Nothingness. Darkness. Blackness. It stretches infinitely in every direction, moist with an eeriness slithering down my spine. I should've known the emptiness and cruelness I felt in life would follow me over into death. It appears once a bad hand is dealt, one must play it for eternity.

A feminine chuckle echoes from somewhere in the depths of nowhere. "Silly girl."

"Who's there?" I shout, not nearly as frightened as I should be given the situation.

A light from no visible source gradually illuminates the darkness from overhead--like a spotlight. I'm in awe as the brightness consumes the nothingness--a wonderful sensation washing over me. Is this hope I'm feeling?

"Who's there?" I shout again.

I see a figure walking towards me with shuffling steps, still chuckling beneath her breath. "You. Starkers. In front of two tidy lads. A pity, really. A pity it takes a wonky arse for you to snap out of yourself."

As the light from above shines brighter, I realize the stranger inching towards me is royalty. Wearing a crown glittering with diamonds, Queen Elizabeth has somehow morphed from a portrait on the Urgent Care wall to an old lady standing in front of me.

"Did I die?" I ask immediately. "Of humiliation?"

"Have you lost the pilot?" Queen Elizabeth asks. "Just bimbling around in your head is all."

"Excuse me?" Did she just throw some Royal Mother fucking shade at me?

"You're having a moment," the Queen clarifies. "About three seconds to be exact."

"What?" I ask.

"You're taking a deep breath," she explains. "The mortification goggles are affecting you too strongly."

"What?"

"You never listen," the Queen scolds with a tsk-tsk.

"Why am I here?"

"To figure out why you're so mortified. I say it's because you're an imposter in your own skin." Pointing a boney finger and my face the queen adds, "It's no mystery why it's rebelling in hives."

"What?"

"Your vocabulary needs work." The Queen throws her hand up in annoyance, then turns and wobbles in the opposite direction.

"Wait," I call, catching up to Her Highness with a few long strides.

"Don't have time for this nonsense if there's wax in your ears," the Queen grumbles, her lips tightly pressed into a frown.

"No wait," I beg. "I don't understand what's happening."

"Naturally," she snaps. "You never listen to your teachers."

"Teachers?"

"Ex-Bot! He tried to teach you about Imposter Syndrome."

"What?"

"Wax, I tell you," the Queen mumbles.

"Ex-Bot had Imposter Syndrome, not me." I clarify.

Queen Elizabeth shakes her head in what appears to be disagreement. "Someone else besides Ex-Bot was afraid the world would discover she had no idea what she was doing." With a dramatic pause the Royal Mother adds, "You found each other to learn from each other."

I shake my head with a refusal to accept her words. "The man was an emotional robot. He had nothing to teach me."

A half grin spreads across the Queen's face. She sticks her finger up as though she caught me in a lie. "Drowning yourself with emotions is another way to dodge your real feelings. How do you say it? Emotional roboting?"

I want to argue with the old lady, but can't. The mind is sort of blown. My jaw drops open slightly as I process the possibility that I've been avoiding my real feelings by hiding behind a highly-emotional mask.

"You're catching flies," the Queen acknowledges. "Close your mouth."

"Right now a guy has his finger in my underwear," I remind her. "I'm mortified for a good reason."

"Then fart on it," the Queen quips. "Don't drown yourself because of it."

"He has his--FINGER--in my underwear," I repeat.

The Queen shakes her head, throwing out a few more-tsk-tsk-tsks. "If you took off those bloody mortification goggles or failure goggles or rejection goggles--your world wouldn't be so wonky."

"What?" I question.

"Warped!" Queen Elizabeth snaps. "Like a carnival House of Mirrors. Life is merely a series of reflections, and yours are bloody warped!"

Mirrors emerge from the darkness, surrounding us from every side. Different sizes. Different shapes. Different colors. Some of the mirrors are bordered with intricately carved frames while others have no frames at all. Then with precision and effortlessness, all the framed and unframed mirrors join together to create a winding labyrinth through the infinitely empty space around us.

Pointing at the mirror directly in front of her, the Queen says, "The reflections we see are warped, depending on the perception we have of ourselves and the world." She snickers at a shorter, fatter image. "I do say. It looks like I've had one too many biscuits with my afternoon tea."

I giggle at the Queen's unexpected good humor, then turn to face the mirror closest to me. Surprised by what's staring back, I put my hands on my hips and pose as if I were a fashion diva. "With legs like these, I could be a supermodel!"

Queen Elizabeth gently taps me on the shoulder. "Now, now. Vanity goggles will cock-up your life just as badly as the mortification ones." Slipping her arm through mine, the Queen gently guides me through the maze of mirrors.

"What is this place?"

"It's your subconscious," the Queen replies. "The silent part of you. The part that knows life isn't always as it appears."

