There it was – in the middle of her forehead – like a fresh tattoo, drawn overnight by an invisible hand.
She leaned forward and examined her face in the mirror. She blinked once, twice, then let her eyes regain focus, but it hadn't moved or disappeared.
She washed her face, scrubbing it methodically, but it did not come off.
She was already at the risk of running late. Helpless, she stared at the mirror, then at the clock, then again at the mirror.
Finally she grabbed one of her famous velvet hats, pulled it down as far as she could, and stepped outside.
It was cold and a lot of people were carrying umbrellas and wearing hats, so she didn't feel too conspicuous. Still, she was certain that everyone could see, everyone did see, everyone was staring at her. She lowered her eyes and hastened her step, trying not to bump into people, trying to ignore the fact that anyone else even existed.
When she arrived at work, she took off her jacket, but not her hat. She knew this was going to raise suspicion, so she informed the receptionist, with whom she'd never conversed before, that she had tried to cut her own bangs, and that the result was disastrous.
"Come on. It can't be that bad. Let me see!"
But she pulled away and hurried into her office.
The receptionist followed her with her eyes, shrugging. After all, everyone at the office knew that she was eccentric.
Before she sat down at her desk, she took out a small mirror from her handbag. Carefully looking to both sides, she lifted her hat. And just as she had feared, there it was, only it seemed to have grown even bigger and more visible.
Upon hearing footsteps, she quickly fixed her hat and spent the rest of the day staring at the computer, avoiding possible eye contact with her colleagues.
At five sharp she was rushing out the door, the receptionist and the new secretary exchanging puzzled looks behind her back. She had never left work so early before.
She tripped at the exit door. Her handbag fell from her hands and its contents spilled all over the sidewalk, but all she was concerned with was fastening her hat.
A handsome young man rushed to her side and helped her gather her belongings. She thanked him with a whisper, not even dignifying his smiling face with a look before she turned away and started walking. She held her body as tightly as possible, careful not to take up too much space, not to be too visible to any of the passers-by.
Finally she was home, where her secret was safe. Of course she had to pull the shades down first, just in case.
She went to sleep early that evening, hoping to wake up and find it had all been one of her originally orchestrated nightmares.
But by the next day it had grown even bigger, and its tips nearly touched her eyebrows. She gazed at her image, lost. She could not go to work looking like that. No hat or hairstyle in the world could hide it now. She didn't know what to do.
Hesitantly, she reached for the phone and dialed the familiar number.
"Adams and Sons. How can I help you?"
She hung up. She had never skipped work before, not even when she had the flu.
She dialed again.
"Hi. It's me. Can you tell Mr. Adams that I won't be in today? I think I'm coming down with something."
"Sure, I'll tell him. Get well soon," said the annoyingly cheerful voice of the receptionist.
That was it. And it wasn't even that difficult.
She looked around her. She had no idea how to keep herself busy, having worked during the day for so many years. Finally, she sat down and turned on the TV. There was nothing interesting for her to watch, and her semi-reflection in the screen annoyed her considerably. She turned the TV off, walked to the dining room, and returned with a tablecloth, carefully arranging it over the dumb black box. There. No more reflection.
She went to the kitchen to get a drink of water before deciding what to do next, but there it was again, reflecting in the glass. Her hand was shaking so badly that she almost dropped it. She didn't bother pouring herself any water after that. She just left the glass on the counter and returned to the living room.
There was nothing for her to do. She contemplated logging on the net, but it didn't take her long to realize that she would be facing the same problem. For a minute her eyes wandered in the direction of the linen closet, but she knew that that wouldn't do. She couldn't keep covering every shimmering object in the house. There was no other choice. She reached for her hat.
By the next day it was touching the bridge of her nose. The day after that it was covering her eyelids. The next day she quit her job. After that she hardly ever left the house.
After a while she didn't take her hat off anymore, not even while bathing or sleeping; she wanted to make sure that her secret would be safe even if there was a fire alarm and she would have to go outside at once.
She let her hair grow long and cover her eyes, and then the rest of her face and body, for that thing had kept growing rapidly, until eventually it covered her up completely.
January 31, 2001
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