The Observer

The Observer by Amy G. Palmer

Once again caught up in frustration and anger, sadness and hopelessness, I stood in front of my mirror to wash my freckled face. My eyes have become bloodshot and the green in them seems to glow, like the eyes of a mythical creature. A flood of mucus forces me to blow my nose once more, nearing the end of a tissue box. I am just starting to stop my tears from flowing when I start to converse silently in my head again. It is loud in my head.

“Oh no, don't start again,” I look in the mirror and demand I stop crying. My thoughts erupt again.“Why is this my life? Why when I need peace to live, do I live in torment? She screamed at me again, my own child. I can’t even love her like she needs. This is too much, I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t” My child’s explosive angry words are bullets that hit me again and again. It seems I have little time to stop the sting and stitch the holes before they start again. Often, though, my armor isn’t impermeable and her outbursts cut too deep. The flow of emotions envelops me again. I feel no one understands the all consuming effects of a child like mine. I know she suffers too. This is the bad stuff.

I press my hands on the mirror to wipe my face. Suddenly, a wave of light and dark comes through me, and I cross through the mirror. I land softly on a white ground. I turn and see myself from the other side, now an observer. I, (now she), has started another round of tears and yelling to the heavens. I can see it from the other side, the woman in the mirror, is a wounded creature, overwrought with grief and pain. I try to press back through the glass, I can not return. No entrance.

She at last stops and I watch her walk away defeated. I know what will happen next. She’ll go to her bed, numb herself to the sound of a familiar show on a shut off timer and then drift into a slumber for the night. Then she’ll wake and start a new day. She’ll pack up her emotions once again and force a smile on her face. Crying somehow helps her feel okay again, for a while at least. She hasn’t healed, but her perspective is clear for a moment as she allows some joy into her heart for the day. She prepares for the day's events. I sit in awe at the reflection of the woman I know so well. She is stronger than she feels. I see it now.

How I became the Observer I do not know. This side of the mirror is quiet and still. No one is here. I am alone. I look around the empty room with curiosity, somehow it isn’t strange that I am here. It feels familiar and mysterious at the same time. The white hall is full of mirrors and windows. The cool empty room has two doors, an ornate white door and a black common door, side by side at one end of the hall. I wonder what is behind those doors? I start to move toward them.

I stop, her reflection appears again. “Oh, I know this vision well.” She is standing in her full-length mirror. She tries on only two pairs of pants today, she pulls on her green sweater, grabs the fatty fold around her waist and groans. She tries on another top and then another. I don’t need to hear her to know what it is she is thinking. “I really need to lose weight”.  This is the moment when shame hits her. She finally tries on a black shirt and a long pale pink cardigan. This is the one. She walks into the other mirror and continues with her morning routine all along thinking about how she wishes herself skinnier and more attractive. It’s an intrusive thought that seems to breed all morning, until she gets into her car. Her face appears again this time in her rear view mirror. I watch her face change into a smile as she pulls away from her house. She has put on her favorite songs. Today, it will be spiritual music about God and Jesus, it’s what she usually listens to after a long cry. She is gearing up for a day of school and teens. 

Knowing that I won’t see her in the reflections for a while, I return to my previous attempt to explore what is behind those doors. I started with the ordinary black door. It is rough and heavy. I pushed through it and was met with a bitter cold. Behind the door I see a dying fire, red with embers in the darkened fireplace. The room smells of smoke. There are boxes tossed with no order in piles on the ground, spilling its contents out onto the thick dark red carpet. The dimly lit lamp strains my eyes. I am forced to squint to see the contents of the room. I pick up a box and settle myself into a large, heavily worn chair near the lamp.

I began to read. "The kids at school made fun of me for my freckles and my new ‘Annie’ perm.” “Why can’t things go my way, I hate”…this rest is torn. I unravel some of the crumpled pages and find stories of loss and sadness. “No one asked me to prom. I must be too ugly", "I didn’t make it into the singing group, everyone lied to me when they said I would.” I found pages torn from journals, “No one likes me.” “I will never understand math.” “My mom will never understand me.” “Why didn't my friends call me?” “My brother called me dumb." “I’ll never fit in.” “I can’t believe that I got in trouble for that.” “I will never be good enough.” “I wish I hadn’t yelled at my mom.” “Mom is sick again, I worry so much about her.” “Mom is in the hospital again.” “Dad had to pick up another job, I hope that he’ll still be able to spend time with us.” The pages were worn and thin. They seemed to have been read over and over. I had only read from a few boxes, it was enough. As I read them, I had to stop myself from tossing them into the glowing embers of the fireplace. I could see why they had been handled with so little care, it only held worries and sadness. 

I spotted a dark wooden box lying in the corner nearest the lamp. It was more carefully placed in its spot, the lid was neatly closed. The words “Fragile, handle with care” were printed on the side. I took a deep breath as I opened it, I was afraid of what it held. I suspected I knew its contents. A journal sits neatly bound with a ribbon, “I just found out I am moving, I don't know how I am going to survive this. I can’t believe I will be leaving my best friend on my 14th birthday. This is so unfair, I don’t know if I will ever make new friends” The pages following were filled with sadness and frustration of loneliness and grief. “I still don’t have any friends, I really miss my best friend, she hasn’t answered my letter for a month.” I thumbed through its pages even though I knew what the rest of the story contained. I re-tied the string and set it on the table by the lamp. 

