsightly bulge and each underdeveloped muscle. His beige shirt clashed with his skin tone, making him look like an undefinable sand-colored blob. His dark hair looked flat and uninspired. His arms looked uneven and sickly. Even from across the room every blemish on his face stood out like a beacon. Intense heat flared inside of his head as he watched himself poke and tug at various parts of his body. He dropped the shirt in his hands onto the bed. Each inch of him looked intolerable. He clenched his hands into fists and grunted as he smashed each of them into his stomach over and over. He rained blows down all over his body, hesitating only when he approached his face. He slapped it instead until the feeling had passed.
When he opened his eyes the reflection was still there. He stared dumbly at it, uncomprehending, waiting for his brain to restart. A few months before he had attempted to remove the mirror, only to discover that it was securely fastened to the wall behind it. After his attempt he had been afraid to try again, fearing retribution from the world beyond the silver pool. He stared at it for hours after work that day, sitting in a chair that he had placed in the one area of his room where his reflection was not visible, and plotted ways that he could escape.
He looked down at the pile of clothes on his bed and noticed blotches of grease on some of them. The communal dryer in the basement of his apartment building had been repaired over the last weekend, and so after washing his clothes he had decided to use it. It was a rare luxury that he could ill afford to pass up. He had no one to blame but himself that he had not checked inside of the dark nooks and crannies for the filth left by his neighbors. He threw the stained garments in a separate pile on the floor and put the rest away.
He was still staring at himself in the mirror when he heard a gentle rapping on the door. He jumped, feeling guilty as he slowly opened the door until it clicked against the chain. A light sweat broke out on his back when he saw that it was Megan. He quickly fumbled with the chain until it was no longer attached to the door.
“Jeffrey, sweetie, you have to go to sleep,” she said softly. She was wearing a white nightgown that was almost invisible. It was baggy and without frills but it accentuated all of her ample curves. She wore an expression of pity that was lightly coated by a veneer of friendship. Jeffrey glanced at the clock on his desk and started violently.
“Oh, uh…oh dear,” he stammered. It was late, too late to be walking around his small room. For the first time he noticed the creak in the floorboards as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Before he had a chance to respond an angry male voice rose like steam through the gaps in between the wooden beams in the floor.
“Stop making noise you little shit-tick!” It was Megan’s father from the floor below. Jeffrey panicked, afraid that he would once again trudge up the stairs to confront him as he had done three months before. Small sounds of panic escaped his throat and he could not keep from turning around to watch his expression in the mirror. Abject fear and disgust and self-loathing all swirled across his features. He turned away quickly.
“Stop it, daddy,” Megan yelled back calmly. She turned back to Jeffrey. “Really, you need to go to bed. You’ll be a zombie tomorrow unless you get some sleep!” She smiled wanly and his heart soared.
“Yes, you are correct, as always. I simply lost track of time. It won’t happen again, I promise,” he replied in a rush. He stretched a mask of good-humor and intelligence over his face, hoping that she would recognize his absent-mindedness as an indication of his genius. She nodded without conviction and turned away. Jeffrey leaned out into the hallway.
“Thank you! It was nice to see you again,” he gushed. She raised her hand in acknowledgment but did not turn around. He watched her ghostly form float down the hallway until the darkness of the stairwell at the end of the hall swallowed her. He stood staring into the swirling void for a few moments longer before reentering his room and locking the door.
It was good that her father had not come upstairs again, he thought. Jeffrey was a gentleman, and he would feel terrible if Megan was forced to choose between him and her father. Family was very important, and it was not his intention to tear her away from hers. He sighed, mentally acknowledging that his effect on women was both a blessing and a curse. He tiptoed to his bed and climbed in, taking off his clothes only after his feet were off the floor so as not to make any noise. He turned out the light and laid perfectly still. The sheets were rough and uncomfortable, and he could feel his reflection staring at him through the darkness. Sleep came slowly.
——————-
He awoke the next morning in a rush, jumping out of bed and hurrying to get dressed while still clogged with sleep. It was not until he started put his pants on backwards that he became fully awake and aware of his nonsensical actions. He forced a hearty laugh, hoping his neighbors would hear through the paper-thin walls and ask the reason for his merriment so early in the morning. It would make for a comical story, he thought, and laughing at oneself was a sure sign of confidence.
He dressed slowly and then washed himself leisurely in the greasy sink that was in the corner of his room. He washed his hands and face with dark brown soap and shaved in slow-motion. There was no mirror over his sink, and so he took special care so that he would not nick himself. Once he had finished he stood up straight, taking deep breathes as he dried his face. Once finished he hesitated, closing his eyes tightly and dropping the towel to the floor. After a few moments he turned sharply and approached the mirror so he could check his work.
He pressed his face very close against the glass. He looked as if he was standing at the entrance of a furnace. He noted every blemish and pot-mark and fought the urge to fetch his razor to carve them out. He examined his clothes, readjusting each section in turn, over and over, losing track of time and becoming increasingly more frustrated and angry at the mirror. When he next looked down at the clock he sighed, knowing that he would have to leave in his present disheveled state or risk being late to work again. He gathered his briefcase and stepped out of his room.
The hallway was empty. No one had heard his laugh. He sighed and quickly made his way out of the building, taking care to avoid the drip from the pipes that lined the ceilings and the areas of the floor that were waterlogged and unsafe. When he made it to the street he glanced behind him. The apartment building was gray and lifeless, covered in brick and concrete and grimy scaffolding. He examined the scaffolding more closely, noting that some areas of it had decayed and broken off. He shook his head in disapproval, thinking once again that he needed to move to living arrangements more appropriate for a man of his stature. Without thinking he glanced down at his shirt and noticing the uneven distribution of his chest muscles. His drab surroundings quickly dissolved and turned dark as he began another round of self-deprecation. He quickly walked to work, muttering under his breath and causing other pedestrians to stare and cluck their tongues disapprovingly.
