technically, I wasn’t truly invisible. I blinked. My image blinked back. All quite normal. And lots of people still saw me. Magnolia and Geoff and Kendra. The meter reader, who always waved. But still, for all practical purposes in the larger world of youth and beauty, rush and struggle, hype and hustle, I was indeed quite invisible.
It was, I must admit, a shocking discovery. I sat in Harley’s old recliner and tried to assimilate this unexpected revelation of my new status in the world.
Invisible .
Actually, I reflected, this wasn’t as new as it felt at the moment. As two little old ladies—LOLs, perhaps, in this era of timesaving acronyms for everything—Thea and I had been losing visibility for some time now. There was that time Kendra’s young man almost ran over us near the back steps. It wasn’t dark; the light over the steps had been on. Yet we’d been as invisible as radio waves to him until he actually bumped into us.
We’d also been at least temporarily invisible at the sheriff’s office, a part of the lobby furniture, until my whistle demanded attention.
There were times further back too, now that I thought about it.
The department store downtown, where we’d gone to buy Thea a new pair of gloves. A pencil-slim, blond saleslady was strolling around with a tray, handing out samples of a new moisturizer. To everybody but us. Victorio’s Seafood, the upscale restaurant where we’d gone to celebrate our three-days-apart birthdays. The waiter had hurried past our table near the swinging doors to the kitchen time and again, as if the space was occupied by only the salt and pepper shakers and an unlit candle.
“What do we have to do to get noticed here?” Thea had grumbled. “Jump up on the table and do a cancan?”
“I will if you will,” I’d said boldly.
Then we’d looked at each other and giggled at visions of ourselves kicking our way across the polished table and flouncing our behinds at astonished diners.
The waiter had actually seemed startled to see us when I finally stuck out a stiff arm and snagged him. At the time I’d assumed it was a judgment call: LOLs don’t leave good tips. Ignore them. Now I wasn’t so certain. Maybe it was the encroaching invisibility.
So this had been creeping up unnoticed for some time, I had to acknowledge. It simply hadn’t been so obvious when there were two of us. Or perhaps it hadn’t really mattered, when Thea and I were laughing and enjoying life together, that we were becoming an island of invisibility in a bright sea of youth and energy.
Now Thea was gone, and life on Invisibility Isle was much less fun.
I sat in Harley’s old chair so long that shadows of dusk crept through the old maples and into the windows. I felt as if they were settling into my heart.
I would, I supposed, become ever less visible as time went by. Like a figure in one of those old sepia photographs, I’d gradually become dimmer and dimmer until I completely faded away. Maybe my image in the mirror would eventually disappear.
Of course I didn’t have to let the dimming happen. There were actions I could take to snatch back visibility. I sat up straighter in the old recliner. Magnolia Margollin and I were of an age, and certainly no one would ever suggest she was invisible.
I could never duplicate Magnolia’s imposing figure, but I too could color my hair stoplight red or insulation pink. I could do gold eyelids and rainbow cheeks, earrings that dangled to my elbows. Lime-green tights and T-shirts that said outrageous things. I could plant so much ivy that it would cover the house. Put up a sign proclaiming this was Ivy Mansion. Wear ivy jewelry, wind ivy in my hair, and get an ivy tattoo on my ankle.
I bounced my fists on the arms of the chair, warming to the subject.
I could write outrageous letters to the editor and sign them Poison Ivy. Call up radio talk shows and offer radical opinions. Poison Ivy would gain notoriety all over the city. Perhaps even
It was, I must admit, a shocking discovery. I sat in Harley’s old recliner and tried to assimilate this unexpected revelation of my new status in the world.
Invisible .
Actually, I reflected, this wasn’t as new as it felt at the moment. As two little old ladies—LOLs, perhaps, in this era of timesaving acronyms for everything—Thea and I had been losing visibility for some time now. There was that time Kendra’s young man almost ran over us near the back steps. It wasn’t dark; the light over the steps had been on. Yet we’d been as invisible as radio waves to him until he actually bumped into us.
We’d also been at least temporarily invisible at the sheriff’s office, a part of the lobby furniture, until my whistle demanded attention.
There were times further back too, now that I thought about it.
The department store downtown, where we’d gone to buy Thea a new pair of gloves. A pencil-slim, blond saleslady was strolling around with a tray, handing out samples of a new moisturizer. To everybody but us. Victorio’s Seafood, the upscale restaurant where we’d gone to celebrate our three-days-apart birthdays. The waiter had hurried past our table near the swinging doors to the kitchen time and again, as if the space was occupied by only the salt and pepper shakers and an unlit candle.
“What do we have to do to get noticed here?” Thea had grumbled. “Jump up on the table and do a cancan?”
“I will if you will,” I’d said boldly.
Then we’d looked at each other and giggled at visions of ourselves kicking our way across the polished table and flouncing our behinds at astonished diners.
The waiter had actually seemed startled to see us when I finally stuck out a stiff arm and snagged him. At the time I’d assumed it was a judgment call: LOLs don’t leave good tips. Ignore them. Now I wasn’t so certain. Maybe it was the encroaching invisibility.
So this had been creeping up unnoticed for some time, I had to acknowledge. It simply hadn’t been so obvious when there were two of us. Or perhaps it hadn’t really mattered, when Thea and I were laughing and enjoying life together, that we were becoming an island of invisibility in a bright sea of youth and energy.
Now Thea was gone, and life on Invisibility Isle was much less fun.
I sat in Harley’s old chair so long that shadows of dusk crept through the old maples and into the windows. I felt as if they were settling into my heart.
I would, I supposed, become ever less visible as time went by. Like a figure in one of those old sepia photographs, I’d gradually become dimmer and dimmer until I completely faded away. Maybe my image in the mirror would eventually disappear.
Of course I didn’t have to let the dimming happen. There were actions I could take to snatch back visibility. I sat up straighter in the old recliner. Magnolia Margollin and I were of an age, and certainly no one would ever suggest she was invisible.
I could never duplicate Magnolia’s imposing figure, but I too could color my hair stoplight red or insulation pink. I could do gold eyelids and rainbow cheeks, earrings that dangled to my elbows. Lime-green tights and T-shirts that said outrageous things. I could plant so much ivy that it would cover the house. Put up a sign proclaiming this was Ivy Mansion. Wear ivy jewelry, wind ivy in my hair, and get an ivy tattoo on my ankle.
I bounced my fists on the arms of the chair, warming to the subject.
I could write outrageous letters to the editor and sign them Poison Ivy. Call up radio talk shows and offer radical opinions. Poison Ivy would gain notoriety all over the city. Perhaps even
Similar Books
