Mirror Sister (work in progress)

[edenjane]

The dress lay on Lidia’s bureau, completely untouched. A thick canvas of dust covered all of its exposed surface except the thin buttons lined up in the middle. Johnny touched each of the buttons gently, making sure not to disturb the fabric.

He had found himself doing this every day at four o’clock for the past year. It was the only time he could sneak into Lidia’s room because his father hadn’t yet returned from work and his mother was immersed in the process of preparing dinner. Every time he touched the dress he felt torn in half. Part of him wanted desperately to hold it close to his nose, to try to hoard any lingering scent of her, and the other part wanted to scream. It wanted to rip the fabric apart, piece by piece, until only grey-blue fibers remained.
Johnny took a deep breath and, trying his best not to hesitate, unfolded the dress for the first time since Lidia had gone. There was no magic in it, as he had secretly hoped, and she did not reappear. He felt the beginning of what would become sobs rise in his throat, but they stopped suddenly when he saw himself in the long mirror attached to the bedroom door and for a moment thought he saw her in his reflection. This had happened a few times before, mainly because Johnny and Lidia had such similar eyes and hair, but it had never seemed as real as when he was holding that dress.

He closed his eyes and faced away from the mirror. The lines between what was right and what felt wrong began to blur as he took off his shirt and pants. He slowly and carefully pulled his sister’s dress over his head and tried not to think of how harshly he would be punished if he were caught as he turned to face his reflection. It looked tighter on him, after all he was nine years old and she had only been seven when she died, but when he squinted his eyes he could almost see her.

“Do you miss me as much as I miss you?” he whispered looking towards the wall. He looked back to the mirror.

“No, I miss you more.” He made his mirror sister say, “I’m sorry I had to go but I promise it’s not a bad place I’ve gone to, and I still think of you all the time. How are mom and dad?”

“Mom is always busy now. She’s always cleaning even though nothing’s ever dirty. Dad doesn’t say much to anyone, especially me. I don’t think he likes me anymore.”

“He still likes you. He just misses me a lot, too.”

Johnny smiled and wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could. He almost felt her head on his shoulder in the pseudo-embrace and he sighed happily. He began to cry, confused at the simultaneous feeling of so much joy and pain, and turned away from his mirror sister so that she would not see his tears.

In this position, he didn’t see or hear his father open the door, and didn’t have the chance to shield himself from the coming hits and blows.

[Murusaki]

I like it!
Very interesting, I want to read more. What happened to Lidia (she presumably died?) I hope you write more to it!

[Jocafer]

wow, this is actually very good :)

i felt the sadness and the love and the pain. very nice storytelling!


keep writing!

[edenjane]

thanks very much guys.
Lidia is definitely dead, but I'm not sure how she died yet. Part of me wants it to be disease so that the parents are left without someone to blame but on the other hand if she were murdered I could eventually go into the parents' reaction, but I don't know. I think I may write the rest from various points of view within the family. What do you think?

[1n50mn14]

Oh, neat!

I'd stick with the same Point of View you're using now. Continuity is a good thing.

Please continue, this is intriguing!

[prendrelemick]

I'd keep the 9 year old viewpoint because children have an honesty and innocence you can use.

great story so far

[prendrelemick]

I've been thinking about this one on and off since I read it last week.

I just want to say, beware the cliche of the unthinking abusive father. Put yourself in his place for a moment. He climbs the stairs, he's carrying the unbearable grief of the death of his little girl. Every time he passes her room the pain of her loss must hit him afresh. Sometimes he may momentarily forget she's gone and expect to hear her excited greeting - until reality hits like a kick in the stomach.

This is the man who walks in and sees Johnny. ( or is it Johnny he sees initially?)

As you see, I can't get this story out of my head.

[edenjane]

yeah that's essentially what I figured. The beginning of the story is about jumping to conclusions, and the reader probably jumps to the conclusion that the father is being abusive for the distinct point that his son is wearing a dress. That's why I wanted to do a part on the father's point of view, because maybe for a second he thought he saw her, too.

[edenjane]

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to add more chapters, etc. so I'm going to do it as a reply. If there's another better way, someone please let me know.




Johnny
The dress lay on Lidia’s bureau, completely untouched. A thick canvas of dust covered its exposed surface except the thin buttons lined up in the middle. Johnny touched each of the buttons gently, making sure not to disturb the fabric.
He found himself doing this every day at four o’clock for the past year. It was the only time he could sneak into Lidia’s room because his father hadn’t yet returned from work and his mother was immersed in the process of preparing dinner. Every time he touched the dress he felt torn in half. Part of him wanted desperately to hold it close to his nose, to try to hoard any lingering scent of her, and the other part wanted to scream. It wanted to rip the fabric apart, piece by piece, until only grey-blue fibers remained.

Johnny took a deep breath and, trying his best not to hesitate, unfolded the dress for the first time since Lidia had gone. There was no magic in it, as he had secretly hoped, and she did not reappear. He felt the beginning of what would become sobs rise in his throat, but they stopped suddenly when he saw himself in the long mirror attached to the bedroom door and for a moment thought he saw her in his reflection. This happened a few times before, mainly because Johnny and Lidia had such similar eyes and hair, but it had never seemed as real as when he was holding that dress.

