The Disappearance of Debbie Potts

Debbie Potts was sure she was invisible. The evidence was clear; that morning, she’d asked her children to get ready for school a dozen times, but when the bus drove by, they were all still in bed. They continued to act like she didn’t exist all day. Kurt had walked right through a dust pile while she was trying to sweep, Allie was still sticky hours after being told it was bath time, and Ben blazed right past her when she asked how school was.

No one seemed to hear her. When she asked the kids to put away their toys or turn down their music, she might as well have been talking to the sofa. None of the children said “hello”; none of them offered to help with chores when she had her hands full; when she said “I love you,” all she heard in response was silence. When they went out to the store, the clerk told her kids about the exciting toys and trendy clothes they had on sale while she quietly paid for toilet paper. Then, at supper, her children gobbled up their food and left their messy plates behind without even saying “thank you”. At night, Kurt and Allie were still up an hour past bedtime, and Ben completely disregarded his curfew.
Debbie went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She took a good, hard look at herself in the mirror. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe people ignored her because she wasn’t loud or assertive enough. Maybe this was all just stress, and everything would be back to normal now that the kids were all asleep.

Yet, the mirror revealed exactly what she feared: nothing. No weary face, graying hair, or bulgy brown eyes; not even a hint of her own reflection. The only thing that looked back was the empty wall behind her. “I’m invisible.” She said to herself. “I’ve been invisible all day, and no one’s noticed!”