The secret in the mirror

Missy ached, a truth gnawing at her core, her soul, her reason. She turned her back to Charlotte, her best friend and 11^th grade classmate. The girls stood before the mirror in Charlotte’s bathroom. Charlotte applied a skin cream to her face.

           She loved Charlotte. She adored Charlotte. “You are so beautiful.”

           Charlotte smiled appreciatively, “So are you. And mature. Too serious, though.”

           Missy frowned, “Nothing like you. I always felt this way about you. You are perfect. Boys like you. You have tons of friends. You’re on the field hockey team. You are,” she hesitated, “desirable.”

           Charlotte blushed, “You’re a lot prettier. Why so glum?”

           “Because” Missy probed for the right words.

           Charlotte turned to face her friend, placing her hands on to Missy’s shoulders, then cupping her face to arrange down-turned lips into a smile. She took Missy’s long blond hair in her hands and ran her fingers through it.

           Missy offered a weak sigh of satisfaction. “Because of what happened. I need to talk to you about the other night.”

           “The other night?”

           “Yes. The party. I need to tell you.”

           Charlotte lightly clapped her hands in mock celebration, “I love secrets. Is it good? A boy? Did you?” She stalled.

           Missy smiled, caressing Charlotte’s thick auburn hair, lifting it off her shoulders, assessing the petticoat. Charlotte had matured over the three years of their friendship. Their parents brought the girls together over dinner at a country club when each was thirteen. Reserved, Charlotte’s exuberance captivated her. The moment struck Missy with awe, with admiration, with a pubescent intoxication. As time passed, Missy’s older brother drew them closer together, but it was a short-lived fascination as other boys circled around her.

           Distracted, Charlotte toyed with her slip, touching her torso for its fit, “Does this flatter my figure? I want to look good for my date with Ben tonight.”

           The conversation shifted. Missy needed to talk to her, “You are wearing anything over it?”

           Charlotte giggled, “Well, duh. But you never know, right?” She winked.

           Never know? Right. Never know. She circled back, “About the party. Last week. The accident.”

           Charlotte darkened, “Oh, well. That was sad. I don’t remember much about it. What party?”   

                Missy placed her arms on the long vanity behind her. “The party. You drank a lot. We all did. You disappeared for about an hour. I wondered where you were. I wanted to go home. I went upstairs and saw you and Brad in the bedroom… ah, you know. So, I went back downstairs. It was loud. I asked Chet if he would take me home, but he said he was having too much fun. Whose house was that? Who provided the liquor? I think I drank too much. I didn’t feel well. Like I was going to get sick. I just wanted to go home. I crashed on the sofa next to another couple. I don’t know how long I was there. Fell asleep. You woke me up. It must have been late. Most kids were gone.”

           Charlotte frowned, “OK. Escapes me. So, we left. Who drove my car?” Charlotte played Missy’s tale as it unraveled like a game.

           Missy shuddered, “One of the boys. Brad. He was drunk. But we all were tossed. And you passed out in the front seat, I was in the back. He played with the radio. Loud. Laughing, touching you.”

           Charlotte lifted an eyebrow, “That your secret? Brad fondled me?” She laughed.

           Missy stiffened, “No, it was the accident.”

           Charlotte’s composure shifted to serious, attentive. “The accident?”

           Missy sobbed, “Yes. He lost control of the car. The car rolled. He hit a tree. The impact threw both of you out of the car. The car rolled over you. I was in the back seat. It just happened so quickly. I mean, it seemed slow, but it was quick. I remember hitting my head on the ceiling. Then it ended. A screech. But it ended. I crawled out of the car. You were on the ground. Brad was still in the car.”

           Charlotte puzzled on this. “How’s he doing? I haven’t heard.”

           Missy took a breath, “He died.”

           “Oh, my God. How awful.” She hesitated. “I didn’t really know him. Dead.” She collected her thoughts again, “Must be hard on his folks. I didn’t know.”

           Missy continued, “My secret is that he was not the only one.”

           Charlotte thought about this. “Just the three of us in the car. You seem alive. Someone on the road? A pedestrian maybe?”

           Missy looked to the floor. Seconds passed before she glanced up into Charlotte’s green eyes.

           Charlotte processed the events. “I remember coming home. I must have walked. My parents were quite upset about something, so I just said hello and went to my room. My mother came in later, but she did not say anything. I was trashed so just went to sleep. I skipped school. Just not up for it. Hung out. My parents just mumbled and cried. I didn’t ask.”

           “It was my fault. I was so angry at you. You and Brad in bed messing around. Leaving me downstairs. I wanted to go home. When you and Brad finally showed up, you fell on me. I was on the sofa. I pushed you off me. You yammered about how much you loved me and laughed.  I told Brad to drive us home. Your car keys were in your pocket. I got them out and gave him the keys.”

           Charlotte drew out her words, “Oh…kay. So?”

           Missy wanted to hold her but knew this was pointless. “I walked home. There was nothing I could do. I mean. It was too late.”

           “That was rude. I thought we were better friends.” She turned to take a dress off a coat hanger hooked to the back of the bathroom door. It was a loose, flowery print. “So, I love you? Hmm.”

           “I told my parents I didn’t want to ride in the car so walked home.”

           “Your lie? You could have told the truth about it.”

           “I didn’t want to get involved. Nothing I could do. I mean, Brad was dead. And you. I knew.”

           Charlotte’s voice rose in anger, “You could’ve helped me. How long did I lie there? Obviously, I got home.”

           Missy shook her head, crying.

           Charlotte slipped into the dress. She scrutinized her reflection. Satisfied, she tugged at it, fussed with the static creases. Minutes passed.

           Missy drew a breath. “I’m sorry.”

           Charlotte put her hand to Missy’s lips. “I’ll tell you the truth of it. I didn’t go with you and Brad. I stayed at the party. I drove myself home. I went to bed.”

           Missy’s eyes widened, “But they were crying.”

           “Sure. They were coming home from dinner with friends. They saw the car accident. You and Brad were in that car. His car.”

           Charlotte knew otherwise. Missy didn’t deserve the truth.