Illuminated

Story contains references to mental health and trauma; some strong language.



“I seriously need to get a replacement for this damn mirror,” Joe said to herself. She tried to ignore the cracked mirror - her new haircut made her smile. She’d had it cropped extra short the week before. Her mom would have used the word “tomboyish” to describe it. “She would have hated it,” thought Joe. Thinking about her mother always made her feel uneasy and guilty in equal measure. 

She had no idea where the idea of those perfect TV moms come from - you know the ones who are friends with their teenage daughters? Sure, some moms were a little embarrassing or kind of weird… if only that were the case with Joe’s. She had no idea why the mere thought of Mother made her feel so flustered - she had made her decision a long time ago and she didn’t regret it. Her mother hadn’t exactly been a role model in Joe’s formative years (except if you were looking for an example of what not to do). Getting legally emancipated had been difficult, but she had done it. She’d always be grateful for Andi’s mom who took her in when things had become too overwhelming for any 16-year-old, even one as self-sufficient as Joe. 

As she looked at herself in the mirror, Joe saw that circles under her eyes weren’t quite as faint as they had been the week before. There was just something about this time of year that made her sleep a little uneasy, like there was something in her subconscious that wanted to remember all the things that she had pushed down for years. She grabbed her eyeliner from the vanity and applied a single dark line to each lower lid. Sure, it was a look that others might call outdated, but that’s all she knew how to do. Other women travelled with cases of makeup the size of a tig welder, but she never really got into that kind of thing - concealer, kabuki brush, contouring… these weren’t words she’d ever bothered to learn the meaning of; it just wasn’t her. 

Joe checked her smartwatch: she had 13 minutes before she had to leave to catch the 06:55 bus. Anyone who knew her, could tell you that she was never late for anything. Some might say she was a little obsessed with punctuality, but she often told them, “It shows that you respect the other person.” Before heading out the front door, she did a quick check: back door and security gate locked; water and kibble bowls full; oven switched off; kitchen counter wiped; the fridge’s water dispenser stocked. She ran her left hand through her short hair. “She would have hated this,” thought Joe, smiling to herself. She slung her old leather satchel across her body and walked past the open bathroom door, getting a glimpse of her reflection in the cracked mirror. “I really do need some sleep,” she muttered while trying not to trip over poor old Kevin weaving his black feline shape between her ankles, “and I really need to do something about that stupid mirror.” She double-checked both locks on the door before heading out to the bus stop for her daily commute to work.

As Joe stepped off the elevator, she made her way to her small office. Tiny though it was, it had been an amazing upgrade from her desk in the crowded space of the open plan where the clerks sat, chatting into their headsets, fingers tap-tapping away at their keyboards. She never had been good at sharing space (work or otherwise). She’d been young when she started at Pure’s new offices, but she’d kept her head down and filled most of her waking hours with work. It was a necessary distraction. 

Working at a company that specialises in cleaning services and supplies, had seemed a good fit for her. Long before the days when Marie Kondo shot to fame for her gift of decluttering, Joe had had a knack for living simply, moving on from things that could hold her back and weigh her down. People often jokingly remarked on how her Raggedy Anne had likely never been raggedy growing up. She always seemed to have her life figured out and her mail sorted by priority. Her office, like her house, was always impeccably neat, but without that harsh chemical smell that always seemed to linger in the homes of truly obsessive cleaners. Joe didn’t really think that what is technically known as obsessive compulsive spartanism applied to her - she just liked things a certain way and didn’t have too much trouble getting rid of what others might refer to as sentimental things. As far as she was concerned, something was worth keeping if it was useful. 

She walked to her desk and flipped open her laptop, automatically keyed in her password and watched the screen come to life. She did what she called a “quick sweep” of her inbox and calendar, prioritising tasks for the day and scheduling them in the app that her company had helped develop. She wasn’t exactly a techie, but she knew her way around basic coding and programming platforms. Amidst the minutes for meetings, upcoming webinars and day-to-day administration, there was also an invitation to an office Halloween party. She’d never seen much sense in celebrating this holiday - as far as she was concerned, there were enough real-life ghouls and monsters already. People already pretended to be something palatable, something “normal”, so donning an unnecessarily sexy zombie costume seemed ridiculous to her. She declined the invite without so much as a second glance.

Her message board pinged. “Go for Joe,” she answered (annoyed that her name happened to rhyme with the compulsory greeting every member of the team used. “Josephine, hey, thanks for filling in for me on Friday.” It was her supervisor, Amir. He was kind, in a sort of cool older uncle kind of way, but he insisted on calling her by her full name. She could never answer anyone who asked her why she didn’t like it. “No problem, Amir. Just doing my job,” Joe replied almost automatically. “You’re still going to do those evaluations of the new interns, right? I don’t trust these other millennials with that stuff. They probably spend more time taking selfies than actually working. I know I sound old, but it bugs the hell out of me. You good?” Joe had already confirmed the schedule for the day, but she knew that Amir just liked to stay on top of things. He’d never text if a phone call was possible. “Yes, Amir, I’ve got this.” He signed off and she muttered to herself, “It’s just Joe.” It annoyed her more than usual, but she knew that this happened sometimes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something trying to force itself to the front of her mind, something she’d hidden away in the darkest recesses of her memory. She wasn’t little Josephine anymore. “Big girls don’t cry,” Joe reminded herself.

