Monday, July 11, 2011

My Death, 7

Whoot! Farthest I've ever gotten in a book so far, by a long shot! I know the section about the mirror needs work, so if you could give special attention to it and let me know how you think that would best be told, I'd appreciate it. There are some details that aren't exactly parallel to the first few chapters. Don't worry, I plan on changing some of the earlier stuff.
And sorry boys. More girl talk.



When you look in the mirror, you do not see yourself. Robin found this out when she slipped off the white horse’s rump onto her brown living room carpet. She did know how the horse, which was the height of a tall truck, could cram between two sofas and an armchair and not knock over the tiny TV as well, but it did fit. She thought about this as she turned around to thank Isaac. He silently remained on his horse, smiling at something over Robin’s shoulder. She turned around and stared at the still-open blinds (Tom always closed them late at night when he came home), which had warm mid-afternoon light glowing through them. She sort of involuntarily walked over and stared at what she saw.
Stacey’s sleek car, blinding Robin a little in the light, was humming in her driveway. Robin watched, horrified, as the passenger side door swung open and Robin climbed out. She watched herself shut the door and pretend to walk to the house with measured steps. Muffled by the glass, Robin heard Stacey call out to her other self, who turned around momentarily. Stacey pulled out of the drive and hesitated for a moment before peeling away. The other Robin waited for a moment. Robin, watching, counted to twenty as she had that afternoon, and saw herself march down the road. She doesn’t know what she’s in for, Robin thought, absently massaging her stomach.
Isaac sort of silently coughed. Robin turned away from the window and raised her eyebrows inquiringly at him and dangled her jaw. He only smiled brightly and waved. Then, before she could saying anything, he and his horse dissipated into curls of black and white smoke and were gone. Robin was surprised when the smoke alarm didn’t go off. She stood rooted to the spot, thinking.
“The little sneak!” Robin finally told the silent house, almost laughing, “He took me back in time.”

Since it would be another three hours until Tom came home from his new construction site, Robin wandered the house, alternating between idling in front of her laptop in her room and lazing before the TV’s flashing screen. Eventually, she reasoned it was about the time she should be making dinner, and dragged herself in front of the stove. She absently began cracking eggs.
He took me back in time! She told her growling stomach.
How cheeky of him, it replied. Isn’t that pan hot enough yet?
She slurped down her burned eggs and somehow found herself plopped onto the couch with three textbooks begging her attention.
But I went back in time, she reasoned.
Tell that to Pythagoras, said the first one she flipped open.
I always hated math, Robin thought with a scowl.

Another hour later, when Robin had taught that Pythagoras and his triangles a thing or two, Tom still wasn’t home. Instead of waiting for him, she slumped her way into her bathroom.
Time travel’s marvel had significantly worn off by that time. Now she thought about the spirit boy whose name was actually Isaac and who wasn’t a spirit at all, but Death himself, only he wasn’t a skeleton like the online pictures, just really thin. He’s blond, she thought. He has brown eyes. Gordon had blue eyes. His are brown. No, they aren’t alike. But still, as they rode home and Robin clung to his waist, it all seemed familiar and strange. In the bathroom mirror, Robin reflected on herself. She had just seen her very own self mere hours ago. Mirrors can’t do that; they miss the rest of picture. The reflected eyes she looked at were blank. Robin knew she had more emotion in her baby toe. In fact, she saw herself twice that day, when she remembered the silver book. She had seen inside herself then, like the way Isaac did.
She looked into Gordon today, too, in the black book. Robin’s mind leapt into a sprint, like a whirring tire hitting the pavement. Gordon’s soul wasn’t a reflection like a mirror. His eyes had life and were inside Isaac’s book. Who was Death. Gordon was dead, inside Death’s book. Who was Isaac.
“I have to get him out!” she yelled into the mirror.

