Eyes in the Mirror by Julia Mayer

Author:Julia Mayer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2011-11-12T22:00:00+00:00

chapter 9

Feeling Defeated

Samara

I looked at Dee in the mirror and thought, We’re back. I heard my father calling me, and I wondered what he was doing home so early on a Friday.

“Samara, can you come down here for a minute?” I went downstairs and stopped on the landing, looking down at him. He had one hand on the banister and a foot on the first step. “I wanted to give you this…” He held a pamphlet toward me. “And to see if you started packing already, if there’s anything you need…”

“Packing? Packing for what? Where are we going?” I walked down the stairs and reached out to take the pamphlet he was holding. It took a moment to sink in. Reality Rehabilitation. I opened it and stared at the inside. It was filled with text, but I didn’t understand any of it.

“Rehab? I’m supposed to be…I’m supposed to be packing for rehab?”

“We talked about it, honey. It’s only for a week. To help you deal with…help us deal with…” his voice trailed off.

I felt a small flame begin in my stomach, come up through my intestines, and burn out the back of my throat and the roof of my mouth. I was sure that when I opened my mouth I would breathe out fire, but instead I screamed, “I am not going to rehab!”

My father took a step back, and I looked down at him from three stairs up. “Samara, you…you said it was a good idea. We talked about this,” he repeated meekly.

“I must’ve been out of my fucking mind. There’s no way I’m going.”

“Yes, you are. This is not your decision. This is what’s best for you, and it’s not your decision.”

“To hell it’s not,” I said. I ran down the stairs and stomped out of the house, unsure where I was going.

***

I found myself outside the cemetery where my mother was buried. I had never been to visit before, though Dad had pointed out the grave when we drove by the cemetery once. I hadn’t even been to her funeral. My father had told me that it would be too much for me to handle, and I guess it would have been.

The man at the gate of the cemetery asked if I wanted to buy flowers. I shook my head and put my hand on the gate in front of me. All I needed to do was push it open and walk in and ask my mom for help. But I couldn’t. I had never been able to go in, not since she died.

The man with the flowers continued pushing me to buy, and finally I crossed the street to get away from him. I went to a park and sat down on a bench.

When Mom died, instead of letting me mourn, my dad had told me to write letters to her.

“It’s better than crying,” he told me. “Write down everything you wish you could tell her. Then give them to me, and I’ll send them to her so when you get to heaven, she’ll be all caught up.

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