Invisibilia

I woke up to a loud banging on my door. The hum of my mother's voice rang through my ears, as I rubbed my fists in my eye sockets and moved to sit on the edge of my bed.

Or at least what I thought were my ears, hands and eyes.

Something felt wrong. My clothes hung loosely around the wire hanger of my body, or at least where I thought my body would be. I glanced down, then swivelled my body around, constantly looking, observing and eventually taking in the obvious sight.

It was at that moment that I learned I was invisible.

Loud knocking on the door again, except this time the door swung open, my mother striding through with a laundry basket around her waist. Without a moment's pause, she stooped over to throw a solitary sock into the basket, tutting loudly as she did.

'Mum? Can't you see me?'

She paused and glanced at me contemptuously.

'Get a wash. Your room stinks in here.'

'No, mum. I'm invisible. You can't see me.'

She scowled, whilst opening the curtains to the windows. 'Don't be silly, haven't got time for your invisible business.'

'But, mum, I'm invisible.'

She paused, but this time waved her hands at me dismissively. 'You've gone invisible? What have you done that for. You young people want to change everything, and I'm fed up with it. Next thing you'll tell me you've changed your gender identity.'

She jabbed a finger where my face should be. 'No, you silly boy. Francesca's coming today, isn't she? You've got to impress her if the marriage is going to go ahead. We'll have none of this invisibility business - there's too much change around here, and when there is, I know you're just asking for trouble.'

'But-'

'Think of your father.'

With that, the door slammed behind her. I bowed my head and rested my hand against where my chin would have been.

It was strange not having a body. I wondered if anyone else was invisible. I didn't want to be the only person in the world who was invisible. Though you never knew these days. These days everyone seemed to have a different lifestyle. People say they tolerate difference but I wasn't quite sure. Invisible people were so lazy and irresponsible, they said. But those opinions could always change. You had those celebrity campaigns, of people who really mattered, telling people who don't really matter what to think. Maybe we're all invisible then, but only some of us are bothered by it, even fewer who want to change it.

Had I always been invisible? Maybe I had been, and I woke up from last night forgetting so. Maybe I had only dreamt I was visible once. I wasn't sure about the 'invisible business' anymore - after all, isn't visibility fluid? I'm using outdated binaries. I don't want to be a visibilist. I don't think it makes a difference either way whether I was always invisible or not - I was still going to marry Francesca, I musn't forget that.

Later that day, my father walked into room, his arms crossed together, a sad look on his face.

'Son, Francesca's here.' He bent down lower and stared at me. 'Don't spoil this for me, boy. I want the best for the both of us.'

A second later, I heard footsteps in the doorway, and Francesca came in. She pecked my father on the cheek, who shared a cautious look at me on his way out, before kissing me gently where my cheek would have been. She smiled thinly then cleared her throat.

The silence stretched out before it became unbearable.

'You haven't noticed yet?' Francesca said, with a strange tremor in her voice.