She knew the truth of her invisibility from the number of people that would bump into her in the street. Some would apologise. Some would even turn around wondering what they had walked into, but seeing nothing, they would shrug and continue on their way. They could feel her, as a sharp elbow or a soft foot, but they were unable to focus on her.
She wanted to make them stop and look, to really take her in. Sometimes she surged forth on a busy pavement trying to have an impact of more than a second or two. Yet even then, other people seemed to move out of the way easily, unconsciously accommodating her passage. Or they would casually brush her aside as they gestured to their friends. They were undaunted, undamaged by collisions or near misses. It wasn’t like that for her. Every knock was brutal, stubborn, threatening.
Like that day in February when the crowd was suddenly in her path, an opportunity and a danger. She practically flung herself into them and still they peeled away and let her through and closed again as if she’d never been there. And then later, jostled from behind by unseeing shoppers, she fell to the ground and whimpered as they carried on without a backward glance. She’d hardly been out since, just to the library from time to time.
As the weeks passed, her clothes were getting thinner. She was drawn to flimsy fabrics, things that showed the lines of her underwear. She bought chiffon scarves and wore them as skirts, sometimes several at once. Then as tops, bands around her thin frame. One day she stood at the door of the librarian’s office and tried to ask a question. For a moment she knew she was there, he was talking back and looking straight at her. Her clothes couldn’t arrest the look though and hold it, hold her in place. Before long it passed right through and she disappeared again.
The next week, there was less of her. And less on her. It was inconspicuous enough in the summer heat, and lots of people practically dressed for the beach when they come to study anyway. All morning she had been seated at the desk piled with unopened volumes. She wanted to look inside but couldn’t manage the explosion of stimulation, the unravelling of her restrained thoughts at falling into those unknown texts. So she sat still and quietly.
It was precisely twelve noon when she reached behind her neck and undid the knot holding the single scarf that covered her body. It fell away in one movement as she stood up and went to the shelves. It didn’t feel at all strange to be naked and she wasn’t even cold.
She finally felt eyes.
They glued her together, held her there in the room, and moved her around to the next shelf. She became more upright, oddly dignified. There were a few people there already but no one bumped into her or disregarded her now. She was looking at the shelves anyway. A book caught her attention and she opened it quickly. Soon immersed, she didn’t notice the growing commotion behind her.
‘Excuse me, Sophie…’, the kind librarian was struggling. A deep breath: ‘Do you think you might like to come to the office?’
She smiled obligingly and followed him. They sat down.
‘I was just wondering, how are you, Sophie? How are things?’
‘Errm, the writing’s been going slowly the last while… but I think, er, yes, I think that might be changing now.’ She shivered unexpectedly, ‘It’s cold.’
‘Here, have this.’ He passed her a jacket.
It was much too long, like a shift dress on her. He chatted for a while about nothing in particular, looking at her carefully. She enjoyed feeling pinned to the chair by his concentration, his voice. Once he had stopped, she hesitated as she got up to leave, toying with the buttons. ‘Oh, you can give that back to me some other time,’ he said casually.
Back at her desk, she gathered her bag, still holding the book she had found earlier, and headed towards the exit. The woman at the counter smiled at her and said her name as she stamped the book and handed back her card. ‘Enjoy that, Sophie, but be sure to bring it back by Friday. It’s on short loan.’
Word count: 733
Started: 8 February 2007. This version: 26 May 2007.