In the Rear View
it’s much like the desire to sink to the bottom of the pool. as a kid, the idea of falling all the way to the floor seemed to be the best therapy, surrounded by the glass mosaic tiles. though, you couldn’t help but imagine a giant shark floating next to them, for some reason. when that image came to mind, any sane person fearing their imagination would abruptly resurface. i bet you can see it now—who your shark is.
Nemesis stares at her reflection, probing her face. Figures that of all her siblings, she’s gifted enough acne flare ups for all of them. And of course, it never helps her self-esteem when Bianca cries over the smallest pimple hidden in her hairline. Nem copes with the fact that she has a crater face but why did she have to get served with dark under eyes too? No matter the amount of sleep, she’s always left looking crazed and hungry for something.
Nem rubs the dark crescents beneath her muddy brown eyes. She stretches them down to her cheek bones and chuckles, imagining Salvador Dali’s “Soft Self-Portrait with Grilled Bacon.” How she wished she had those needles he used to prop up that mask. Home from college for winter break had her feeling like a slug—although college didn’t seem to induce a different feeling. Perhaps some form of acupuncture could help revive her spirit. She did have similar acne tools that only ever succeeded in irritating the fuck out of her face. Although, who’s to say the acne would disappear simply because Nem tries to be proactive.
Nem’s mother explained how she had merciless acne when she was pregnant with her—and only her. Nem says she passed it off to her once she was born, so now it’s her problem anyways. And on top of that, Nem’s birth was the worst of all four her mother would say.
“I swear you almost killed me!” she’d always say, followed by a bunch of hugs and reassurances that Nemesis was a gift. Though Nem couldn’t help but feel like a burden—more college tuition to pay.
Rising from her cross-legged position in front of the mirror, she growls upon realizing her feet have fallen asleep. She crawls dramatically out of her room, silently recreating some tragic dystopian death scene. Limping upstairs and taking heavy steps to revive them, Nem calls to her mother, asking what’s for dinner.
“Shrimp scampi. Lenny was craving it.” As she says this, Bianca enters the kitchen.
Older by two years equated to supreme superiority for Bianca. Growing up, B was constantly blackmailing Nemesis into doing just about anything. A simple threat of “I’ll post that embarrassing video of you singing so the whole school can see it” would usually do the trick since Nem couldn’t begin to understand technology that early on. Though the irony is that Bianca sure as hell didn’t know how to use the computer like that either. But, being the older sister, she was always able to convince the two of them that she knew all, and Nem knew nothing.
“What about me? I don’t like seafood.” Nem asks frankly, fully aware of how Bianca will give her a hard time. While she and her mother were the only two pescatarians in the house and entirely able to eat this, Nem had an aversion to the salty taste of seafood. On cue, here comes the seafood rant.
“I don’t understand how you don’t like shrimp, it’s delicious,” she said. “Even the crab meat enchiladas, I don’t understand how you don’t love them.”
“Maybe I can get a taste bud transplant,” Nem said, sarcastically. Though her sarcasm was often missed, most often by Bianca who can’t seem to sense it for the life of her.
“Yeah, like that could ever happen,” Bianca chimes in dramatically. Nem nearly blinked out her contact as she rolled her eyes. How B didn’t pick up on it was a mystery to her. “Just suck it up and eat it.”
“Mom, what can I have?” she asks, ignoring Bianca, who apparently wandered into the kitchen only to bother Nem and her desire to eat—she always did call her the fat one. Her mother digs in the cupboard for some minced garlic. She loved her mother immensely and worshiped all she did for them, but her patience was constantly being tested—and she couldn’t help but feel invisible at times.
“Mom?” Now her mother struggled to find the rosemary, mumbling curse words as she knocked over the contexts in the cabinet. Bianca sat on the stool in the kitchen drinking her soda. All Nem’s siblings drank unhealthy juices and sodas relentlessly and were still twigs. Nem on the other hand, drank only water but was somehow deemed the unhealthy one. She may have an inclination towards chocolate but that was neither here nor there.
“Ugh, we have those Jack & Annie’s veggie nuggets,” she replied, absentmindedly.