He closed his eyes and faced away from the mirror. The lines between what was right and what felt wrong began to blur as he took off his shirt and pants. He slowly and carefully pulled his sister’s dress over his head and tried not to think of how harshly he would be punished if he were caught as he turned to face his reflection. It looked tighter on him, after all he was eleven years old and she had only been eight when she died, but when he squinted his eyes he could almost see her.

“Do you miss me as much as I miss you?” he whispered looking towards the wall. He looked back to the mirror.

“No, I miss you more.” He made his mirror sister say, “I’m sorry I had to go but I promise it’s not a bad place I’ve gone to, and I still think of you all the time. How are mom and dad?”

“Mom is always busy now. She’s always cleaning even though nothing’s ever dirty. Dad doesn’t say much to anyone, especially me. I don’t think he likes me anymore.”

“He still likes you. He just misses me a lot, too.”

Johnny smiled and wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could. He almost felt her head on his shoulder in the pseudo-embrace and he sighed happily. He began to cry, confused at the simultaneous feeling of so much joy and pain, and turned away from his mirror sister so that she would not see his tears.

In this position, he didn’t see or hear his father open the door, and didn’t have the chance to shield himself from the coming hits and blows.



John Sr.
John had not been raised to hit women or children. He grew up with a stay-at-home mother, a woman who knew that feminism was not about going into the work place but rather about having the choice to do so, and a father who treated her like a queen. His father had a simple rule: never hit a woman or anyone smaller than you, even if they’re asking for it. John was not a product of abuse, and because he had been fairly well behaved as a child had hardly ever even been yelled at during his youth. No matter what he observed and learned in his adult life, he always continued to sincerely believe in and live by his father’s rule.

So when he found himself on top of his nine year old son, his hand pressed firmly against the boy’s chest, he felt as though his mind had been completely switched with another’s. An alien voice rose from his throat.

“What do you think you’re doing? How could you be doing this?” he demanded of his Johnny, his namesake and son, and for a moment, his precious Lidia.

The family had given up hope when Lidia’s kidnapper had been caught and convicted but still refused to reveal her location. They had been told to assume that she was dead, that it was healthier than holding on to the false hope that she might return. John had taken silent solace in this advice. He was used to being told to take the nobler more difficult route and when a licensed psychologist granted him permission not only to stop hoping but also to begin to forget, he could not help but to succumb to the easier road.

But for a moment, when he opened Lidia’s bedroom door to find her dress reanimated on a body, all blue silk and hazel eyes, every bit of the pain, the loss and the hope from the year before fell onto him in a mass so enormous that he could hardly withstand the blow. When he found it to be a mistake, a trick of his eyes, his immediate and seemingly unstoppable instinct was to put out the light that
had fooled him into seeing her: his son.

The reality of what John was doing settled on him slowly at first, they way it did when he found himself hosing down the concrete instead of his car while caught in a day dream, but when it fully hit him he could not get off of Johnny quickly enough. As soon as the weight of his father’s body was lifted from him, Johnny scrambled on his hands and knees to get as far away as he could. The dress he wore snagged on one of his knees and tore as he turned to back into a corner. He cried out upon hearing the wretched separating of thread and fabric and then cried out again from the pain in his chest.

John stood, his hand pressed so hard against his mouth he felt his teeth might shred through his lips. Words raced through his mind, a thousand syllables all trying to find the best way to give the same message: I’m so sorry, son. But nothing could suffice, nothing could offer regret without revealing the damaging fear and pain he had allowed himself to feel. How could Johnny ever heal from his sister’s death if he were allowed to see his father come apart at the seams a full year after the fact? There was only one way to avoid this, John thought.

“I did not raise my son to be a dress-wearing fa**ot.”

The words stung his eyes, but he knew they had to be said. The only way to stop Johnny from seeing his father lose himself over Lidia, was to make the situation not about Lidia at all. He wished his son would scream at him, would accuse him of being a bigot, a monster, anything to water down the thickness of the words which still hung heavy in the air.

“I’m sorry, dad.”

Johnny ran from the room, careful to keep at least five feet of distance between himself and his father as he passed him to get to the door. The second the boy was out of sight, John fell to his knees and finally allowed his teeth to break through the flesh of his mouth.

[csgraham]

I like how you used the father to explain what happen to Lidia. A child doesn't understand those things and he would think she "went away" but the father has been hardened and can better explain the graphic details of Lidia's death. You don't want that coming from a child, unless you are going for dark and disturbing which I don't think you are.

My only concern is the first paragraph, I feel you could delete it and the actions he takes and thoughts he expresses will inform the reader that what he is doing to Johnny is not a normal occurrence. If anything I think it could add to the pain John Sr. feels because it caused him to act out so uncharacteristically. I feel that first paragraph interrupts the flow of the story and takes away from the tone the rest of the story displays.

Overall, I do like where it's going. By the way, were Lidia and Johnny twins?