As we walk through the labyrinth of reflective glass, we see countless images of ourselves distorted in every possible way. Naturally, the Queen feels compelled to state the obvious about the nature of mirrors. I decide to give the listening thing a valiant effort by letting the Queen speak without interruptions.

"Just because an image looks and moves like you," the Queen begins, "it doesn't mean it's who you truly are."

"Life is all about perspectives. Everything has differing truths from countless angles."

The Queen smiles. "As the observer of your life, you get to decide how and when you'll react to the reflections you see."

"Do you choose to see playfulness-"

"Or insanity-"

"Or narcissism-"

"Or do you choose to see things that aren't even there?"

"It's always a choice. And when you realize this--"

"When you realize you have control over the reflections you see--"

"And you discover the images of your life can be bent by you--"

"That's when you can break through the glass and stop being an imposter, and start being the most genuine reflection of who you really are."

Taking a deep breath, I fight to hold back a tear. "I don't know where to start, Queen Elizabeth," I admit. "I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going. I just keep failing."

Queen Elizabeth takes my hands into hers and gives them a squeeze. "You don't have to know where you're going to get exactly where you need to go." Lifting the sparkling jewels from her hair, the Queen puts her crown on my head. "Trust the unknown, and you'll find your way."

My eyes wide with confusion I ask, "Trust the unknown? I don't even know what that means."

"You do," the Queen reassures. "You've already benefited from its magic."

--

"Bring the respiratory specialist up," a male voice echoes in the darkness. "That'll be interesting."

--

--

"Wait on chest X-rays. See what she says," the male voice echoes again.

--

"I don't understand," I shout desperately as I realize I'm slipping out of my subconscious. "How will I know when I'm being my most genuine reflection?"

Queen Elizabeth backs away slowly--an authoritative stare accompanying a warm smile. "Use your mirrors, Love. The people around you. They're your teachers."

"Can't you just teach me?" I beg.

"Bollocks!" The Queen snickers. "Those fit lads you fancy are--smashing teachers--don't you think? I believe you'll listen to the words that leave those pouty lips with far more attention than mine."

--

--

"Check your breath," a male voice echoes a third time.

--

The Queen glances upwards towards the male voice. "You'd better answer. They're going to start thinkin' you're mad as a bag of ferrets."

"Catch my breath?" I whisper as though trying to remember the lyrics to a Kelly Clarkson song. Flipping the hospital gown back over my grannies, I turn to face McSexy and SilverFox from a less revealing angle.

"Sort of." McSexy smiles. "The respiratory specialist will have you blow into a device--."

"I think I'm done here," SilverFox interrupts. "Anything else?"

McSexy appears as though he's about to say something, but stops when SilverFox points to his Rolex watch--snapping his fingers soundlessly to hurry the conversation along.

"Nope." McSexy opens the door for the doctor.

SilverFox thrusts his hand toward me. "Nice to meet you."

I take Doc Fox's hand, withering under a glare that seems poisoned by annoyance. "Nice to meet you, too."

SilverFox turns towards McSexy before leaving the room. "I'd like to talk shop in the hallway." With a curt nod, Doctor SilverFox exits--Nurse McSexy reluctantly on his heels.

I watch as the door to the examination room slowly closes, until it finally shuts with a click. I crawl back on the table-bed and situate my hospital gown to make sure I'm properly covered. Then with a sigh of relief, I give my itchy areas a good rubdown.

Why do I feel as though McSexy is about to get lectured in the hall? I ponder in silence. Talk shop? Really? What am I--some big bus of a woman in need of new spark plugs? Or worse--the big bus of a woman who came to Urgent Care like a baby for a hug and a Claritin.

I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of my distorted reflection in the glossy surface of a bed pan. How appropriate, I think to myself. Piss on my perceptions--get a warped reflection.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, contemplating how this situation might be different if my mortification goggles were to fall off. What if I wasn't feeling humiliated right now? How would the world unfold differently if I viewed it with a new kind of clarity?

Could a freak like me make a medical hottie lick his lips? I ponder inwardly, chuckling at the impossibility of being even remotely successful at my pointless goal. Then with a shrug I think, What the hell? Can't hurt to try. Rubbing my hands together like a mad scientist I add, The bearded lady has entered the carnival House of Mirrors. Let the fun begin!

*****McSEXY BREAK*****

I didn't actually have a conversation with the Queen, but my revelation about mirrors was something very real that happened inside my mind while I waited to be treated for a mysterious case of hives.

MUSIC: Justin Timberlake. What was the other half of myself I saw in the mirror that evening? I saw a side of myself afraid to live my life.

Your vote is truly McAppreciated. Muah!

MarilynHepburn.com

(This chapter is a second edit)