“Hmm…yum!” Bianca said as she jabbed at Nem’s stomach. She hated that B just granted herself permission to annoy the shit out of Nem. And Nemesis is the only one that always seems to get bullied in this way, never mind they’re both legal adults at this point. And of course it was always her biggest insecurity—her lower abdomen, the other being her disappearing nose bridge. Of course, Lennon was granted the same nose only with more definition, so one could see the bridge from head on. Nem’s perfect nose bridge was only visible from her side profile. Though perhaps Bianca didn’t tease that since that was out of Nem’s control. Her tummy, now that was fair game.
Even minding her own business, Nem would be the selected target. Watching The Lorax, she would get labeled as the fat bear eating butter. This worked with any fat animal in B’s eyes; Winnie the Pooh, Heimlich from A Bugs Life, Gus Gus from Cinderella—the list goes on and on.
Nem grew up as the “tomboy” of the two—whatever the patriarchy makes that out to mean. And in her mind, she was aware she was the uglier of the two. She does pride herself on being self-aware. Bianca could do no wrong after all, so how could she not be seen as the better of the two? She was the most put together of them all, and according to Lennon’s school scrapbook, the best role model. Though Nem can’t help but wonder that perhaps all those years of playing house, and maybe B grew up too quick.
Reality snaps back and Bianca is still poking Nemesis. Grimacing, she breaks away to preheat the oven, for her veggie nuggets. Then quickly wanderers into the living room hoping for solace.
something about it that makes you feel weightless. in the arms of your mother, as she kisses your forehead and tells you everything will be okay. it’s a sweet release that also grounds you. it tells you you’re the most important thing in this world. it’s the Truman Show effect. you are the main character, and the world was made for you.
“Hey Cali! Wanna go smoke?” Cal is sitting in the living room watching the football game.
He mumbles a response about halftime. Nem perches on the arm of the couch and waits patiently. Three minutes passed, and Calvin finally rose from the couch. She follows him out to his car all perky, aware that she’ll get the munchies and go snack on junk food for dinner, along with the veggie nuggets, and her parents wouldn’t even bat an eye. Sure, they would for a second, but then they’d just shrug.
Calvin went about his normal routine of packing the bong. He exhales all the air from his lungs and takes a rip, then proceeds to have a coughing fit—he always did have bad asthma. With little cat coughs, as their dad likes to call them, he passes the bong to Nem. She takes a hit, letting it fill her lungs. She exhales as if it were air and then has a coughing fit of her own. They both sit back, letting the high sink in. She smirks to herself as she can already feel the high taking over—her brain becoming all fuzzy.
She looks at the house through the windshield covered in snow flurries. She never did understand why their mother hated their house; it was simply beautiful. A pale green with board and batten siding. Beautiful windows with white trim—with only a few failed window seals. The outside lights created a Hallmark effect, with the dark and snowy atmosphere. The home was laid out in the shape of a boomerang, with the front porch tucked in the elbow. Two gardens sat, hugging the house adjacent to either side of the porch, the stacked stones still peeking out through the thin layer of snow— “thin” for upstate at this time of year that is. Nem really did love this house.
She looked over and saw Calvin scrolling on his phone. It always shocked her that despite deleting all other social media apps, Cal was hooked on “Twitter/X.” He says it’s an all-in-one type of deal. His “off the grid” status happened a few years ago once he kept getting in trouble at school. He went to a private college that kept asking for money each time a minor writeup occurred. Apparently, he even got in trouble for his roommate’s fridge having vodka in it—trouble has a way of finding Cal.
Though he accomplishes things so effortlessly, so naturally gifted in every skill. He’s never had to try that hard, he’d just pick something new and with determination, he’d simply perfect it. And it’s most aggravating when he lacks motivation to apply his gifts. Of course that’s not for Nem to criticize, only long for the opportunity to be that good. She often wondered what it’d be like to go through life so carefree and confident—she always carried so much shame and doubt in her lack of skills.
Sighing, she began to search for conversation. She never enjoyed a quiet smoke session—seemed counterproductive to the activity.
“If you could have one superpower, what would it be? Anything imaginable?” she posed.
“Teleportation,” he mumbled. “I drive too much.” He really did though; work a whole hour, thirty minutes to do almost anything in our hometown, all the way to Massachusetts for good dispensary weed—the dispensaries popping up around us were only for medical use, the four and a half hours to get to their small lakeside cottage up north, etc.
