August 3rd, 2019
“Daniel! Let’s go-o-o-o!”
Karen Lieberman leaned her body against the ascending handrail as she shouted up the staircase to get the attention of her teenage son. She was a midsized woman, of average height and only fifty-three years young. Many years ago, she had cropped her curls to shoulder length and had never bothered to update her style as her hair slowly changed from strawberry blonde to a muted grey. Her face lacked the wrinkles of smile lines, though crow’s-feet accented her espresso brown eyes.
“Daniel!” she called again.
The house Karen and Daniel lived in was too big for them and her voice echoed off the empty rooms above her. There was a reluctant thud from upstairs, and Karen could hear the teen shuffling toward her. Finally, Daniel appeared: his dark curls reminiscent of his father, whereas his dark eyes matched his mother. Tall and lean, Daniel walked down the stairs; the wall to his right was covered in family pictures.
A faded photo of his older brother Jacob, mother Karen, and father Ike, in front of the house was the beginning of the visual parade. In the picture, Jacob was only a year old. Descending, next came pictures of Jacob and their sister Bethany as a baby, followed by pictures of them growing older and older together as siblings. Eventually a thirteen-year-old Jacob sat with a seven-year-old Bethany, who held Daniel as a newborn.
Full family portraits of all five members together bloomed into existence midway down the staircase. Their bright and happy affects beaming from each frame. Assorted portraits of the children peppered the wall, school pictures for years gone by. And in the next frame, appeared a more somber Karen, Jacob, and Daniel only. The parade of images stopped abruptly after that. The empty spaces on the wall for the rest of the descent distinctly unbalanced the decorative arrangement—clearly there had been an intent to add more.
Daniel’s steps were heavy, and he felt tired. To be honest, he always felt tired. On the worst of his symptomatic days, it felt as if he were paralyzed and drowning on the ocean floor far from humanity. However, he recently had been having more good days than bad, though every day held some struggle with his mental illness. Even success could be exhausting.
Not mental illness, psychiatric diagnosis, he reminded himself of what his most recent psychiatrist had taught him. It is only an illness if it becomes maladaptive to my daily life—and I’m fine.
Derealization often disconnected him from his own body, exhausting him. It was as if his psyche were frantically pedaling on a stationary bike, trying to reconnect his mind to his body, only to remain stuck in one place. He had tried to explain what it felt like to his mother before but stopped when he’d noticed the painful pity in her expression. Besides, it wasn’t necessarily a “bad” feeling. In some ways, the void was comforting to him, pulling him away from the complicated feelings of daily life.
At the foot of the stairs, Karen thrust out her hands—one held pills, the other a glass of water. “Here,” she coolly stated, “take these.”
Pills. Always pills. Daniel frowned, and his reluctance was too great for him to conceal. He hated this ritual they had fallen into. At nineteen he hadn’t wanted to be under the guardianship of his mother, but it was unfortunately how his life had turned out.
“Daniel,” Karen began, her voice gaining an edge as her patience started to thin. “C’mon, already. We don’t have time for this.”
He hesitated for a moment longer, then took what she offered him silently. He clapped the pills into his mouth and took a large chug from the tumbler to wash the pills down. Karen opened her mouth and motioned for him to mimic her. He did. Satisfied that the pills were gone, she turned away.
“I could do it myself,” Daniel said softly. His voice was uncommonly gentle for a nineteen-year-old. He had always been quieter than his siblings.
Karen, in the kitchen already, responded: “We already tried that once last year—remember?” Daniel’s mom returned to his line of sight with a large flat cardboard box in her arms. Through the open top, Daniel spied the stained-glass art his mother often crafted in their garage.
“Let’s get going, the car is basically packed.”
Sighing, Daniel plodded down the final step of the staircase and grabbed his shoes from the entryway of the house. Even though the morning was still early, the August sun already promised sweltering temperatures under the cloudless sky.
⁂
Hours later, Daniel walked through the weekly Berlin, Oregon Saturday Market with no discernable goal. His face was calm to the point of appearing bland as he surveyed the goods around him. Some of the pop-up stalls sold specialty goods like organic honey and teas, handmade soaps, glass “definitely not for marijuana” pipes, leather goods, and plants. Other booths sold antiques or, in other words, junk.
He found his gaze becoming unfocused at yet another junk stall, bored with the repetitive nature of the market itself. Spending the whole day under the blistering summer sun sapped his energy and sweat glistened on his brow and dampened his pits. All-in-all, he was ready for the Saturday Market to be over. Still, with meds in his system, Daniel felt more alert than he did this morning. More grounded.
“Do you like it?” An old man asked him from over his left shoulder. Daniel turned to look at the stranger who had spoken and saw that he was more antique than his actual wares he was shucking.
