181 Days of Madeline Jesty

Chapter 22: Moribundity

I was looking for a headwear that would match my outfit when Suzie knocked on my door. "Oh, you're going out too?" Too? It was surprising to me how Suzie knew Mom's whereabouts better than me. "Where're you going?"

"Meet a friend."

"A friend. Mickey?" When I nodded, she looked at me with disapproval. "Okay. Friend. As you say so. It seems to be the first time you'll be meeting a friend this early."

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "We're meeting at five."

"Then why this early? It's nine in the morning."

"Just trying out some clothes, Suzie. Don't make a fuss out of it."

"You're not that conscious when you and Steph go out."

I shook my head and continued with what I was doing. I was planning to wear a white sleeveless turtleneck topped with a pink jumper skirt and a pair of plain white sneakers to match, so I was torn between the pink baseball cap or the pink beret.

"Suzie, which is better—this white cap"—I placed the cap on my head and then removed it to put on the next option—"or this pink beret . . . for this outfit?"

"It's the white cap for me."

"Not this?" I asked, wearing the pink beret on my head again.

"Then why don't you look at the mirror for you to see?" It was then that she realized that all reflective surfaces were covered with silk cloth. "Maddie, why are your mirrors covered in the first place?"

Because I don't want a floating invisible hourglass ruining a date, I grimaced by myself. "I just don't want to."

"Oh. Are you suffering from body disorders?"

"No—"

"Does Mrs. Jacobs know?"

"No, Suzie—"

"Why didn't you tell us right away, Maddie? If you can't tell your mom, you have me. Such is something young people go through, and the best way is to cope with it is to find effective treatments—"

"Suzie, okay, stop. You're overthinking," I interrupted her before she could take it further. But what should I tell her? The last time I told her about the hourglasses, she said the same thing about talking to a professional. My mind came up with the stupidest lie I could think of. "It's an assignment . . . a homeroom assignment."

She obviously looked puzzled but allowed me to continue.

"Like an experiment. Y-you know how people of our age often become vain? We were told to refrain from checking mirrors because . . . uh . . . vanity—yes, vanity takes us away from our real spiritual purpose."

"This is a lie, isn't it?"

With eyebrows crossed, I denied her claim. "What? No!"

"So you mean you took that literally?"

"I took that wholeheartedly," I corrected then bargained to myself that Suzie might believe me after all. "So which will you rather deem true? That this is a homeroom assignment or that I am seeing an hourglass on my own head?"

"Is this still about your hallucinations, Maddie? I told you—"

Yup, I guess I got my answer. "I'm joking, Suzie! Just messing with you. Chill."

"Okay, fine," she replied as she rolled her eyes before walking toward the door. Before finally leaving, she left one last remark: "I still go with the white cap."

"Got it. I'll wear the beret."

I laughed when I heard her complaining about how I would ask for options and then choose the one she didn't recommend.

Now I had no idea if I looked cute in an outfit since I couldn't bring myself to check my own reflection out. As it was the first time Mickey would make me feel I was really in a date with her, I greatly looked forward to it. My life had been a cycle of doubt, cynicism, detachment, and hatred that feeling excited about a trivial date was a stranger to me.

Just as I caught myself staring at the covered mirror, I heard my phone vibrate. Steph just texted: Bitch, I'm bored.

I ignored her message and browsed on the internet instead. Lately, I was into reading testimonials and watching documentaries about dying people accepting their fate and deciding to live as if their lives could be taken at any moment. There was comfort in finding out I wasn't alone in the crucible of moribundity, albeit the cause of my death was still undetermined—which was what I was most anxious about. But these media helped me focus on living the rest of my days to the fullest rather than on thinking my last day.

As I scrolled down one article after another, I didn't realize that two hours had gone by. It was then that I heard my phone vibrating on my bed. Of course, it had to be Steph.

"Hey—"

"Bitch! I've been calling you since forever!"

I had to pull my phone away from my ear, or else Steph's screams would make me deaf. She continued to shout something about the PTA, but I waited until she was calmer. "Can I now talk to you without injuring my ears?"

"Didn't you hear any word I said? Geez, Maddie!"

"How would I? You were screaming at the phone. My ears almost bled! What scandalous news do you have for you to panic like that?"

"Didn't I tell you I went with Mom in the PTA—"

"You did what? You're there? In school?"

"Aren't you reading my texts?!"

"I was busy with something, sorry."

"Ugh. Then I'm sure you'll regret you didn't because of what I am about to tell you."

"Wanna bet?"

"I'm going to treat you to lunch every day until next week if you won't be surprised."

What else can surprise me? I thought. My father's missing body. My curse. Mickey. My own demise. I might have had too much unimaginable circumstances in my seventeen years of existence that scandals couldn't surprise me enough. However, since Steph seemed determined to the point of betting on her money, then she really might have an interesting and newsworthy scoop.

"You know what, never mind the bet. I'm not intrigued. Tell me what you—"

She breathed in before dropping three words I didn't expect at all.

"Your mother's here."