“That’s a good one,” Nem said cheerily, disappointed he didn’t ask for her answer. “I’d like to manipulate matter.” That managed to catch his attention.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, ever since I was a kid, there’s always been this feeling of something missing from the palm of my hand—like a power meant to shoot out,” she said dramatically as she shot her hand forward, pretending to project energy outward. “Suppose a few comic book superheroes influenced that desire though. But I think it’d be cool to be submerged into a solid material. But not enter into it exactly,” Nem pondered.
“Hmm,” Cal mumbled, still scrolling on his phone.
“Imagine you’re having the worst day ever and want to disappear and feel comfort in something. You place your hand on a table and BAM you’re surrounded by this comforting jellylike substance and the world can’t get to you anymore,” Nemesis concluded.
“You’ve thought about that a lot, haven’t you?” Cal said, reaching for the grinder.
“It’s in our human nature to imagine and want more. Although, it’s funny because despite having brilliant minds, we’re bored with the power we have and always want more,” she said, surprised at the accurate notion.
“Here,” he said, passing the bong to her. Nem did love that they had a relationship like this, so laid back and comforting. But there were times when she was aware she pissed Cal off with her fast and loud talking. Must be the ADHD.
They all had ADHD, they being Cal, Nem, and their mother. Nem was the only undiagnosed one, but she felt it was safe to make the self-diagnosis seeing as ADHD in girls is missed, more often than not. Another cloudy shadow.
Their dad had been loading the hydro-fire while they smoked. He walked over with the springer spaniels trailing him. Nem guessed he was getting ready to take them on a walk. Ole Danny came around to Nem’s side of the car and she opened the door to welcome his big head landing on her lap. He was her old bubby boy, aging backwards acting like a puppy. Chloe, Danny’s sister from another litter, was Cal’s shadow when she could be. But she also had to keep an eye on everyone, so despite Cal trying to get her attention she had left to greet their mother as she came outside. Their dad noticed her standing on the porch as she put her gloves on and ducked down to the car window.
“Ugh, you got something for me?” he asked, raising his chin towards the bong.
Cal passed it over and Nem watched in awe as her father took a rip—gosh she loved that her parents smoked. He passed it back into the car as he let out a few cat coughs.
“All right time for a walk,” he said, turning on his headlamp to the red light. As he turned Danny and Chloe were quick on his heels, their mom following with both their wine glasses in hand. She was wearing her wool poncho that she had turned into a skirt, along with many other layers. She wasn’t really built for cold weather.
“Wanna watch the new Demon Slayer episodes?” Cal asked, seemingly aware of the fact that Nem was in the car with him.
“Sure,” she said contently. Anything to occupy the mind. Anything to hang out with Cal.
perspective is such an evil thing. one could preach individuality too but when it comes to an idea of a person, perspective is cruel. and the idea of oneself? it can practically make one go mad, thinking about all those living and unchanged perspectives of you. you lay awake at night replaying that embarrassing moment where you said the wrong thing. you tell yourself, “oh, no one remembers that but me.” little do you know, there is a person walking around with this odd idea of you, simply because your eagerness to make a good impression left an odd one on them.
Nearly 9:00 now, Nem helps her mother clean the kitchen before heading to bed. While she may be a carbon copy of her mother and inherited many things, some of which Nem despises—more in herself than in her mother—she adores many of the genes she was gifted. Her mother’s Polish cheekbones, crazy hair, and curviness—something wonderful to hold over Bianca, seeing as she’s built like a boy. Of course, B doesn’t care for that insult, but Nemesis decided long ago that if she was going to claim that Nem is fat, then she deserves a taste of her own medicine. But Nem’s favorite shared habit with her mother; being a night owl.
Natalia Carlisle’s schedule goes a little something like this; wake at 7:00 AM, sign on for work at 9:00 AM and work till roughly 6:00 PM, walk the dogs with Cliff, return and drink wine while watching whatever current show she is on, and clean the kitchen late each night, then head to bed—just to do it all again in the morning.
Most nights Nemesis wanders over to the TV to find her mother half asleep on the couch. She ushers her to bed, glad to have someone to stay up late with—well aware of the fact they both have unhealthy sleep schedules. Some nights, the two will stay up talking while tidying up the kitchen or having last minute snacks.
