Jenny Had a Vision

Jenny had a vision. That’s what she called it; that’s the word she chose. And she talked about it for years.

On this, she did not equivocate. It happened. And her story never changed. It went like this every time: when she was 22 (and “still had cheeks”), a man appeared to her at work. And he appeared to her alone.

He resembled no one she had ever seen. His eyes were a white-blue, his mouth was pinched, and his head tapered sharply. This was also true of his body. He seemed to be en pointe while standing flat.

The edges of him gleamed. Like purple fringing in a photo, there was color around him, tracing him closely.

Jenny was stunned. She was taken in whole. “Can I help you?” she asked. And the man dissolved. He went into the air.

That night, she rushed home. She couldn’t wait to tell her roommate, Julie, who was an ideal listener: open, agreeable. Inclined toward faith. (Gullible, Jenny often thought.)

So Jenny walked in the door and said, “Julie, I need you to sit down and give me your full attention.” And Julie did so happily, sensing fun.

Jenny described the man in detail. How he came to her. How he looked. That he wasn’t really there. As she did, she beamed. Her cheeks were pink.

She was by turns euphoric and shy.

Julie smiled politely and nodded when it was right. She’d widen her eyes without feeling, without wonder. Mechanically, like a lens. Jenny eventually noticed this: Julie’s lack of excitement. Her very delicate manner.

Jenny became self-conscious and cold. “You don’t believe me,” she said. “No, I do!” Julie replied, quickly, and in a high voice. “I’m sorry if I’ve been quiet. I just wanted to let you talk! But that’s amazing. I’ve never heard anything like that.”

Jenny ate dinner resentfully, in big, declarative bites, and she went to bed early. Before she fell asleep, she thought of the man’s face. She turned it over in her mind.

Jenny would do this nightly. Reconjure his features, reinforce them.

And it worked. She did not forget his face. In fact, she saw it everywhere; there was the imprint of him, always, faintly imposed on all things.

She once met a man with a similar mouth. It was small and taut. Jenny wondered about him briefly. She was obsessed for a couple of days.

This would happen throughout her life.