Illusions

I scrambled over all the other boxes in the moving van, throwing a few aside until I found the one I needed.

"Hey! Get out of the truck!" A man with a dirty-looking moustache and goatee bellowed towards me.

But I'd found the box I wanted. "Sorry, sorry," I muttered as I climbed over the boxes and jumped down to the cement driveway below. The man shook his head. "Kids these days," he muttered. "No respect for anything anymore."

I walked toward the new house, a duplex, my body bent under the weight of the box. When I finally reached the door, panting, I set the box down gently on the dusty porch and opened the door, grabbing my box again and shuffling up the staircase, the stairs creaking with each slow step I took.

I could hear water running in the kitchen downstairs. Bits of conversation floated up and I sat on the landing to listen. " ... can't believe there's no air conditioning ..." " ... cool up in the attic ..." " ... wouldn't want to be up there though ..."

What was wrong with the attic?

One of the best, and, at times, worst, qualities I have is curiosity. Whenever I get an idea in my mind, I wonder and analyze and keep thinking until I just have to do whatever I'm thinking about. But now, there was no time to wonder, analyze, or think. I picked up the box with a strength that I know from experience I get whenever I have that aching curiosity. I dropped it in the doorway of the room the family had deemed as mine and went back to the hallway, pulling open a few doorways as quietly as I could until I found one that opened to another staircase, a dusty one that hadn't been cleaned for the house showing. It had to be the one leading to the attic.

I climbed up the stairs as clouds of dust rose up behind me. Reaching the top, I paused before opening the single door and stepping inside.

The dust was much worse here. I choked and coughed as I took a deep breath of the cool air and looked around.

The entire room was covered in a thick layer of dust. On the back wall of the room was a huge window only covered with a thin screen. Boxes and old furniture were clustered together in corners of the room. But what intrigued me most was a huge window looking into the other side of the duplex. It was dirty but I could make out a few boxes on the other side, along with a girl.

But Mom and Dad had said nobody lived in the other side. It was still for sale. Well, I guess they were wrong.

I smiled and waved. She waved back at the same time. We both laughed.

Maybe I would have a friend here, instead of being alone. We would go to the same school and live in the same house, only on opposite sides. And we would be best friends. I would never be the lonely, unpopular girl who sat alone at lunch again. I had been looking forward to having a fresh start at a new school, but this would help so much more.

I started to walk up to the window, but noticed some loose, cracked boards blocking my way, along with revealed rafters and insulation. I frowned at the girl and shrugged. "I can't get over. Can you?" She seemed to be saying something as she shook her head, but I guess the window was too thick for me to hear her. I waved goodbye and walked back downstairs to my room and started unpacking the box. A few articles of clothing went into the closet and dresser, my comforter and throw pillows went on the bed, and I hung up some posters and a bulletin board on the wall. Finally, I found what I was looking for: my diary.

The reason that I had snuck into the moving van was this diary. I didn't want to repeat the nightmare of what had happened at school a few months ago, before Dad had gotten transferred. Some girls found my diary in my backpack and--I didn't want to think about it. But it was bad, and even though I doubted movers had any interest in a thirteen year old girl's diary, I wasn't going to let them have much of a chance of getting to it. I flopped on the bed, pulled out a mechanical pencil and started writing.



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“I’m home!” I called as I walked in the front door, taking off my shoes and jacket and walking into the kitchen. Mom was simmering something on the stove. “Soup for tonight,” she explained, and I nodded, taking a cookie off a plate on the counter. “How was school?”

“Pretty good,” I replied. “But you know what was weird? That girl that lives on the other side of the duplex wasn’t there. Do you think she goes to a private school or something?”

“There’s no girl on the other side, honey. I know you think you saw something up in the attic, but I think you were just pretending. I know for sure there’s not a family on the other side. If you really want to, you can go knock on the door over there and see if there’s anybody, but I really don’t—”

“Awesome!” I interrupted. “I’ll go over there right now.” I rushed out to the entrance and pulled my shoes and coat back on, letting the door slam behind me as I ran over to the other entrance. I knew there was somebody on the other side of the house—I’d been up in the attic a few more times, and every time, the girl was there too. I had no clue why the girl was spending so much time in the attic, but maybe it was for the same reason I had: Up there, I had a friend.

Not that school had been so horrible. But I just had a feeling I didn’t fit in. Especially when I answered questions and the whole class would stare at me, the looks on their faces plainly saying, What a nerd.