Nemesis can’t help but stay up till midnight since moving out of her shared room with Bianca. She often shudders at the thought that they managed to live together. B would constantly scold Nemesis for making messes, though from Nem’s perspective it was never her room. It was Bianca’s room, and she was just sleeping in it.
But now that she and Cal moved into the basement after they helped to renovate it with their father, Nem finally had a space of her own and a clean one at that. But with the move came a big adjustment to the nighttime routine. She refused to use her father’s downstairs bathroom for the sake of cleanliness—mind you, he would always leave the nail clippers next to Nem’s toothbrush when she did try. So instead, she climbed two flights of stairs each night to the bathroom upstairs.
This was usually when she’d come across Lennon, who was, more often than not, in a grumpy silent mood. To be fair, he’d spend the entire day at a public school heavily populated with rednecks. Mind you, he was the first student there to ever come out as gay. From Nem’s perspective, it’s a shame he’s so brilliant and gifted and stuck in a school like that. Granted they all were but Lennon is easily a genius in Nem’s eyes.
To get a good idea of him, picture a tall skinny blonde-haired Manny from Modern family with glasses. It was surprising how despite being the baby and having the opportunity to get everything he desired, he opted to make logical purchases and invest in sensible hobbies. Nem always found herself pleased when he was being selfish. She enjoyed those moments in which he behaved as a little kid, despite growing up so quickly. He was perfectly brilliant. Nem often wondered what happened biologically in order to make her and her sister miss out on that innate genius—Cal also claims he’s brilliant but fails to recognize his minor narcissism.
But she always imagines this is when being the youngest sucks the most, being left alone. She always worried about bullies, but they seemed to leave him alone. He was a soft-spoken kid that had an intimidating air about him, which Nem finds shocking when reflecting on how he acted as a kid. And even more so when he manages to intimidate her. When he’s not in the mood to talk and shuns her, Nem usually leaves his room feeling a little disappointed she’s not the fun sister he loves to be around. Not the role model in his senior scrapbook.
So, there she sits, while all her siblings sleep, talking her mother’s ear off—still quite high.
“Mom? Did you ever feel like you were failing at life?”
“Ha! I think it’s safe to say I still am,” she answered quickly.
“Hey!” Nem retorted, opening her arms to indicate the home they all lived in together.
“Eh, this place is a mess,” her mother replied.
“A mess does not simply equate to life failures,” Nemesis explained, frowning. Why couldn’t her mom see this house through her eyes? She looked around feeling restless, with too much energy to go to bed yet. “Oo! You wanna watch a movie? Oo! Pride and Prejudice?” she exclaimed with a wicked grin. The two of them would swoon at the hand touching scene, working to analyze the importance of it. Nem still marvels at the fact that her mother chose a career in computer programming just so she could provide for a big family. She came from a family of eight and originally aspired to have four children—she and Nem’s Dad compromised on three, with Lenny as a happy accident.
She wanted her family to have acreage and privacy hence why the Carlisle family lives at the top of a hill overlooking the valley with thirty acres of land and a seasonal dirt road beginning after their driveway that makes for a great private dog walking and running road—and for the townies, a perfect place to quick up dirt with their side by sides and for high schoolers to hook up discreetly in their cars. Natalia cried when Cliff officially bought the house for them. It was a fixer-upper and she struggled to have vision initially. Though she was resilient and determined to make it a home. Nem sees it as a beautiful safe haven from the world, her mother views it as a despicable cage that she never likes to stray far from.
Natalia moved to the valley her freshman year of high school. She secretly hoped to marry a man from the valley so she could warrant settling down in such an area. The area was dying but her family had chosen to settle there, and she had chosen the same. Natalia stopped speaking to her sister and most of her family so as to protect her in-laws ‘ boundaries. Nem’s aunt didn’t know when to stop and Natalia didn’t know how to say no. She finally did one day and that was it—she wronged her sister. Somehow, down the line, she also succeeded in wronging her in-laws. And now they fail to treat her with an ounce of respect, that she is more than deserving of. The “family” she stayed in the valley for now shuns her. Nem couldn’t help but see that sad irony in her mother’s-tired eyes. She deserved the world, though Nem didn’t know how to give it to her.
