you heard me

Each morning I used to tell my mother that there was someone standing outside my bedroom window. Each morning she would say the exact same thing. “There’s nobody there.” I gave up arguing eventually. Not since she was correct, but because the person outside began waving. To begin with, it was only a shadow—a person standing opposite down the street under the old streetlamp, remaining perfectly still. I never managed to see their face and, every time I pointed them out, my mother would look through the window and say that I was seeing things. One morning I noticed the figure raising a hand. They waved. I waved back. My mom sighed. “Please stop doing that.” I turned toward her. “You saw them?” She looked at me in a strange way. “No.” How then do you know that I waved? She didn’t answer. In school, the situation became even worse. I attempted to tell my best friend, Ava, but she was busy texting. I said that there's someone outside my house every night. “Uh-huh.” “They watch my window.” “Cool.” “Ava.” She finally looked up. “What?” “I’m serious.” She smiled. “I know.” That answer bothered me. What do you mean that you know? She shrugged and said, "You tell me every day." “I do?” “Yeah.” I stared at her. I had never told her before. At least, I didn’t remember telling her. I went home early that afternoon. She was sitting at the kitchen table, my mother. I walked in and told her, "Mom, something's gone wrong." She didn’t look up. “I know.” I froze. “What?” She kept on looking at the table. You've been trying to say this to me for weeks. I stepped closer. “Then listen to me.” Then she turned and looked at me. There were tears in her eyes. “I am listening.” So tell me exactly what I've been saying. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. I waited. She looked terrified. At that moment she whispered, "You're always saying that there's someone outside." “Yes.” “No.” I frowned. “What?” She shook her head. "That's not what you said." I felt cold. “What did I say?” My mom stood up. She walked toward me. “You kept saying…” She stopped. “What?” Her voice dropped to a level where it was almost inaudible. "You kept saying you were outside." I stared at her. That's not exactly what I said. My mom backed away. “I know.” I locked the window in my bedroom that night. Then I locked my bedroom door. I heard someone whispering my name at 2:13 a.m. I sat up. “Mom?” Silence. Then again. “Mom?” The voice was coming from outside my bedroom. I picked up my phone and switched on the flashlight. Nobody was there. Then my phone buzzed. A message from Ava. Are you still attempting to tell them? I typed back. “Tell who?” Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Finally, she replied. “Everyone.” I looked at the message. Another one appeared. They no longer being able to hear you. I got out of bed. I went to my door and opened it. She was standing in the hallway. She was looking straight at me. “Mom?” She didn’t respond. Can Mom hear me? Nothing. I stepped closer. “Mom?” She looked right through me. Then she walked past. I grabbed her arm. She didn’t react. I screamed. She kept walking. I ran downstairs. Ava was sitting at the table in the kitchen. Except Ava wasn’t there. It was my mom. She was speaking to a person. A person sitting opposite her. I had no sight of their face. My mom nodded. Then she said: She still believes that she is here. I froze. The one sitting opposite her replied. “I know.” Their voice sounded familiar. I stepped closer. “Who are you?” Neither of them reacted. I shouted louder. “WHO ARE YOU?” They turned their head slowly. Then at last I saw their face. It was mine. She looked just like me. Same hair. Same clothes. Same face. But she was smiling. She looked at her mother. In your opinion, will she work it out? I shook my head too. “No.” She then looked straight at me. And whispered: “She never does.” The lights went out. When I had come back, I was standing outside my house. Across the street. Under the old streetlight. I looked at my bedroom window. A girl was standing there. She was screaming. She was indicating me. I saw her mouth moving. I couldn’t understand a single word. She walked into the room behind her. The girl turned around. She set about explaining something. She shook her head. “There’s nobody there.” She turned to look at me. Tears filled her eyes. She placed her hand on the glass. I lifted mine. She screamed again. But nobody heard her. And suddenly, I understood. I stood outside that window every night. I had been in the background. I was the one waving. I was the individual who was ignored by all. But the worst part? I had no recollection of the time at which I ceased to be the girl within me. What I knew was that each morning a person awoke in my room. Someone who looked exactly like me. Someone everyone could hear. Each night I was standing outside the window, attempting to convey the truth to them. But no matter how loudly I screamed… The only thing they ever heard was that. “There’s nobody there.” I attempted to beat on the glass, but my hands produced no sound. The girl inside was shouting and I saw that she was calling my name. I wanted to warn her; I wanted to tell her not to trust my mother, not to open the door, and never to look under the streetlight. Before I had got the words out of my mouth they disappeared. Next to her I could see my reflection in the window. For a moment I looked at myself clearly before the reflection smiled first. The girl noticed. She stepped backward. I desperately shook my head. She mouthed one question. “Who are you?” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My mother came back into the room while I was behind her. She turned towards her. When she turned back to the window, I was no longer there. Or perhaps I had never been there at all.