Forget about that, I kept telling myself. You have a friend.

Even though the girl and I couldn’t really have conversations, it was nice to know that, sitting up there in the attic, I wasn’t alone. Although I didn’t know for sure, I saw the girl’s personality as a lot like mine. Quiet, shy, but sweet, a good friend if given the chance to be one. And I was surprised I’d never thought of going over and ringing the doorbell before.

By now I’d reached the door. I gently knocked on the door, seeing there was no doorbell, and then, when nobody came, I knocked harder. I waited for a few minutes, but nobody came to the door. Well, maybe they weren’t home right now. I’d go up to the attic and see if the girl was there.

“Well?” my mom asked when I walked in.

“I don’t think they’re home,” I shouted over my shoulder as I rushed up the stairs. When I reached the attic, though, she was there. I sat down in the chair I’d taken out of the corner and turned on a lamp, then started writing in a notebook. I held it up so the girl could see it, then pantomimed sticking the note under her door. She nodded, and I turned off the lamp and rushed over to the entrance to her house, shoving the note under the door. It was then that I noticed the “For Sale” sign by her side of the duplex. Weird, I thought. I know she lives there, but why is there still a sign in the yard? Is she like a homeless person who lives in the attic secretly or something?

I went back inside; it was around dinnertime, but I had time to formulate a plan for the next day.



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“I’m home!” I called the next day, this time skipping the cookies and rushing straight up to the attic. “How was school?” The familiar question rose up the stairs. “Fine,” I replied, as I rushed over to my chair and turned off the camera. I had set it up to start filming right after I left the attic, facing the window so that I could catch the girl on film and make sure she was really there. I fast-forwarded through the seven hours’ worth of film, but the girl wasn’t there until the very end—when I had walked into the room, she had, too. I shrieked when I realized the girl was standing on the other side of the window, looking at me. We both laughed. I started writing up another note. Why are you only here when I’m here? Is it just coincidence? I spoke the words out loud, and the girl shrugged and nodded, holding up a piece of paper of her own. I slipped the note under the door just in case she hadn’t read my lips right, then went back up and started writing in my diary about the girl and how I was even starting to wonder if she was really there. I’d never even gotten the note she’d held up to show me.

I wanted to believe that she was real, especially because even though it was only my second day of school, my social life had deteriorated just as quickly as it had started. Everyone ignored me, and if they didn’t, it was only to shoot me a dirty look or an insult. But in the attic I had a friend, and I wanted to keep it that way.

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It continued like that for months. Sometimes I would knock on the door, but she would never answer, although whenever I was in the attic, she was, too. Occasionally, when I was having a really bad day at school, I would rip out my diary entries and slip them under her door, confiding in her what I could say to no one else.

Every day I would try to think of ideas to get over to the window, open it, and meet the girl. And finally, I came to the most obvious one: get some wooden boards, place them over the holes in the floor, and walk over to her. I felt so dumb, realizing that anyone who had a brain would have figured it out ages ago. But it wasn’t like the girl had really made any effort to come over here.

I didn’t want to outright ask for wooden boards. My parents didn’t even know I was spending almost all my free time in the attic with my only friend. I’d given up trying to explain that there was someone living in the other side of the duplex months ago. My only hope was that when we built a new porch, which we were doing in a couple weeks, I could somehow sneak some boards up to the attic.

Meeting the girl became my biggest goal as things at school went from pretty bad to downright terrible. Even though I’d never met her, I felt like she was my best friend, and things could only get better once I had.

So when we started building the porch, my plan to grab a few wooden boards worked one day when I was home alone. Mom was at a friend’s house, Dad was at work, and there were so many boards stacked up that nobody would ever notice one was gone. So I grabbed one and rushed up to the attic faster than I ever had before. I laid the board across the hole in the floor, and, looking down, crossed it. When I looked up, the girl was right next to me. Only the grimy window separated us.

I placed my hand up to the window, looking for a clearer place where I would be able to see her face. As I walked along the window, the girl did too. “Hey!” I said jokingly, hands on my hips. “Are you copying me?” I laughed as she took up the same stance. “You’re good at this,” I said, almost sure she could hear me since we were only about a foot away. I started doing crazy dance moves, laughing as she copied them exactly.

And that’s when I realized.

The window wasn’t a window at all.

It was a mirror.