“Sorry, I can’t hun. I gotta drive out to Rochester tomorrow for work.”
“Mmm, I feel like I haven’t seen you much,” she said, wrapping her arms around her mother as she dried the last dish.
They both got ready for bed and said their “goodnights” and “I love yous.” Her mother promised they’d do something fun this weekend and Nem tried to remain optimistic with that claim.
where are you most comfortable? by yourself? with your family? your chosen loved ones? your greatest enemy? it is the people that make the place after all—oh so comfortable. though, that begs the question; what kind of place would they forge? a secluded structure to keep you hidden? a home of comfort, so you never have to bear the world alone? perhaps a dungeon, where your contentment is conditional upon what you can provide to them? or maybe a shoe box in which you are stepped on?
Nemesis thumps down the stairs to her room, still too energized to go to bed. As usual, she does a lengthy organizing of all her miscellaneous belongings to tire herself out, and because she can’t let the messes go. Coming home from college never bodes well since she opts to “half unpack,” since she seems to pack right back up once settled in. She loathes living in two places, all her belongings divided between the two. Her life in a suitcase.
“Maybe this is what it’s like to have divorced parents,” she thought to herself, as she continued to tidy up. She often reflects on how good she has it, making her self-loathing even stronger. A perfectly happy family with arguably no childhood trauma, who could complain?
“Only someone as shitty as me,” she thought to herself. With that, a feeling of loneliness washed over her. She spread out on the rug like a starfish. Still feeling pretty high she opted to meditate with her thoughts for a bit. Nem would practice Yoga Nidra every now and then but usually found herself falling asleep. A purgatory of waking and sleeping, it simply puts its user into a relaxed trance-like state of consciousness.
She felt her consciousness float throughout her body, her toes to her knees, her fingers to her shoulders all the way down to her lower back. The ache in her neck was eased as her mind floated there. She’d tapped into her subconscious before and knew the feeling. A cloudy image, so far away, would unravel itself in all different directions. When she dove into far, sometimes she would find herself attempting to sleepwalk, to follow through with the actions in her mind. In the past, she’d only gotten as far as stepping out of bed before she’d be grounded in reality again.
This time was different. She wasn’t necessarily going anywhere but felt another action taking over. She felt a soft pressure in her hands against the rug give way. She was sure to keep her heart rate low and clam, so as not to disturb her contact with her subconscious. Reaching that part of her mind was as akin to nearly reaching an itch that needed to be scratched. The “nearly” part was that she’d usually snap out of it quickly. She was yet to reach this point though. A soft, cool feeling began to overcome her, and she felt as if the floor had caved in.
The feeling of floating increased suddenly and her eyes shot open. Surrounding her was this blue transparent glow to the world. She tried to keep her heart rate slow, guessing she was in a dream.
“Maybe this is an astral projection?” she pondered. The realm glowed with energy rays, surrounding the heat sources.
Upon working to sit up, she felt heavy in her spot. It suddenly dawned on her—she manifested her dream power. Or at least her dream did. She was shocked at how vivid it all was. She simply had to be dreaming.
Operating on manifestation she assumed, it all disappeared in the blink of an eye. She jumped up off the floor to examine at the carpet she had fallen into. Her room remained the same. She was in utter shock.
She saw her reflection and realized how much she was smiling. She began to giggle to herself and jumped about the room deciding what to dive into next. Who knew how long this dream would last? She chose a few items before finally, her bed for a good night’s sleep. She knew the dream would have to end eventually.
Negative. She awoke and laughed at herself for trying it on her bedside wall. Her laughter was stunted when she fell through the wall. She threw her face into a pillow—really, threw into the pillow and screamed into the glowing blue void. She was truly giddy.
She got ready for the day with an extra pep in her step. She experimented on all sorts of objects. Upon going for a walk, she determined nature was her favorite. Being surrounded by it made her feel truly alive. And each day she awoke with more purpose than ever. She made lists of all the objects to try for each day, her favorites being her bed, the grass, trees, tables, and doors. The idea of entering something so solid made her feel concrete despite the fact that she was goop in between all the atoms.
