A New Face Appeared

A woman enters an empty laundromat with a bag of clothes in one hand and her purse in the other. As she picks a washing machine and begins to load her clothes into the drum, she notices a piece of paper on the ground. She picks it up; It is a hand-written letter. Overcome with curiosity, she begins to read. The static sounds of sloshing soap and water churning over cotton and continuous metal clanging fade out as we are transported into the text…

To Whom It May Concern,

Let me tell you a story, something that happened to me recently. You won’t believe it, but I want to tell you because I’m worried you are taking what you have for granted. I sure did, before this whole ordeal. 

So, recently one morning , I woke up and stretched my legs after a few hours of sleep (I don’t sleep very well, you know it’s hard being a combination night owl and morning person, you only truly get the three hours between 2am and 5am to sleep). I “rolled out of bed,” I say “rolled” in quotes, because roll doesn’t really describe it at all, despite it being a common phrase. Slugged is a better description of my morning movements. So, I dragged my feet toward the bathroom. Stupidly, I drank an entire kettle of tea the night before, staying up reading How it Feels to Float by Helena Fox, a wonderful book. Anyhoozle, I needed to pee. After relieving myself, I went to the sink, washed my hands, and without opening my crusty, puffy eyes, opened the cabinet door behind the mirror to find the toothpaste. I closed the cabinet door and began methodically brushing; five to the left, five to the right, three up, three down, then switch. Slowly, my eyelids began to de-puff from their slumbery rest, and I glanced up at the mirror. 

Now, I don’t want to scare you with what I am about to say. It is the truth, and the truth can sometimes be terrifying, but nevertheless, it must come out. So, listen very carefully.

When I looked at my reflection, it wasn’t, my reflection. Yes, it was technically something that the mirror perceived to be in front of it, and therefore, within the laws of mirrors it must reflect back to its observer, but the reflection did not belong to me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t appalled by what I saw, just shocked to my core. Looking back at me was this beautiful creature, whose features resembled nothing like the features I’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four years. It was smooth, with luscious hair falling off the top and dark, deep eyes that entranced even myself, like the edge of a cliff you just have to look over. This face was not what I was used to seeing when I looked at reflect-y things, like mirrors, glass, and certain shiny plastics. No, I was the plain girl, not pretty by any stretch, and never the type to garner looks while walking about the street. I know what you’re thinking, you were expecting me to say I saw a horrific face looking back at me like in the Grimm Fairy Tales or the bug in The Metamorphosis, but not to worry, nothing so abhorrent as that happened to me. 

When I peaked a glance at this other being in the mirror, I fell to the ground. So surprised at this image before me, I took a few minutes to compose myself on the cool tile floor. Before looking again at this sinister manifestation, I decided to put my senses to the test. This so-called mirror could be playing tricks on me, but no one could dispute my own two hands. I carefully placed each index finger and thumb on either cheek, squeezing a little to feel the elasticity. My face, well, my old face, was pretty soft and mushy, even my boyfriend would make fun of me for having extra skin and plump cheeks like a puppy whose neck skin gets gently pulled into its mother’s mouth. This face that had been transposed on top of my original one was wholly different; supple yet firm, I could feel its pores were smaller than my old ones even without looking. Data entry point number one, affirmative: different face. I looked down, suddenly remembering in horror I had a body, too. For the first time since waking, I glanced at my physical form below my neck. Did this mean I had another body too? Immensely relieved, I in fact had the same body as I have had every day since being born. Great, but, what to do with this thing on my shoulders? I looked back at the imposter in the mirror and my displeasure made the eyebrow arch upwards. So, I guessed I had full control over this new face much in the same way my old face felt connected. The brain was then fully hooked up, somehow not realizing on a basic level that what it was connected to was false, a fake. It should be rejecting it! I was furious with my brain for not throwing a tantrum and expelling the head off my body for good. On some level it must have known that this was wrong though, I thought, since my eyes immediately recognized that this was not my face, and in fact an impostor. Good, that’s something. Well, fuck, what am I going to tell Eddie? That’s my boyfriend, who was at that moment sleeping soundly in the other room. 

He will not be happy to see me like this. I panicked, more afraid of his rejection to my new form than the fact that I may actually have a permanently altered face with or without him. After a few seconds of going over a million scenarios in my mind, I came to a solution, albeit a delusional one. I was going to find a grocery bag, print out a colorized photo of my old face on it, and then put it over my head. Then, I would lie down next to him and see how long it would take him to notice. A great plan, I know. More like a great plan to get him to break up with me for sheer insanity. 

When I lied down next to him, he slowly woke up from what I imagine was a peaceful slumber. He’s so lucky, he never has bad dreams, only good ones or none that he remembers at all. He rubbed the sand from his eyes and looked up at me, laying there with the bag. Truthfully I think I gave him more of a scare than my new face gave me, because he jumped out of bed and pulled the wooden bat out from under the bed that we keep for emergencies. I yelled out, It’s me, It’s me Eddie, put the bat down. To my horror, I hadn’t tested out this new, smooth, creamy voice, and so it rang out completely false on my ears. My voice used to be nasally and high pitched, kind of annoying to be frank. So, I knew then that the jig was up. I was finished. Instead, Eddie laughed. He was shaken up no doubt, but he crawled back into bed with me and asked just what I was doing, scaring the living hell out of him at 7 in the morning? This left me dumbfounded. He didn’t realize the voice was weird, alien-like, compared to my true form? Did he even notice the difference? Then, the unimaginable happened. Eddie pulled off my protective paper bag. I held my breath for his reaction, prepared to get the bat thrown in my face again, but instead, he said nothing about my new appearance. Eddie leaned in and gave me a kiss. The bristles of his beard caressed my foreign skin, and yet to him, this seemed normal, as if this was not our first kiss. For, in fact, it was our first kiss if you count new lips into the equation. 

Did he even know me at all? If he did not recognize this new face as completely false, if he saw me the same as he always did, was he the wrong one or was I, in fact, the one who could not recognize the truth? 

To this day, neither Eddie nor anyone who knew the old me has mentioned my new face. Either he is deeply in denial or someone has swapped his mind for Play Doh, but it is strange indeed. To my therapist’s dismay, I haven’t had the courage to bring it up to him, for fear he will shun me and lock me up in an institution. For now, this way of life works for us. Deep down, I know it isn't sustainable. To live life with the outer shell of an impostor, unseen and unheard to all, that’s no true life. 

So I write to you, dear reader of this letter, so that you may be warned. So that if this ever happens to you, you will know that you’re not alone. I may not have any answers about this condition yet, but at least we could commiserate together. For now, I urge you to cherish every day that you look into the mirror and see your own face staring back. You never know, some day it might be your last. And if it does happen, feel free to look me up at the address below, I’d love to connect with a fellow stranger.

Best,

V

... Stunned, the girl finishes reading and places the piece of paper onto the plastic table next to the washing machines. She takes out her load and transfers it to the dryer.