Chapter Two: @Valerian
What does Mirabel look like now?
When I turned ten
I followed all her modeling pages
But there’s been nothing for the past
Three years.
I was smart enough to know
that airbrushed people
don’t look like that in real life.
Mirabel had been so gorgeous;
those huge eyes and perfect Roman nose seemed to promise
a matching depth of soul.
We all want to believe that beautiful people
Get everything they need from life;
yet I remembered the Mirabel I’d known.
She’d never come back to this family fold
unless something had gone horribly wrong.
As my train slid into the darkness of the Grand Central tunnel
I texted the number I’d been given with “Train on time”
followed by a happiness emoji. Then of course I wanted to delete it
But wasn’t I – as the only bridesmaid –
Obligated to act excited?
I’d never done any of this before –
It’s Brave New World to me.
The response wasn’t from Mirabel at all but labelled
@Valerian: “I’m meeting you. Mirabel otherwise occupied as usual.
Look out for red hunting coat.”
Who was Valerian? Where was Mirabel?
Was this the fiancé who had her phone?
If that was the deal from the beginning
Mom and Dad would never let me come.
Here’s Mirabel at her core – proficient
In the art of “softening people up”
Which never meant the truth.
Dad says Mirabel always “plays the inside straight”
Some disparaging poker term.
As the train lurched to a stop I stood up and studied myself in the
Mirrored windows. The girl “Valerian” would see
Looked good enough in gray skirt with shiny thigh high patent
leather boots and recently highlighted auburn hair. Nothing like
Mirabel’s blond gorgeousness of course. But
Out from beneath Mom’s thumb
I’d added to my eye makeup – Mom frowns on false lashes –
Because
looking ready for my moment
gives me hope.
I hadn’t answered the text:
Stranger Danger just too strong.
I’d Uber myself – if I knew where I was going.
But I wanted the chance to
Look at him before he looked
At me. That would work
Unless
He was the one who’d tried to
Friend me –
Meaning he’d seen all my pictures?
Ugh.
You want to be seen and yet somehow
Not.
We project ourselves into others’ eyes –
I want to be seen in a certain way –
Where I control reactions!
Of course it makes no sense
And that’s what diaries are for – endlessly
Trying to reshape
Cellphone diary fantasy. But
There he was
right by the escalators, standing out in his red coat.
Mirabel would never descend to the tracks.
A tall, distinguished looking man
in his thirties probably, very thin –
dark pants and a red down jacket.
The closer I got the more
Startlingly handsome was that weathered knife-planed face –
Beneath dark glasses – he
broke into smiles at the sight of me.
No hope of escape –
If I thought anything it was –
“He’s better than I dreamed!”
Made it easier forging some new
Relation with my uncomfortably lost sister.
He reached for my bag
Kissed the top of my forehead
Dry lips
– tasting sweat and foundation.
“Richenda?”
English accent. “I
Recognized you immediately.
You look just like Mirabel. It’s the eyes.”
I felt a gush of pleasure at
Such baseless flattery –
Wanted to argue
“I am not!” but
Zines do say we girls
must learn accepting compliments.
Sooner rather than never.
“Er, thanks.”
So ungraceful.
“What happened to Mirabel?”
“Unavoidably detained.”
He swept both me and bag away from the escalator
Down the platform.
“We’ll take the elevator to the car service.”
Actually, a limo.
The driver rushed to take my
pathetic flowered bag. Did the driver
and this so far unintroduced man
know each other – casually or
permanent – hard to say.
“You’re the fiancé?” I stuttered out.
He seemed surprised.
“Sorry,” he said, bundling me into the limo, “It’s
Wedding nerves. I’m Philip Valerian. Everyone calls me Verne.”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Mom thought your name was Rupert Golden!”
Verne didn’t find this amusing.
“Some previous swain,” he huffed.
Wedding nerves?
Exactly right.
He was jumpy,
Fingers drumming on my knee.
I was alone with
@Valerian.
Alysse Aallyn 