Doors were especially fun in that she would trick Bianca with them. She’d follow Nem into a room only to discover she was behind her suddenly.
“B, you gotta watch out more,” she’d jest. Bianca would stand there stunned and then decide to grimace at her so as to win the conversation.
Once all that got old though, the power seemed less liberating. Still comforting in that she could go in between rather than scroll endlessly on her phone when the anxiety of loneliness hit.
One night, after talking with her mother, she headed down to her room, intent on watching a movie. She wandered over to her vanity to grab her acne tools to pop a pimple on her chin that had been taunting her. And upon doing so she got a revelation.
She backtracked two steps from her vanity until she was in front of her large mirror. She got up close to her reflection, and began probing her face a bit. All her imperfections were so visible this close. She hated it. But rather than back up, she leaned in closer until the glass rippled beneath her forehead.
She weighed her options. It was late at night, nothing to do and no one awake. She heard movement in the kitchen and knew her mother still had to be up. She could go talk her ear off more, though Nem only ever seems to succeed in making people feel trapped in her complex, chaotic rants. She leaned back debating her idea. Curiosity got the cat—and Nem apparently—as she dove in headfirst.
Icarus flew too close to the sun. Everything happened so fast. She didn’t understand it at first and figured that maybe nothing had happened. She could still see herself in the mirror, only her room seemed inverted. Then suddenly the view of herself smiled maliciously.
“Oh fuck—” Nem exhaled.
Her reflection was not her but something else. It took on a whole different attitude outside the mirror. Her personality seemed absent, in its place stood a confident and charming woman. How did it become its own person?
“Oh sweetie, you’re trying to piece it all together huh?” the reflection questioned with pity in her eyes. Nem withdrew further, with goosebumps forming at the reflection’s eerie voice. Her own? She always hated her voice. It sounded like her, but not enough. “I don’t—How’d you do this? Why did you do this?” she asked with urgency, her breath quickening. She tried to shake whatever was holding her in. Her hands only fell forward in transparency.
“Oh Nem, you never did see it did you? You gotta pay more attention!” it said scolding her with the stern point of a finger. Nem’s finger followed and her breath caught—she was now the reflection in the mirror. She sounded as condescending as Nem had when she was using her power to mess with Bianca. Shame began to seep in.
The reflection laughed as she slid on a cozy sweater that Nem could never bring herself to wear, Nem of course following the movements. Her actions weren’t her own. It looked so good on her, Nem thought, as her eyes flitted down the reflections figure. She looked unreal, in more ways than one. The reflection checked herself out in the mirror, Nem’s movements forced to follow hers. She felt like a puppet.
It suddenly dawned on her. She couldn’t simply be her reflection if she had a personality. Or maybe that is how reflections existed in the world, polar opposites of their object. Did everyone have a malicious reflection or just Nem? She was a manifestation of all Nem wanted to be, how she wanted to see herself in the mirror. Nem sighed heavily, without the agency to have the reflections movements follow. She had created this thing.
“I think you’re getting it now,” the reflection said, winking. She strode out of the room with confidence, and Nem’s breath caught.
She felt herself become more transparent but was still there somehow. Conscious enough to hear her mother laughing with that stranger upstairs. A being that Nem created and unleashed for the sake of company. What did this mean for her?
time passed by in images of it. out the door with Bianca in a flash. driving somewhere. flashes of nakedness in the shower as it glanced at the metal faucet. Staring into soup. the passenger side mirror as it talks on a drive with Cliff—those were Nem’s conversations! brushing her teeth. her teeth? their teeth? walking outside by a creek. squashed images on the side of a car. on the fridge, sitting in the kitchen with Natalia. upside down while it uses a spoon for its cereal. reflecting onto Calvin’s silver grinder. a dark figure against the tv. petting the dog in front of the dishwasher. faintly, on Lennon’s glasses.
A rainbow casts light in the sky. Grass sits beneath her. No, a rug. Her rug. She begins to make slow snow angels on the rough surface. Music plays. The beat of “Let’s Get it Started” by the Black Eyed Peas she guesses.
“How fucking hilarious!” Nem shouts at the top of her lungs. She laughs hysterically as she turns herself onto her stomach. The “rainbow,” a.k.a. her sunlamp, was too harsh on the eyes at the moment. The rug felt stimulating on her cheek. The feeling reminds her of her dad’s beard when he starts to really grow it out. Smooth or scratchy, spending on the direction you take.
