My Mirror Self, and I (Sample). Copyright T. James.photo.goodreads.com/documents/1332685801books/13553694.pdf · 2012. 3. 25. · My Mirror Self, and I (Sample). ... Cassie loved

My Mirror Self, and I (Sample). Copyright T. James.

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The pale early morning sunlight streamed in through Cassie’sopen bedroom window, filling her world with a heartwarming glow.She loved to read in this light; the words tumbling from the pagefilled her mind with terrible creatures, far-flung vistas, audaciousheroes, and the nefarious intrigues of their foes.

“Cassie!” Mom’s voice called from downstairs.Why did she always get interrupted when she got to the best

part? “Coming,” Cassie sighed and slid her favorite bookmarkbetween the pages, jumped off the bed and raced downstairs.Grabbing her old sneakers from the shoe rack, she stopped to slipthem on before walking into the kitchen. “Hi, Mom.”

“Cassie, how many times –”“I haven’t worn my new ones in yet. They’re still not

comfortable.” Cassie picked up a glass and opened the refrigerator.“How can you wear them in, if you never actually wear them?”“Not this morning. It rained last night and I’ll get my new ones

all muddy. I’m off with David.”“You can’t go out without a proper breakfast!”“Will you stop worrying? I was up at five thirty. I wanted to

watch the sunrise because of the storm last night. The clouds weresuch gorgeous colors!”


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“You are like your father. And breakfast?”“Oh, I had pancakes and maple syrup. I’m still full. Besides,

David always packs me a picnic.”“You’ve been spending a lot of time with David this vacation…”“Mom, with the soppy face! We’ve been hanging out

together since we were little kids. We’re just good friends.”“Your father and I were just good friends once…”“Mom! If you’re going to be in one of your sentimental moods

again, I’m gone.” Cassie slid from the high stool next to thebreakfast bar, downing the rest of her juice as she moved towardthe sink.

“How many times –”“Drink when sitting, I know, but I’m late.”“Look, about David –”“Mom, not now! I gotta go, and no, I won’t be home for lunch.”

Cassie raced through the back door, across the porch and intothe yard before she got another lecture she didn’t need.

—o—There he was, waiting for her at the gate as usual. Soft dark

champagne hair fell appealingly, nearly covering his left eye – itsiris shaded like flecked sienna. Cassie had thought hard aboutDavid’s look, and how to describe it. With his finely chiseled classicfeatures and light tan she thought he could pass as European, likethose marble statues in Italy she’d seen pictures of. Irresistiblydrawn by the romance and sophistication of ages gone by, Cassietook every chance to associate with people who helped her cultivate


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her finer sensibilities. As she approached, she reached up andself-consciously checked her dark auburn hair. She saw David smile.

“You ready?”“Yes. What’s for lunch?”“You didn’t bring anything?”“No, I know you always look after me.” She returned David’s

smile.“I think you’re beginning to take me for granted!”“Not yet, but maybe one day.”

—o—On this lazy summer day, time and the liquid gold sun moved

inexorably on. They fell effortlessly into their warm familiarity –ambling down the road, each following one of the narrow strips ofconcrete that ran either side of the grass at the center. As theycrossed the railroad tracks their banter and laughter flowed aseasily as the light breeze that played with the leaves on thesurrounding trees. Cassie lost herself in the moment, and theirshared intimacy became her world. In no time at all they wereturning off the road into a dirt floored tunnel formed by the trunksand interlacing boughs overhead.

Their unspoken destination was her most favorite place,discovered years before: a gnarly old oak, its roots curling into theriver on one side and across one edge of a small clearing on theother. The pitted lichen-covered bark always reminded her ofalligator skin, now tattooed around the base with all the sillymessages and pictures they had carved into it over the years. InCassie’s imaginings the tree was a family of alligators – their bodies


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pressed so close they had melded together to form the trunk – withtheir tails sticking into the air. Looped around the thickest singlebranch, hanging just out from the bank over the meandering river,was a twined rope swing with knots spaced along its length. Thiswas the hunter’s noose, with which he’d caught Pop Alligator bythe tail. Pop Alligator had been so desperate to protect his familythat he’d turned on the hunter and eaten him, but Pop couldn’t pullthe noose from his tail. She and David climbed the tree trunksometimes and looked into the dark hollow at its center. Shefancied the hunter was still trapped down there, slowly beingdigested in the alligator family’s dank bowels.

Cassie felt her cheeks flushing slightly. Now older she knew itwas silly, but recalling her childlike fancies brought back so manywarm memories – being here with David always made her feel alittle playful and ‘giddy’. Cassie loved words – ‘fey’, ‘fantastical’,‘antiquated’. The other girls at school teased her, but Cassie’spassion for language was far too strong to allow that to change whoshe was. Besides, David said he liked that about her – she wasn’tjust into clothes, boys, and cheering.

