Pinch - Statement 20141210
Statement of Abby-Lynn Grace regarding her experiences with an anomalous mirror. Statement recorded by the Usher Foundation, directly from subject, October 12th, 2014. Statement transcribed on 24th of March, 2019.
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[Statement Begins.]
My mama’s always called me a bit vain. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve liked to look at myself— in spoons, in windows, in the bathroom mirror. My brothers used to tell me to get out of the shower when we were school-age. I’d just turn the water on and let it run and run while I sat on the counter and preened.
It wasn’t always self-indulgent. Sometimes it was like a– a compulsion, I think Frankie called it. That’s my husband, Frankie. He’s always been real good about keeping my head on right, God bless him. He’d come in sometimes, find me cryin’ in front of it. If you look at yourself long enough in the mirror, things start to warp, look all out of sorts. Your face stops lookin’ like a face and starts lookin’ like a problem.
This all started a few months back. That’s why I’m here. Frankie’s been worried, says I haven’t seemed myself lately. To be honest, I haven’t felt it, either. I think… Now, this sounds silly, but I know you all hear all manner of silly things, so I’ll come on out and say it. I think it’s the mirror’s fault. No– I know it is. I know it’s that mirror’s fault.
Me and Frankie got married in April– you see this ring? He bought it himself, I told him not to get one this big, but he insisted. I’ll get him somethin’ real nice soon, make him treat himself. Anyhow, we moved into my granddaddy’s old place. It’s small, but it’s real nice, especially in the evenings. All the lightning bugs and the crickets come out, you can sit on the porch swing and listen to the whipporwill. We had fun paintin’ all the walls bright colors, plantin’ trees out front, diggin up Granddaddy’s old garden beds. We even cleared out his old attic, made it into a nice guest room, just in case, you know. It gets awful hot up there, we’ll have to keep company strictly to the fall and winter [laughter].
But, ah. The attic is where I found it.
It’s this big ol’ mirror. Taller than I am, wider than I am, too, though I’ll outgrow it soon enough if June Harris keeps makin’ lemon bars for the church potlucks. It’s got this pretty gold border, all swirls and roses. Frankie said it was gaudy, but Frankie gets the basement for his model trains, so I got the mirror in our closet. I keep thinkin’ about what might have happened, if I’d just taken it to the Goodwill, left it on the street, smashed it to bits and buried it.
But I didn’t. I used it to get my face beat in the mornings– before church, before my shift at the Piggly Wiggly, takin’ all my makeup off at night before bed. Sometimes, I’d see somethin’ out of the corner of my eye in the mirror, but my imagination’s always run a bit wild, and so do the cats, so I didn’t think anything of it.
It hung there for weeks, until they turned into months. I noticed– well, no, that’s not quite right. It was Frankie who noticed. He told me I was lookin’ in the mirror too much, that he was worried I was havin’ one of my moments. That’s what we call them– my moments. When I look at myself too much, and it makes me miss church and meals. I’ve got help for them, so I told him he was bein’ overprotective, and that I was fine.
But then I started noticing, too. I’d be talkin’ on the phone– you know how people walk around when they use the phone?-- and I’d end up smack in front of that mirror again. It’s not like it’s easy to get to, either, it’s in a closet I get to through the master bathroom. Two doors, and I’d breeze by both of them like they were nothing.
I’d clean, and there I’d be, wipin’ down the mirror like it wasn’t already shining. Sitting in front of it after I was done beatin’ my face up pretty, just staring. If I stared for long enough, it felt like I would fall right through.
I started doing odd things. I’d eat in front of it, when Frankie was out of the house, then when he was in the house. He noticed– I told him to mind his own. I’ve been awful to Frankie, he’s been onto this thing since the beginning, but I only just–
[Soft breathing, sniffling]
Anyhow. I’m fine, put that away. I’m fine.
It was a couple weeks ago, I think. Right after Suzanna’s baptism. I went into the closet at night, and I just sat right down on the floor in front of it.
At first, it was just like normal. I looked like me, a bit more tired, a bit less sunburned, but I was me.
I kept lookin, and it started to do that funny optical illusion. My nose started lookin’ a little too big, my eyebrows started seemin’ all wampus. I started pushin’ and prodding at my face, and… it stuck.
Look, here, my nose. It used to be crooked right here, and now it’s straight as an arrow. The mirror did that. My eyebrows are thinner, my lips are bigger. I was ecstatic; Kathy Lee spent three grand on her nosejob, and I’d just gotten one for dirt cheap. Cheaper, even.
Frankie looked at me a little weird, that next morning, but I was over the moon. I’d go into the closet, push and poke, and come out a little more perfect than I had before. It got to be that I couldn’t go an hour before lookin’ at myself, making sure it’d stuck, that I looked alright.
Then, about a week ago, I had one of my moments.
I woke up, and I could tell it was gonna be a rough day. Frankie was already off to work at the power plant; he leaves early on Wednesdays. I didn’t bother makin’ myself pretty. I put on Frankie’s old sweatpants and my college hoodie– they’re my favorites for when I have my moments. They hide me away in folds and bags, and Frankie knows it’s my outfit for bad days, so we usually cuddle up on the easy chair and watch whatever’s on.
But the mirror was close, and I wanted to see if it worked on all of me. I wouldn’t have done it except for that I’d been cryin’, and I was all puffy, and nothin’ felt right.
It was hangin’ there, same as ever. I lifted up my shirt, sucked in my stomach, and… it stuck. No battlin’ with crunches, nothing. I turned, and it’d really stuck. That’s when things started goin’ wrong.
I started small. Just little pinches, like sculpting clay. Tuckin’ things in, pokin, lifting. I didn’t want Frankie to notice anything too different– he knows me, he’d notice if I suddenly looked like a Wal-Mart Megan Fox. I started to get frustrated; I pinched harder. My left leg wouldn’t match my right, I had to make ‘em even. I got so mad, I…
Lord, help me. I scrubbed my hands over my face. I didn’t mean to, it was just habit.
I screamed when I opened my eyes back up.
I looked like I’d melted. My nose was stickin’ straight up, my cheeks were dripping like candle wax. My eyes… You know when little boys get mad, and they pull their bottom eyelid down? Like that, but stuck, and I reached up, and that’s what they felt like, too.
My heart was fixin’ to burst. I tried my best to fix it– I got out my phone, looked for a photo of myself. I tried to put everything back right, set my face back, but I’ve never been a very good artist. I look off. Like a twin, or a sister.
I went to bed early. When Frankie came in, I told him not to turn the lights on, that I felt sick. He believed me.
He screamed, the next morning. He thought a stranger had snuck into his bed. I had to talk to get him to believe it was me. I told him everything– he broke the mirror. He wants to take me in to a doctor, one of those psychiatrists. Told me it’s for the best, that I need to talk to someone professional. Lord knows we don’t have the money to burn on useless things like that.
That’s why I’m here. I figure… you all have heard all manner of odd things. Surely I’m not crazy.
[Cell phone buzzing]
Oh– that’s Frankie. I’m supposed to meet him for dinner. I’m trying to get out more.
Don’t tell him this, but… I’m not proud of this. I couldn’t take the chance. I have to be able to fix myself, somehow.
I stole a broken piece. It’s fitted into this compact blush. I need to fix it– I’m gonna.
It can’t hurt, right?
[Statement ends.]