“And the bass keeps running, running, and running running…”
Nem felt like a drug addict experiencing withdrawal. She stood leaning on the bathroom counter, staring at the mirror intently. The bags under her eyes have never been worse but she doesn’t dwell on that. She only stares in her deep brown eyes. Are they truly hers, or reflection’s? Her hands shook as she tried to support herself on the marble counter. She couldn’t call her that anymore. This reflection wasn’t a true reflection of her, only what she desired. Emesis. She would call her Emesis, she thought, tightening her jaw. Yes, the process of vomiting. That’s all she was, some sickly idea of a perfect person who carved out all Nem truly was. Nem’s insecurities and aspirations projected onto some evil being that aimed to suck the life out of her.
Emesis. Emesis. Emesis.
“Nem, you in there?” A knock sounded on the bathroom door, snapping Nemesis out of her trance. She pursed her lips and splashed some water on her face, still shaking.
“Yeah, one sec,” she replied, shoving her face into a washcloth. She growled into it and then cast it aside.
Nem swung the door open to Bianca standing there, looking concerned. She was so out of it; she hadn’t even realized whose voice it was. Hell, she’s always been able to tell who was running up the stairs by how the rhythm sounded through the house. Nem blinked her eyes hard.
“Are you high?” she asked with heavy criticism in her voice.
“Obviously,” Nem mumbled, not able to describe her behavior otherwise. One would think she’d avoid smoking after the incident, but Nem found herself needing to smoke more often, in order to calm her mind. She slid through the door, around Bianca.
“You wanna go to the mall?” B asked, changing the subject.
Nem pondered this for a moment, stopping in the hallway with her back to Bianca. She was caught off guard by the invite as Bianca would usually mention her plans and make Nemesis beg to join, despite B wanting Nem to go with her all along. The mall would be good for her.
“Sure,” she replied over her shoulder, as she went downstairs.
Biance drove thankfully. Usually, they would argue for a while, trying to force one another to drive. And more often than not, Nem was left to drive while Bianca snuck into the passenger seat before her, justifying this arrangement since it’s her car and her gas.
None of that today though. Nem’s “2000s bops” was the playlist of choice, which caught her by surprise, seeing as B usually goes out of her way to play music Nem hates. But she surprised Nem by turning it down suddenly.
“So, how are things?” Bianca asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nem was always quick on the defense.
“Oh my gosh, I’m just trying to ask how you’ve been. You’ve been acting a bit weird lately,” she retorted. “You were all happy last week, what happened?”
Nem swallowed the saliva building up in her throat. With the version of herself mentioned from last week, her hands clenched as a reflex. She was in the mirror for a whole seven days. The true agony of it all was loneliness. Emesis hid from all the mirrors, only allowing Nem to appear for a moment while passing by one or when Bianca forced the reflection to drive. That is the only circumstance in which they locked eyes—or her Emesis would allow it. She could have kept her gaze on the car behind her, but she always made a point to lock eyes for a moment when checking the rear-view mirror, just to gloat.
Nem sat zoned out on the framing of the rear-view mirror, tilted towards her sister.
“Just having a hard time,” she leveled. She figured she couldn’t share the whole truth, but maybe some of it at least. “Do you ever have a hard time knowing who you are?”
“Knowing who you are? You just gotta be you,” she said, her eyebrows knitting together. She was clearly caught off guard by such a question. “I don’t think there is any one thing to be. I mean I’d sure hope not, I’d probably be way off track,” she thought aloud, pushing air out with each syllable in a laughing manner. She sounded like their mom saying that Nem thought.
“I guess that’s a good way to think about it,” Nem replied, feeling a little lighter.
“Don’t think too much about it. All you have to do is be happy with yourself and where you are,” she declared. “Ooo! Here it is!” She cranked up the stereo so the two could sing along to Rihanna’s “California King Bed.”
The paranoia came out of nowhere.
“No, I know you! You’re not me—but you are. I manifested you out—out of fear, and—and anxiety and—you’re just this idea. You’re what I want to be!” she shouted. “Ha! Wanted to be! You’re only here because of my insecurities, so try to lecture me about agency now!”