The intertwined alligators’ tails cast a pleasingly cool pool ofshade across the ground, and over the numerous open mouths thatbit into the dry soil; now the hunter was nearly digested thealligator family was getting hungry. She watched David spread theirblanket out, making a nest for them between two of the gnarledoak’s roots. Cassie smiled, glad they were here together.

“My insides are gimbling.”


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“Gimbling?” He smiled back, familiar with the way Cassieflitted from one thing to the next.

“Yes! I like that word.”“Where did you read it?”“In a poetry book, the poem’s called .”“Sounds fun, how does it go?”“David, you don’t really want me to recite it?” His eyes were

full of the mischief that drew Cassie in, and annoyed her so much.He raised an eyebrow. Cassie gave him her best meaningful stare.“I don’t remember all of it, but:

That’s all you’re getting.”“So, you up for a bit of gimbling?” David stood up straight,

leapt atop of one of the tree’s gnarly roots, and adopted a gallantheroic pose.

Cassie’s heart raced, suddenly unsure of his meaning, but heran at the rope swing and leapt, and catching it just above a knothe swung in a graceful arc out over the water.

“See? Now I’m gyring – and now for my grand finale, an epicgimble.”


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Her heart slowed; he could be such a doofus but she enjoyedhis fooling around. As the rope brought him back over theriverbank he let go and soared through the air, crashing through alarge indigo bush. Cassie screamed – behind the bush was a rockwall. Scrambling to her feet, she raced toward the swaying branchesthat had already covered the hole left by his passage. As she reachedthe bush David’s head appeared, grinning.

“See? Told you I could gimble.” He saw the look on her face. “Iknew it was safe–” He pulled apart the branches and showed hera thick old mattress propped up against the rock face. “–I foundthis last week when you couldn’t make it. Some other kids musthave left it here. Now, time for food.”

His abrupt change left her speechless, still staring at him.“What? don’t want a go do you?”“I might.” Cassie raised her chin.“Seriously?”“Steady the rope for me!”

. She couldn’t back down now, or he’d crowabout it for weeks.

“Cassie…”“Just steady the rope!”His overprotectiveness only spurred her on. She ran and leapt,

repeating his maneuver exactly: white knuckled hands grippingthe rope as it swung out over the water, then slowed, and thenaccelerated back toward the bank. She wasn’t scared until she letgo at the end of the return swing and was flying toward the bush –she couldn’t see the mattress through the leaves. The branches


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caught at her as she flew between them and something sharpscratched her cheek, but when she landed she folded harmlesslyonto the welcome softness beneath. She lay still, waiting for David’sshout.

“Cassie?”Still buzzing from her success she was filled with impish glee.

Imagining her Knight coming to her rescue, his tortured soulwracked with guilt at seeing her broken body lying lifeless againstthe stone, she put on her best haughty look and waited. Hermomentary flight into melodrama came crashing back to realitywhen David parted the branches and she saw his grin.

“You bounced then?”“Well, I might not have; I could have been seriously injured.

Not that you’d care!” Her royal dignity already in tatters Cassiescrabbled her way back through the bush. Still grinning, Davidstepped aside and folded his arms to watch. While she brushed offthe dirt and leaves, and tried to get the small bits of twig out of herhair, Cassie glared at him.

His grin softened into a smile, and there was a sparkle in hiseyes that she hadn’t seen before. “That’s what I like about youCassie, you keep surprising me.”

Before she had a chance to react he stepped close, his headbobbed down and he kissed her on the mouth. It wasn’t a peck, heheld it too long for that, but then he pulled away a little, regardingher intently. While his eyebrows rose – creasing his forehead withthose characteristic concerned furrows – the mischievous smile


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and the daring glint in his eyes still proclaimed his challenge. Shematched his gaze and lifted her head.

“Is that it?”She could see the sunlight filtering down through the leaves of

the tree branches above them, dappling David’s face in yellows andgreens. Her eyes closed. Her heart beat faster, a heady rush ofexcitement filling her until her toes and fingertips tingled as theypressed their lips softly together. Cassie never forgot that kiss; itwas as if time itself melted away. For that little while she felt likethe heroine in one of her stories, her strong dashing hero wrappingher protectively in his arms – unable to let her go.


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Every surface in the small hospital bathroom is stained a darkshade of red; the standby bulb of the fire alarm casts just enoughlight for me to make out the little plastic bottle containing theanti-depressant pills the doctors are pushing me to take.