The day went by without any major hurdles. Before she left the office at 17:25, she submitted the intern evaluations, put her laptop on sleep mode and switched her office lights off so that the cleaning staff knows that they can do their rounds without interrupting anyone on the floor. She took pride in leaving things as tidy as she could; it wasn’t just a way to make the lives of others (and herself) easier, but she also liked having control over something - it was a way of countering the chaos the world found itself in so often.

As she stepped off the bus, Joe absent-mindedly waved at her upstairs neighbour who was out on the balcony vaping. At least it smelled better than cigarette - that was a habit she had always detested. As she opened her front door, Kevin’s melancholy meows and weirdly heavy footfalls could be heard coming down the corridor. She picked up the ageing cat and wondered how many years he still had in him. It couldn’t be many. She wasn’t some crazy cat lady - the poor old boy was well into his teenage years and he was one of the only good things from her years as a teenager that she had held on to. When she’d found him all those years ago, he was a scraggly little street kitten with tufts of missing hair and a kink in his obviously broken tail. He’d been discarded, but she had raised him on bits of tinned tuna soaked in milk and mixed with cereal. He was a beautiful cat, though he now moved much slower than the spritely young cat he had been 15 years ago. She scooped up her furry roommate and scratched his scarred head.

Joe made her way to the bathroom to run a bath. She was generally in the habit of saving water (for the sake of the planet and her water bill) and showering at the end of a long work day, but Fridays were the exception. As she stood barefoot on the cold, clean tiles, she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked extra tired under the harsh fluorescent lights. She sensed something behind her; turning around she saw Kevin sinking his claws into a bath sheet. “Buddy, that’s not yours,” she said as she gently moved the towel away from him. “Joe…” came a voice from everywhere and nowhere at once. “The fuck was that?!” cried Joe. “I must be losing my mind. There’s no-one here, except Kevin.” She looked at herself in the mirror and splashed some cold water on her face. All that warm steam probably made her feel a little sleepier than she should be at this time of day. In the corner of her field of vision, something shifted. Kevin let out a guttural meow. 

Joe was sure that there had been a movement. Common sense told her that she was imagining things. She gripped the edges of the basin and steadied herself in front of the mirror. She had definitely taken her medication that morning. It’s right there in the vanity. Then again, she had definitely heard a voice. As she stared at herself in the mirror, wide-eyed, she saw a shadow behind her. This wasn’t some trick that the light was playing on her. The clear outline of a human form took shape behind her, amidst the steam, amidst the fear that rose up in Joe’s throat. She could hear nothing but her heart beating in her ears and the periphery of her vision was hazy at best. “Josephine,” she heard coming from the ever-more-solid spectre that seemed to fill her tiny bathroom. “Don’t call me that!” Joe screamed as she beat her hands against the faucets. “You did this to me, you ungrateful little shit,” came the soft, malevolent voice. It was exactly the way Joe remembered. Just like when she was a kid, it made her feel like a talons clutched at her stomach, like something was sitting on her chest, like there was an invisible vise around her neck. She felt like she was back there, helpless.

A soft, unceasing wail rung in Joe’s ears. The shadow was so dark that it seemed to absorb even the stark light of bathroom’s singular tube light. Joe felt like it was sucking the Oxygen, the very life, out of the small square room. “Get out! You have no right to be here!” Joe’s voice came out ragged and raspy between tears and shallow breaths. She thought that this was behind her. Surely the years of treatment had been enough. Surely she can’t be dealing with this again. This time of year was always difficult - that image, that ghostly silhouette would always be with her. All she could do now was say the words she couldn’t all those years ago, when all she had to hold on to was Kevin, when sleeping in a stranger’s spare room was the safest she had ever felt. 

“You did this to yourself!” shouted Joe, still looking in the mirror at the shadow looming over her should. “You ungrateful little bitch!” growled the shape. “It’s your fault that I’m dead. I was stuck with you. That bitterness is what…”

“You deserve what happened after the way you treated me, like I was worthless, a burden. You have no right to blame me. I know what you are - I’ve always known. It’s not my fault. I didn’t ask to be yours. You never made me forget that I was a mistake, that I had no place in your life. I made my choices, because you made yours. I left because you left me no choice. I was always on my own, thanks to you. You died alone because you made everyone miserable. This is all on you, Mother!” Joe clenched her fists and turned to face the shadow, only to find herself staring at the stark white tiles of her bathroom wall.