“What?”
“The mirror,” the old man rasped. “You were staring at it.”
Daniel glanced back to where he was originally facing. There was an aged mirror there after all—he hadn’t even realized it was there. The reflection was spotted and off color, as if the silver backing had somehow oxidized to an orange hue. Looking into it, he saw a jaundiced version of himself. Daniel’s mouth twisted into a frown. His reflection frowned with him.
How ugly¸ he thought to himself instinctively.
In the shared silence, the old man spat on the ground in a guttural, phlegmy manner only the elderly could get away with in public.
“Eh,” the old man continued without Daniel replying, “no one does. It’s the color. I can’t get rid of the damned thing. I wouldn’t have taken it either if it hadn’t been included in that storage unit I bid on.” The old man considered for a moment, “the frame is nice though.”
Daniel said nothing initially but felt compelled to speak. “You should throw it away then.”
“That’s what’s wrong with you kids,” came the exasperated retort. “Everything is disposable to you. Ugh!”
Their limp conversation was interrupted as Daniel turned away from the ugly mirror and the bitter old man, toward the sound of his mother’s voice calling his name. Three tables away, she was beckoning for him to return to her side. From the looks of things, she was finally ready to leave. He wasn’t sure why she bothered coming to the market, it didn’t seem like she actually ever sold much. Vaguely, he hoped she had sold at least half of her stained glass just so he wouldn’t have to help her lift it all. In his heart, he knew that hope was in vain.
“That’s your mom, huh? The glass cutter?”
Daniel didn’t like the man and now felt eager to leave. His mom was as good as any excuse to help him get away from the phlegmy man. “Yeah, I have to go help her.”
The old man considered. “I guess you’re not that bad… just take the mirror then. Give it to your mom to use, but I want the frame back and in one piece.” With a spryness that belied his age, the old man grabbed the mirror with one hand, making his wiry bicep bulge, and thrust it at the teen.
Daniel rolled his eyes and grasped the two-foot by three-foot mirror. It was much heavier than he expected, and the ornately carved frame dug into the soft flesh of his palms. Even still, he was happy for the excuse to vacate. He had begun to notice that the old man had the distinct smell of soured chewing tobacco. The tall teen began lumbering away from the junk piled at the market stall and towards his mother again.
“I want the frame back.” The old man reiterated at Daniel’s back, phlegm muddling his vocal cords again.
“Yeah, ok. I’ll tell her.”
Daniel left with his unwanted burden and approached his mom’s own pop-up stall. The mirror was awkward, stealing any pleasure he might have gained from abandoning the old baby-boomer. Even though he didn’t need to carry it far, he could feel the edges of the frame biting into the meat of his hands. The discomfort reinforced his dislike of the item, and he resisted the urge to chuck the mirror into one of the dumpsters at the nearby food court. Despite his own inclination, he dutifully brought it to his mother’s market stall.
His mom was kneeling on the dusty ground, carefully folding the tops of cardboard boxes over stained-glass sheets, with her back to him. “Daniel, it’s after four o’clock—where were you? I’m almost done packing things up already.” Karen straightened, stood and looked to her son who was setting his burden down, propping it against the table. She frowned, noticing the mirror, “What’s that?”
“An ugly mirror that old guy wanted you to have.” Daniel jerked his head towards the old man in the distance.
“Huh… must have been Job, I guess. Load that up too.”
“He wants the frame back.” Daniel murmured. He inspected the marks the frame had left on his palms. One of his hands had a miniscule sliver embedded in it. A tiny droplet of blood welled up at the site. Irritated, Daniel wiped his hands clean on his jeans.
“I’m sure he does.” Karen acknowledged with her attention fully affixed to packing things up.
⁂
Karen backed her SUV into her driveway. The house had an attached two car garage, but the space had been entirely converted into her art studio. A large white pegboard held her pliers, cutters, and other tools neatly above a work desk. A fan—for fumes—and a desk lamp quietly rested off to the side. Metal shelves filled the space making it look like a library. Half of the studio held uncut panes, neatly filed in vertical racks by color and texture. The other half held projects and stock she made throughout the week as she prepped for the Saturday Market and fulfilled online orders. Under those, stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes and package filler rested.
The projects were in various stages of progress as she experimented with new designs. Some had been abandoned entirely; shoved into the darker recesses of the shelves. The art studio, even with the garage door open, felt overstuffed.
Daniel didn’t like staying in the area for very long. It, more than any other area of the house, was too much of his mother all at once. Because of this, he’d long since abandoned his bicycle that had been stuffed into one corner. It simply wasn’t worth the effort to fetch it.
Besides, he had nowhere to go.
