HANNAH THROUGH THE MESMER GLASS (Part One)

A Short Story

H A N N A H T H R O U G H T H E M E S M E R G L A S S
- a teen parable -
(part one)

It was a day like any other, which was unusual in itself, for most days were usually so unlike one another that it was quite an uncustomary surprise to have it be like any other usual day. Or so Hannah thought.

She stretched her sleepy arms and yawned. The clock on the dashboard flashed 1:31 p.m. and she thought that very strange indeed. For one, she was not waking up in her bed - or his bed, or this sofa, or that floor - and two, the car was still running.

It was just then that she realized she was covered in gleaming blue and green twinkling gems. The entire front windshield was blown out and scattered in little cubist bits all over the interior of her car. 'Poor Lawanda,' she thought, for that was what she called her 2004 Honda Civic 4 door with stick shift and front wheel drive, 'It looks like she's had quite a rough night.'

In fact, despite the fact that Lawanda's motor was still humming merrily, she was quite dead. Somehow, intuitively, Hannah knew this to be the case. Still, she tried putting the stick in gear. Alas, it would not go. It not only would not go but it let out a distinctive shriek.

"I would like you to know," the motor screamed, "that you are hurting me and pain is no motivation for the mechanically-minded !"

"I'm sorry," Hannah replied, "but what the f**k, I need to get home. I don't even know what I'm doing here down in this gully."

For she had, somehow, she guessed, driven poor Lawanda off the side of the road last night.

Furthermore, after crawling out of the passenger door and managing, on unsteady legs, to take a snapshot with her I phone, she recognized Lawanda's true state. All four tires were flat and her front end was scrunched up like an accordion. Not far away, the scattered bark of a twisted and badly damaged tree was clearly evident.

'S**t,' Hannah thought. 'I hate having to walk . . .'

But she needn't have worried for walking was not in any way the least in her future. She tried two steps and found herself full-face on the ground. "Ooohh," she moaned and spit the gravel and leaves from her mouth. Rather than try to get up, she allowed herself a few moments of rest. 'I think I'll just contemplate things awhile,' she told herself.

And that she did.

Presently, she observed that she heard no traffic from the road above her. And although she lay not far from the railroad tracks and although she knew the train station was not so much as a quarter mile away, she heard no train whistle or train wheels or train engine or any sort of train-accustomed sounds at all.

"Of course you don't."

Now that was a voice as clear as one's mother's but it did not come from her mother at all. She turned her head as far as her neck would go to the source of the sound. Nothing was there. Rather, nothing that would talk of its own accord.

Quite uncharacteristically, there was a large mirror with an ornate wooden-embroidered frame leaning against a power line pole in the middle of this wood. She was absolutely certain that it was the mirror that had spoken. Funny, she had not noticed it there before.

She kept her eye on it and before long the voice came again.

"I said, if you didn't hear, that it is understandable there be no trains."

'Okay,' thought Hannah, 'I'm going a little funny in the brain. But seeing as I'm not in any position to go anywhere or do anything else at the moment, I'll play along.'

"And why, pray-tell, is that ?" Hannah inquired in the most prim and proper voice she could muster, for she was, at heart, for all her mischievous teenage ways, a hostess who prided herself on customer-service-minded hospitality.

"Why, simply because it's the day after Sunday and the day before Monday, and everyone knows the trains don't run on that day."

'Of course,' thought Han, 'how wonderfully transparent.'

She got herself up on one elbow and began brushing herself off, all the while conscious of the warm pain inching around her lower ribs and waist. She glanced at the mirror. For some reason, it was reflecting a contradictory pinkish hue when all about her the sky and clouds and atmosphere and even the air, possessed a pale gray cast.

"I do think you should have a look at yourself, dear girl," said the mirror.

Han thought that a very good idea at that.

She slowly made her way over to the glass, which was just some yards away. She still could not stand upright without her head swimming so she did it on hands and knees, unfortunately dirtying her brand new jeans and sneakers. 'Well that sucks moose dick,' she thought. But her clothes were not the most pressing issue.

"That's it," coaxed the mirror, "just a little closer. Get a gooood look at yourself. I keep myself supremely shined, if you haven't noticed, for just such an occasion."

"Well, give me a minute, niggah," she spouted angrily, "I'm not in the best of shape if you haven't noticed."

"Ah, so," agreed the mirror. "The unique status and travails of a typical teen, no doubt."

"I beg your pardon, but I am not a typical teen," she retorted.

"That's quite what I said," rejoined the mirror, "atypical."

"You are really confusing me, so please, just shut the f**k up."

Presently, Hannah was gazing into the pinkish glass. Her face was bloated and scarred. Her hair was a disheveled mess, more so than usual, at any rate. Her lips looked dried and cracked.

"Motha f***a !" she huffed.

"Exactly my own true sentiments," came the reply.

She sat there and covered her face. She almost cried. Almost. For she never cried, thinking it 'so girly.'

When she took her hands away, she felt dizzy. With a start, she attempted to regain her balance but it was no good. Her head was racing toward the glass. It would be the second time she fractured her noggin, in so many hours, only... it wasn't.

To her utter amazement her face seemed to fall through the glass pane, causing a ripple as if it were water. She lay there, half in, half out.

"Now look what you've done," taunted the mirror. "I don't suppose you know how silly you look with your a*s sticking out of me that way."

"Help me get out !" she hollered, for she was quite jarred by the whole experience.

"That, is simply out of the question," the mirror answered matter-of-factly. "I cannot push you out."

"However, I can suck you in." And it did.