Nemesis stood in front of the mirror, digging crescents into the palm of her hand. Emesis taunts her still. The one thing Nemesis couldn’t begin to understand was what the reflection got out of it. Bodily autonomy? Proving her power? Or was there more malice behind it?
In the week Emesis was out in the world, she made Nem a new person. Her social media pages were flushed clean with all new content. She looked at all the photos posted, read the comments, and viewed the likes—sick to her stomach that the public was praising this being that wasn’t even her. They adored Emesis.
Her clothes had been sorted through, with new clothing replacing what had been tossed, Nem assumed. Her makeup all sat differently, and a few new products made their way into her collection. Her room had been rearranged and all the clutter removed. Nem didn’t know what to make of the changes since she loved them, visibility, but loathed them mentally—aware of the monster that had made such adjustments. Though, in the end she opted to leave most of it, for fear the creature would come back.
Someone must’ve heard the shouting since a knock sounded on her door after a few awhile.
“Hey Nem,” her father entered her room, taking her sorry state in. “How are you doing?”
She didn’t even try to hide her tears. The dam broke and they flooded out, dripping onto the floor and she still clenched her fists. Her father abruptly crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. With this display of emotion her breathing started to falter.
“Here, come sit,” he whispered, ushering her over to the bed. “You wanna talk about it?”
She nodded, whipping her tears. They had to wait a minute for her breathing to regulate, but he still sat there with his arm around her, waiting.
“I don’t think I like who I am,” she stated with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if I ever have.”
“Awe, honey. No one ever does. No one ever goes through life without feeling that anxiety at some point, maybe huge narcissists are the exception,” he pondered. “But even then, the subconscious has these thoughts that manage to seep in—these little fears in the back of our mind that plague us from time to time but you always overcome it. Take your brother! Cal thinks highly of himself but also stunts his creativity for God knows what reason. I imagine he has buried doubts we don’t see, but he’s always confident in the end.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that. Her father was easily one of her favorite people in the world to talk with. She gritted her teeth, thinking of the good conversations Emesis stole from her.
“And as for never liking yourself, I don’t believe that for a minute,” he declared. “My little Nemesis was such a happy go lucky kid. I mean, we only go through more emotions and phases because we learn more about the world and begin to enter it. If your mind never aged beyond 5, I think you’d be forever happy. But a little 5-year-old Nem…I don’t know, we’d have to stock up on lots of blue juice, chocolate, and pickles,” he said, giving her a squeeze.
Now she began to really laugh. “Blue juice” is how she referred to Gatorade as a kid. She never bothered to learn if it had a real name—she just loved her “blue juice.”
“Hey, you don’t have to be perfect. Your mother and I never had an idea we wanted you to fit into. Hell, four kids, we expected more trouble. But you guys are all such good kids. And you, gosh you’re brilliant, and beautiful, and musically gifted I might add,” he said with a wink.
A memory of rocking to Red Hot Chili Peppers in the back of his Chevy truck came back to her mind. She’d sit right behind him as he drove, communicating through the rear-view mirror.
“Seriously, Nem, your mother and I—we are so proud of you.”
The words she’d always needed to hear mended her heart and burst it into a thousand pieces right then. Tears sprang from her eyes in rapid speed. Yet, she sat there smiling at her father like a little kid.
She sees her everywhere still—a reminder for Nemesis to watch herself. Nem sees her lurking in her peripheral, a faint shadow. She peeks from behind the shower curtain in the bathroom. She even giggles down in the toilet drain, a snake ready to bite you in the ass. Nem even sees her in public bathrooms, peeking through the crack of the stall at her, smiling intensely. While Nem sleeps, she’s the stranger hidden in her closet, the peeping Tom lurking outside her window. She swims to the bottom of the pool and convinces herself there are no sharks down there—she knows where they are. Though, for some reason, she never did see Emesis in the rear-view mirror again.
“In the Rear View” was selected winner of the Collin Anderson Memorial Award in Fiction.
Nadia Clare is a graduating senior in the English department. She aims to take a year off after completing her undergraduate degree so that she may achieve her master’s abroad in the future. She attributes her creative writing abilities to her interactions with others and her environment.