Page 23 of Hello Stranger

But then, when he shook Dr. Estrera’s hand and left the room without a word to me, that high dropped to the ground.

Looked like it was time to be a disappointment again.

Oh well.

THE MOMENT OFtruth came later, after most of the doctors, including my dad, had left.

Dr. Nicole stayed to run me through some face recognition tests. Before we got started, I needed to pee. Which meant going to the bathroom. Which, of course, had a mirror above the sink. I avoided looking as I walked in, but as I headed out, I paused.

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 OPENEDthe 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 intoplace. 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 youyou.

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.”

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