At the bottom of the box, wrapped neatly in white fabric, another journal. “I am afraid your mom has passed away.” Suddenly an image of a young 21 year old woman appeared, she collapsed to her knees and her grandfather lifted her into her arms and they wept together. More images filled the room and instantly the contents were alive. She was gathered with her family as they cried together, planning a funeral. Going into her mother’s closet to find the one picture her mother had previously pointed out.”This is the only picture I really like of myself.” The tears and heartbreak, all images of the woman’s pain. The not eating, the weakness. Then the finale, touching her mother’s cold icy hands in the coffin. She wailed as she realized it was the end. The images began to bear weight on my shoulders and I sank into the ground weeping at the contents. I closed its pages and wrapped the journal in the cloth and returned it to its box. I closed the box and gently replaced it to its previous spot in the corner. 

 A newer box had been placed next to the door, no lid yet and certainly not completely filled. It contained the contents of her present day written with a hurried hand. It listed the struggles of marriage, struggles with children and the current consistent weariness of caring for her mentally ill child. Her personal struggles with depression, anxiety and health. The silent thoughts of condemnation as she longed to lose weight but felt too helpless to do so. Those things I had known well as they were fresh on her mind. I rapidly began to feel the coldness of the room sink into my bones. The box I was looking through began to groan and shake, a dark mist began to flow from its contents. I dropped the box to the ground and bolted toward the door. 

I crumbled to the ground in the safety of the hall of mirrors. I caught my breath and contemplated the things I had just seen. I was replete with despair and fear. As I calmed my nerves, she appeared in the mirror again. She was washing her hands, examining her hair, teeth and clothing during her break for lunch. As she studied her appearance, the load of all I had examined in that darkened room seemed to be buried at that present moment. She was calm and content. She walked again, out of my view. Hours would pass. I knew she was headed back to the classroom.

Seeing how she could move from the sorrow she had felt the night before, with wonder, I pulled myself together. I pushed myself up from the ground and walked slowly toward the other door. I wasn’t sure what I would find behind the white door. Its beautiful carvings led me to believe it would hold something of desire. I pushed the heavy door open. The scent of flowers and lightness filled my breath. I inhaled deeply and allowed it to permeate my body. The white carpet was soft beneath my feet. I squinted at the brightness of the room as I walked in. I heard the soft sounds of instruments peacefully floating through the air. As my eyes began to adjust to the lightened room, I could see what the space had to offer.

Glass boxes were displayed neatly on beautiful tables. Diamonds, rubies and gems were suspended inside. Flashes of light filled the stones as they reflected the brightness of the room. They were organized and placed in clusters. Below the glass boxes were words etched into a golden rectangle plaque. Time and worry were absent, the sacred space entranced me as I walked slowly and began to examine the contents in view. 

I started at the front of the large room. Glowing stones, as I read the labels, emotions and images entered my head. Christmas memories, laughter, excitement and wonder. Images of a family gathered around. Opening presents. The smell of cinnamon and peppermint. Playing with brothers and sisters. Then moving through this section, scenes of first Christmases with a new husband. The joy on children’s faces as they open their presents.

I continued, Love; I see and feel the tenderness of first loves and first kisses. A man looking at his bride, eyes full of hope, pride, and love. Another section, Children; Pure joy filled my soul, holding a first baby, a second, a third and a fourth. The stones flickered and glowed holding precious moments of rocking, and playing with her children. Watching them grow, sending them off to school, then college. Children's laughter and songs fill the room. 

Family; The memories of siblings, her father and her mother when she wasn't sick. Weeks before her mother’s death, with a renewed energy her mom gathered her children for a last time as she spoke to each child under the shade of a tree. Memories of her mother’s smile, her effervescent laughter, her advice, her caring words. Her green eyes and blonde hair, the same eyes and blonde hair of the woman reflected in the mirror.

Some of the stones carried images of friends, jobs and gifts she had developed. The strength granted to her through the truths she knew. The room was vibrant and alive. Filled with joy, hope, dreams, and contentment. Excitement flooded my heart and mind. I cheerfully left the room hoping to show the woman in the mirror what I had found. 

I entered the hall of mirrors and the light was left behind me. Darkness had spread from the black opened door, leaving stains on the walls. The darkness spread faster and began to overtake the corners and cloud the mirrors, it wailed and moaned as it began to occupy the space. Filled with anguish and I knew the door needed to be shut. Through the haze, I tried to close the door. It was powerful, the distress and pain were boundless. I cried for help. No one could hear me. I began to press through the darkness. It was heavy and unyielding.

Through the murkiness, I could see a light gleaming from under the closed door of the brightened room. All the strength I had was used to force myself to the door. Each step forward, I was pulled back by a shadowy arm, proclaiming victory over me. I stepped forward heavy-footed, determined to follow hope, unswallowed by this creature of darkness. With exhaustion, I grabbed the handle of the door, holding myself up, pushing against the waves of darkness. With force, I twisted the handle and pushed. When the door opened, brightness broke through the blackness. The brightness wrapped itself around the darkness and began to surround it. I shielded my eyes as the light filled the room. A large pulse slammed the darkness into the room it came from, and the door shut quickly behind. Secure in its place.

I sat against the mirrored walls and watched the light bounce from wall to wall. Leaving behind it, spots of light as it returned to its room. The stains of darkness still colored the walls. Both the light and dark marked the halls of the mirrored observation room.

She appears in the mirror again having returned from work. She ponders her day and pulls her hair up. She walks away from the mirror. She is content, unaware of the battle that had been fought on the other side of her reflection. As she passes the mirror hanging on the wall of her room. I breathe deeply and press myself against her reflection ready to be a part of her, knowing what I know. As I lean in, I am pulled and pushed through the mirror and I quickly fall back into myself, no longer the Observer.

I came home from work, I had a good day, not great, not bad, just good. Some days are just like that. I love when I come home and have a few minutes before the chaos of the evening ensues. I greet my husband with a kiss, I remove my shoes and and sit in my bed with a blanket until I hear the doors open and the voices of my children shout to me. “Mom, I am home!” My children gather with me on my bed, and tell me all about the good and bad parts of their day. This is the good stuff.