Hello Stranger(16)

What would happen if I looked into that mirror?

What would I see?

Don’t look, I told myself.

I didn’t want to know, but I also couldn’t stand not knowing … and so I wound up standing with my eyes averted, caught between curiosity and dread, for so long Dr. Nicole finally asked if I was all right.

The knock startled me, and then I coasted off that energy and glanced up into the mirror to check my reflection …

And what I saw made me gasp.

My face, my very own face, the one I’d had and known and lived with all my life … it was nothing but puzzle pieces, too.



* * *



WHEN I OPENED the bathroom door, moving in slo-mo with the shock, I kept my eyes pointed toward the floor, which felt like the safest place. I got as far as the threshold before slowing to a stop.

“Sadie?” Dr. Nicole asked.

“I can’t see my own face,” I said then, a little breathless. “I just checked in the mirror, and it’s not there. I’m faceless.”

But Dr. Nicole wasn’t giving in to my drama. “You’re not faceless,” she said, steering me gently by the shoulders back to bed, “you just have edema.”

I wanted to be practical about it. Matter-of-fact. I wanted to fully understand that this was just a little brain glitch.

But there was nothing matter-of-fact about it.

I walked away from that mirror feeling … lonely.

No matter how alone you ever are in life, you always have yourself, right? You always have that goofy, imperfect face that forgets to take off its mascara before bed and wakes up with raccoon eyes. That one crooked lower tooth that the orthodontist never could manhandle into place. Those ears that stick out a little too far. Those lines on either side of your smile that always look like parentheses. That slight dimple at your chin that’s just like your mom’s.

Of course those aren’t the only things that make you you.

You are also your whole life story. And your sense of humor. And your homemade doughnut recipe. And your love for ghost stories. And the way you savor ocean breezes. And the appreciation you have for how the colors pink and orange go together.

You’re not just your face, is what I mean.

But man, it sure is a big part of you.

Like your shadow. So faithfully and constantly with you, you don’t even notice it.

It’s just always there. But then one day it’s gone.

Except it’s not just the shadow that’s gone. It’s the person making the shadow.

You. You’re gone.

And the idea that anything could just disappear at any moment is something you suddenly understand in a whole new way. The way I did for a long while after my mother died.

“It’s like I’m not here,” I said to Dr. Nicole, my throat getting thick. “It’s like I disappeared.”

“You’re right here,” she said, taking my hands and squeezing them before holding them up to show me. “You know these hands, right?”

I nodded.

“Here you are,” she said. “You haven’t gone anywhere.” Then she gave me a hug and said, “But let’s not look in the mirror again for a while.”

She wanted to get down to business. She was organizing some tests for me to take on her laptop. While I waited, a random thought occurred to me: Peanut.

“This doesn’t apply to animals, right?” I asked.

“What?” Dr. Nicole asked.

“I’m suddenly worried that when I get home, I won’t be able to see my dog.”

“You’ll definitely be able to see your dog.”

“His face, I mean,” I said. “I need that face. It’s my primary mood-lifter.”

“I understand,” Dr. Nicole said, attention still mostly on her work.

“This face thingy’s only for human faces, right?”

At that, she paused. “Mostly,” she said, “yes.”

“Mostly?” I asked. “What does mostly mean?”

“There’s not a lot of research on animal faces. There has been some research on cars, though.”

“Cars?”

“Some people with this condition have trouble recognizing their cars. They can also have trouble with direction. But it hasn’t been studied enough to understand why or how.”

“So…” Somehow this felt like the worst news of all. “You can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to see my dog’s face?”

But she wasn’t going to let me descend into self-pity. “Guarantees are overrated.”

I must have been spoiling for a fight. “Guarantees are underrated.”

But she didn’t take the bait. “Let’s just take one question at a time.”



* * *



DR. NICOLE HAD queued up some facial recognition tests for me to take to see how bad it was. “This’ll give us a baseline,” she said.

The tests—the Glasgow Face Matching Test, the Cambridge Face Memory Test, along with a few others—were all online. She rotated the laptop toward me.

I folded my legs and geared up to begin. I was usually pretty good at tests. But I would not be acing these.

These tests were hard. Like if you made a kindergartner take the SAT.