With practiced efficiency, they unloaded the SUV. Down at the sidewalk, their neighbor Mrs. Guo waved to them as she walked her hyperactive husky. Karen waved back while Daniel ducked into the garage with a box. Before Mrs. Guo could ask Karen about the market, her dog dragged her farther down the sidewalk while frantically sniffing the grass for urine.
“Do you mind if I grab some chips?” Daniel asked upon his return to the SUV.
“Go ahead, it’ll be a little while before I can make dinner.”
Without hesitation, Daniel bounded up the steps of the porch and disappeared into the house where air conditioning had been running all day. Reaching into her vehicle Karen unpacked the last item, the mirror. It surprised her how heavy it was, though it did make it seem like it truly was a vintage item. Sweat moistened her temples, and she brought it into the garage. It was bigger than her torso and felt very awkward in her arms. She propped it up on her workspace countertop. Without her work lamps on, the garage was dim, and the orange of the mirror deepened to a rusty red shade.
Karen couldn’t recall if she’d ever seen an off-color antique mirror before. But, as she caught a glimpse of her reflection, she could see why tint wasn’t popular.
Grotesque, she thought.
A minor spasm of pain rolled through her abdomen, distracting her; the sensation made her hiss and press her hands against her lower abdomen. After a moment, the feeling passed, and her mental assessment of the mirror was forgotten. She closed her studio door, locked her car, and went inside to start making dinner.
⁂
After dinner Karen offered Daniel his nightly dose of Ativan while he watched a sitcom in the living room. He clapped the pill into his mouth, like he always did, swallowed water, and opened his mouth for his mom to check. Karen looked inside his maw, nodded, and left the room. Ritual complete.
A moment passed as Daniel watched her go. His mother was busy in the kitchen, and he could hear the clinking of dishes being hand washed. She had always preferred handwashing over anything else, despite the house having a modern dishwasher. Sometimes, she was so set in her ways that she was unwilling to accept change. Even as a teen, Daniel could recognize that.
Impulsively, Daniel used a finger to swipe the damp pill from his cheek and slipped it into his pocket.
The studio audience for the sitcom broke out in laughter. On the couch, Daniel chuckled with them.
⁂
On the second floor of their home, Daniel walked by the bedroom between his own and the bathroom. It was the smallest in the house and usually, the door was kept shut throughout the day. At the moment, Karen was inside, straightening a comforter on a twin bed. It was pink, with small blue flowers—Bethany’s favorite. Or Daniel assumed it had been—he couldn’t remember if it really was her favorite or if he had just been told that it was.
The room itself looked nearly unchanged despite a gap of sixteen years since Beth had last used it. Childish art hung on the walls, and stuffed animals were stacked neatly in the toybox in the corner. Books, some only half read; silently stood on a bookshelf, touched only when dusted. Karen, in a ritual that Daniel had grown up watching, kept it tidy and clean as if Beth would simply walk in through the front door one day and resume her life.
Late in fourth grade, Daniel had a friend come over after school and they had witnessed Karen’s actions. The next day, whispers started percolating through school about Daniel and his strange mom. That was the last time any schoolmates had stepped inside the Lieberman home. As a child Daniel hadn’t known it was strange. Looking back, he wondered how he had been so naïve.
He paused and glanced inside to watch his mother for a moment and then moved on without comment. There was nothing to say. If his much older brother hadn’t been able to convince her to stop the futile exercise, Daniel certainly couldn’t.
The next room was a bathroom. He turned on the sink, and let the water run briefly before flicking a damp pill into the water and down the drain. When it was gone, he turned off the sink, clicked off the overhead light, and returned to his own bedroom at the end of the hall.
He’d only taken a minute or two to complete his surreptitious disposal. In that time, Bethany’s room had been vacated, but Karen had forgotten to fully close the door. The gap was a thin slice of darkness that stood out in sharp contrast to the well-lit corridor. Daniel paused at the room again. With his fingertips, he gently nudged the opening wider and looked inside the room that belonged to a sister he barely remembered.
For some reason, it reminded him of church. Sound seemed muffled in the small room, smothered by the tragic history of who should have grown-up between those four walls—and yet never got the chance to do so. It was strange to view the space without the activity of his mother inside. It somehow felt smaller without her; sadder.
Might as well be a tomb, he thought. Goosebumps pricked his arms at the idea.
Without stepping inside or lingering any longer, he firmly pulled the door shut. The door latch clicked into place, securing the portal. Relieved, he continued to his bedroom next door. Without hesitation, he simultaneously flung himself face down on his mattress and slapped his door shut with the confident mannerism of a teenager. It was late, and Daniel felt too tired to change into his boxers to sleep.
Outside in the hallway, silence filled the area.
After a moment, Bethany’s bedroom door opened, swinging partially ajar revealing the darkness inside.