——————-
The office smelled stale and uninspired. Jeffrey’s coworkers appeared drab, their gray faces looking flabby and bored, their eyes glazed over with thoughts of their next break. Their dreary attitudes latched onto Jeffrey as he walked, weighing him down and making him feel apathetic and lethargic. By the time he reached his desk he felt tired and listless, already looking forward to the end of the day. He glanced at his darkened monitor and averted his eyes, shuffling like a crab across his cubicle to turn on his computer so the reflective darkness would disappear. He kept his back turned as it booted up.
As he sat down he let his breath out slowly and quietly, attempting to hide his displeasure with his current situation. When he had started here his work had been enjoyable and interesting. Over time his excitement had dissipated and disappeared, sucked out of him by uninspired coworkers and impossible goals and deadlines. His enthusiasm now resided inside the grubby cubicle walls and saturated the crusty gold-colored carpet that lined the entire office. He stifled a genuine sigh and set about his tasks for the day.
As the day progressed the whispers of his co-workers continually drifted over the walls of his cubicle and made it very difficult for him to work. He would occasionally poke his head up and look around sharply, hoping to catch the conspirators in the act, but there would be no one. Occasionally he would catch them, whispering animatedly and gesturing in his direction. They always acted as if they were discussing another topic, but he knew better. Every whisper or quiet giggle would send Jeffrey into a tailspin of panic as he would frantically check his clothes or quickly walk to the bathroom to use the mirror. His flaws were ever-present, and as he returned to his seat he would feel eyes prodding and gouging him, stealing the breath from his lungs so that by the time he reached his cubicle his head would be spinning.
As lunchtime approached work became next to impossible, and so when Jeffrey’s manager appeared inside of his cubicle she found him daydreaming in front of a blank monitor. He turned with a violent start, his cheeks coloring as he rose.
“Lucy! What a surprise! I am glad you came over, I had a few questions that I needed to ask you,” he stammered. His embarrassment ran deep within him, coursing through his veins like ice-cold water.
“Sit down, Jeffrey. I came over to introduce your new teammate. Her name is Andrea. Make her feel welcome,” Lucy said brusquely. She walked away without waiting for a response, revealing the petite woman hiding behind her. The icy butterflies that appeared when Lucy surprised him quickened in his stomach. Andrea smiled shyly at him, extending her manicured hand and introducing herself.
“Hello, I’m Andrea. Nice to meet you,” she said, batting her eyelashes in a way that Jeffrey found irresistible. He shook her hand with uncertainty, sensing rather than seeing the slightest tensing of the area around her eyes when she felt his clammy hands. He silently berated himself as they smiled uncomfortably, wishing that he had been warned so that he could have fixed his hair and rearranged his clothes.
“Good morning, Andrea. I’m Jeffrey. How do you do?” he asked with what he hoped was an amicable tone. As he spoke he noticed her looking him up and down with a smile on her face and he quickly followed her gaze. His brain roared and thundered as he tried to pick which flaw she was focusing on, which blemish or imperfection was ruining this particular contact on this particular day. When she noticed his pained expression she looked concerned, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.
“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” she asked as she gave his muscled bicep a gentle squeeze, “it’s okay, I like what I see.” She winked at him, a twinkle in her eye and the slightest of smiles creeping across her full lips. He nearly wailed, unable to fully process the hand on his arm and the search for his imperfection at the same time. When he continued to search and ignored her hand she dropped it to her side, uncertainty now beginning to play across her beautiful features for the first time.
“Perhaps I’ve been too forward, forgive me,” she murmured. She turned and briskly walked away before he had a chance to respond. He stood dumbly, his hands fixing non-existent problems with his shirt and pinching his balanced muscles in a growing frenzy. He could see others beginning to poke their heads out of their own cubicles, staring at him with pained expressions. He sat down quickly, avoiding their stares but feeling them penetrate the walls of his cubicle anyway. He felt like crying but did not know why.
——————-
The rest of the day passed like a dream. Jeffrey felt disconnected and insubstantial as he walked home. As he entered his room he awoke as if slapped, staring at the mirror opposite of his door. His reflection stared back at him, mocking him, pointing and laughing at him. He could hear music and loud laughter coming from the room below him. As he stared something flowed out of him, boiling over and running onto the floor to gather in a pool at his feet. He felt empty and cold. Dropping his briefcase onto the floor he walked across the room, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake as he approached the mirror. He stood naked in front of it, breathing heavily and without a thought in his head.
The face staring back at him morphed and became unrecognizable. Jeffrey clamped his hands over his face, grunting loudly and attempting to push the tears back into his eyes. With a loud roar he punched the glass, sending it cascading down around him into a pile on the floor. He gripped the frame, tearing it loudly from the drywall and throwing it against the door. Pieces of mirror scattered around the room as he stood with blood beginning to pool at his feet. The area behind the mirror was blank and forgettable. He ran his hands over it, pushing his fingers into the flimsy wall and pulling it apart, trying to push himself into the world that had to exist behind it.
Only the loud knocking on the door caused him to stop. He stared at his bloody knuckles and raw fingertips. The words being shouted in the hallway bounced off of him, unable to break the barriers that he had erected. He walked across the room to the corner by his sink, hearing the crunching glass under his feet but not feeling it slide into his flesh. He curled up in the corner, unfeeling, waiting until the voices decided to stop bothering him. He knew that he would most likely have to wait for quite a while, but at this point time was the only thing that he had in abundance.
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| Phil | Dec.15.2007 - 22:27:40 | Main | Print This Page |