* * * *
Robin crashed her lunch tray next to Stacey’s. She missed the table by half and would have dumped its contents into her best friend’s lap had Brent not caught it in time.
“So good of you to join us,” Robin smiled up at him. He was a lot tanner than she remembered.
“Thought I’d check up on my ladies today,” he answered and set down his tray opposite the girls. Robin watched him inconspicuously stared at Stacey, waiting for her response, while Robin waited for his.
“Hey,” she said as friendly as ever, but didn’t look up from her chicken sandwich.
Silence reigned inside the droning cafeteria while each picked at their lunches. Robin finally cleared her throat.
“Um,” she said. Stacey and Brent looked up from their meals.

She had formulated her plan that morning. Death must keep all the souls inside that black book, Robin surmised, which is why it was so big. Gordon looking out at her, even with his same cocky smile, was a message. She was sure of it. She’d seen Death twice now; she could even go to the Other Side on her own. If she hadn’t been mistaken, Isaac did want her to find out about him. He was even friendly. Perhaps he would be willing to permit favors to a close friend? If they were really close? She found Thanatos still stuffed in her backpack, along with everything else she brought to the cemetery yesterday. She guessed it had something to do with going back in time. She had read the book all through third period, which was English anyway. She didn’t find anything useful in it and hadn’t really expected to—she didn’t expect the ancient Greeks would be interested in flirting with Death. So she went to the next expert she knew. But she had to choose her words carefully.

“So, Stac,” Robin started, trying to ignore how hurt Brent looked that he was deliberately shut out, “about the dance in two weeks…”
“Oh!” Stacey sprang alive and leaned in close after she gave Brent a sweeping glance.
“Did you get asked?”
“Yes!” Robin said, grinning to show how excited she was. She would have giggled, but Stacey knew her too well. She changed her face on cue. “Well, no. I know who I want to ask me. The thing is I don’t know how to…”
“Oh!” Stacey said, rolling her eyes professionally, “I see. Um,” She looked over at Brent. He had been rubbing his neck while his olive skin blushed purple. Robin knew he was trying to not listen in. “Could you excuse us?” Stacey commanded.
“No problem!” he replied. Robin watched him pick up his tray and wander to the table occupied by the wrestlers and wondered if he was hurt or relieved. But Stacey was already whispering loudly to her.
“Ok, who is it?”
“You don’t know him,” Robin answered quickly.
“Who?” Stacey pressed.
“Isaac?”
Stacey stared at Robin, thumbing through her mental contacts list.
“Nope,” she said after a moment, “I don’t know any Isaac’s.”
“Anyway,” Robin went on, “how do I…”
“Do you know him really well?”
“I… wouldn’t say that.”
“Good. Starting from scratch is easier,” Stacey mumbled through a bite of chicken sandwich.
“What does he look like?”
“Does that matter?”
Stacey gave Robin an exaggerated eye roll. “Of course! It’s not shallow,” she added when Robin gave her a look, “it’s science. Is he taller than you?”
Robin nodded.
“By how much?”
“Half foot, about.”
“Good margin. How’s he built?”
The questionnaire took the rest of lunch hour and carried on during the drive home. By the end, Robin thought Stacey knew him better than Robin. Some questions were difficult, like when Stacey pried into how much Robin knew of his home life and family (Robin played dumb) and his age (she gave a rough guess and said he was a senior in high school, a year ahead of them). Then she wanted to know how Robin met him. Robin almost told her it was through a mutual friend but remembered Stacey knew all of Robin’s friends.
“Tom,” she blurted, since Stacey might be suspicious of the long pause.
“Your dad?” she sneered. It obviously a bad sign. Stacey had met Tom only once and that was enough.
“He’s the son of Tom’s boss,” Robin continued, waving her hand in the air, which she hoped looked casual and convincingly vague. “There was a neighborhood party last summer…”
“You still see him?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
Stacey waited for Robin to go into more detail, but she remained silent and turned to her untouched lunch as if there was nothing more to tell. And there isn’t, she thought truthfully.
“So,” Robin pursued. “How do I get him to ask me out?”
“Well,” Stacey started, “first he has to like you.”

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