The psychologist who came to see me diagnosed my feelings,and has kindly given me a label. I know what depression means tome: some unfortunate soul locked, for eternity, inside the darknessof their bereavement; some high-powered Wall Street investorabout to throw himself off a building because his so-calledSure-Thing investment has folded; or some moldering heap in thecorner of a psych ward, too miserable to even wash. Now they’veadded me to the crazy list.

Their cure? Medication. They gave me their best professionalsales pitch for the latest chemical innovations: work in adifferent way, they won’t have the side effects of the moretraditional mood levelers. Maybe I am crazy, but I’m not going totake their word for it. I checked on the internet. It turns out they’renot exactly an instant pop-it-pathway to happiness and normality;they’d just make me feel more like shit. I upend the bottle into thesink, and watch the drain swallow the pills as I flush them awaywith the tap.


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Inches from the end of my nose a drawn face in the mirrorstares back, imprisoned behind the glass. As I touch my unkempthair the figure also lifts her hand – a hospital nametag, bearing‘Cassie’ handwritten in efficient looking letters, circles the wristbelow. Despite what the tag says, the face doesn’t look like me. Inthe crimson half-light I can’t decide whether the face is terribly sunburnt, or whether it’s wearing The Masque of the Red Death. Thecolor sickens me. Everything sickens me.

I’m not going to cry, notagain…

I used to think my life was charmed, until my eighteen monthmarriage to David started a downward slide into isolation. Peopletalk about ‘living a charmed life’, but only the naive think it couldever be real.

It began with phone call. We’d been back from ourhoneymoon, and in our first house, for less than a week when Davidpicked up the handset. He was smiling along with the little smileyface icon that now lit the screen.

His boss had called Head Office and given him sucha glowing reference that they offered him a promotion in Atlanta.It was supposed to be the boss’ belated wedding gift to us, andDavid wanted it badly. The pay was good, very good, but that wasn’tit. David said with his new skills, in five to ten years, he could leave


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and work as a self-employed Architectural Consultant – maybeeven set up his own firm.

It tore my heart in two. I was never a big city girl; everythingI thought I wanted was in Dahlonega – it was charming,picturesque, with its sense of history still intact. It was where I wentto college, where I met David again after he moved away fromTopeka. Our new home was going to be our little haven. We bothhad jobs. I was quite happy where we were so I dug my heels in.

We fought – David with the incandescent fury of athunderhead. In the moment he couldn’t always find the words hewanted to say which always incensed him. I’d always beenarticulate and I could’ve talked circles around him if I’d wanted to,but that wouldn’t work. On first meeting some took hisawkwardness for lack of intelligence, but he was bright andsensitive. Growing up as children I’d learned to fill in the gaps forhim, but gently – I cared too much for David to diminish him andrub his nose in his own limitations. So we’d argue, and eventuallywe would fall into heavy , or David would stormout. Either was better than tearing strips off each other.

Apparently, time is supposed to heal, but as it passed the bestwe could manage was to declare an uneasy peace; we spent itsummoning the courage and mustering our arguments ready forthe next round. Then we’d fight again, David’s dreams trying tolock horns with my evasive passivity. I’d always been afraid ofDavid’s fury, even when we were children. It wasn’t that he wasviolent – the only thing that ever took a beating was someinanimate object – but he was still . I didn’t know how to


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compete with that. Eventually David would run out of words,becoming angrier, so I folded myself away and surrounded myselfwith an impenetrable wall of stillness – his heat flowed around theoutside, leaving me untouched.

Things degenerated. We spent two weeks in moody sulks,slamming doors and leaving stupid angry notes on the refrigerator.Then we both started shouting. I’d never raised my voice to himbefore, and I felt guilty when I did. I couldn’t bear to hurt hisfeelings. Our words ran past reason, past insults. Even when spent– in our silences – we launched salvos across the room, batteringeach other with the things we weren’t saying aloud. We were bothacting incredibly immature.

—o—

Sample ends here.

Thank you for your interest in

If you wish to read the rest of the novella, please return to:

for links to online retailers where you can purchase the completestory.

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Copyright © T. James, 2012.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication (in whole or in part) may be altered in any way, or circulatedin any formother than that originally created by the author. Reproduction of any part of

this publication to occur only with the written consent of the author.

Cover design and internal graphics: T. James.

All images are the copyright © of their respective creators: usage rights purchased underroyalty-free license.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are aproduct of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real

persons – living or dead – events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

—o—

Documents

My Mirror Self, and I (Sample). Copyright T. James.photo.goodreads.com/documents/1332685801books/13553694.pdf · 2012. 3. 25. · My Mirror Self, and I (Sample). ... Cassie loved