My meetings with her were occasional, and sometimes separated by several months. I was finishing at school during the time I knew her, creeping almost unnoticed through “O” and “A” levels, passing my subjects with medium marks, gaining a distinction only in art. The strain to stay visible continued, and my last year at school was punctuated by fainting attacks or bouts of migraine. I was completely relaxed only when I was with Mrs. Quayle, and her death, just before I sat my “A” level exams, made me feel isolated and helpless.
On my eighteenth birthday my parents produced a surprise. They had taken out a small endowment policy for me when I was born, and now it had matured. I had been offered a place at an art college in London, but the only grant I qualified for would cover just the fees, not living expenses. The endowment policy was almost enough, and my father said he was prepared to make up the rest. At the end of the summer I left home for the first time in my life, and traveled to London.
III
Three years. College is a time of transition for every student: the growing away from school friends and family, mixing with an entirely new group of people of your own age, acquiring skills or knowledge for use in adult life, taking shape for the first time as an independent human being. All these happened to me, but something unique to me also changed. I came to terms with the fact of my invisibility, knowing that it was a part of me and would not go away.
I shared a flat with two other girls from the college. Although I made myself visible to them when I had to, for most of the three years they took for granted that I was somewhere around, closed away inside my own room, separate from them. This was the first change forced on me, because through them I learned that an invisible person is simply ignored, accepted as being there but not somehow functioning. They noticed me when I wished them to, and the rest of the time they acted as if I were not there.
College itself was more difficult. I was required to attend, and to be seen to attend, and to complete my courses and submit work and in general make my presence felt. I survived the first year by extending myself and establishing myself with the tutors, but at the expense of my health. From the beginning of the second year the strain was in theory eased, because we were encouraged to work alone more. I chose a large but general course in commercial art, because here, when working with others, I could blend with the crowd. Even so, the strain of being visible was continual and my exhaustion was a major problem. I lost weight, suffered recurring headaches and was frequently nauseated.
Living in London brought another change. At home I had grown used to eluding authority. At school it was the stupid pranks, the meaningless thievery, but away from school I had learned that I could get away with not paying fares, that if I used shops I never had to spend money unless I chose to. Now that I was in London and surviving on a tiny and fixed income, it soon became a habit to avoid payment. From there it became a way of life.
Living in a big city was a part of this corruption, because in London it is possible even for normal people to lose themselves in the crowd. After the first few weeks, in which I was psychologically adjusting to life in a major city, I felt more at home than I would ever have thought possible. London is made for invisibles; it deepened my state of anonymity, made my condition a natural means of survival. No one has identity in London unless it is claimed.
I bought a ticket the very first time I used the Underground, not knowing how the system worked. That was, literally, the last time I paid my fare. After that, swallowing my fear of the crowds, I used the trains and buses as my free taxi service, the cinemas and theaters for my free entertainment. None of this took anything from anybody: public transport would run whether or not I used it, the shows would be on regardless of my presence. I never took a seat that should have been occupied by someone who had paid, so kept my conscience clear. But these were still the early days.
A combination of need and opportunity took me farther into the state I thought of as the shadow world. Unless I had taken a part-time job, as one of the girls I shared with was forced to do, I could not have survived without stealing. Because of my constant debilitation, a job was never a real option anyway.
And invisibility refreshed me. A day in my shadow world, drifting unnoticed along streets and through buildings, gave me a feeling of power. To extend that and quietly steal whatever I needed made me feel vindicated. This was the function of invisibility, to move on the outer limits of the real world undetected, unseen. It always gave me a thrill to steal from out of the shadows, knowing that I was doing wrong, that I could never be caught. I never tired of this, and fled into the shadows as a cure for the emotional and physical drain caused by trying to be real.
Invisibility fitted me like old, familiar clothes.
Because I did not know how to see, and was concerned mostly with my own read justments, it took me several months to realize I was not alone. There were other invisibles in London.
The first one I noticed was a girl about my own age. I was waiting for a train in an Underground station. As I glanced along the platform I saw her sitting on a bench, leaning back against the tiles of the curving tunnel wall. She looked tired, dirty and distraught. As I looked at her I felt there was something familiar about her without understanding why. The tube stations have many down-and-outs moving around them, usually in winter, and by her appearance she was one of these.
She moved, and sat up to look around. She saw me, and stared at me in momentary surprise. Then, losing interest, she looked away again.
My first reaction was terror. She had noticed me! But I was invisible, secure in my shadow world! I hurried away into one of the access tunnels, frightened at the ease with which my cloud had been penetrated. I reached the concourse at the bottom of the escalators, where dozens of people were moving about, heading up to the streets above, riding down to catch one of the trains, all of them moving past me as if I were not there. The renewal of my anonymity reassured me, and I became more interested than frightened. Who was she? How could she see me?
Sensing the answer I went back to the platform, but a train had been in and out and she was no longer there.
The second time it happened, the invisible was a middleaged man. I saw him in Selfridges department store in Oxford Street, moving quietly around with a plastic bag in his hand. I sensed the same aura about him, and recognized the calm, unfurtive way he was stealing the goods. His condition was the same as mine. When I was sure I moved around so that I was in front of him, and walked directly toward him.
His reaction appalled me. He looked surprised, not because I was another invisible but because he interpreted my smile and my open expression as a sexual advance. He looked me up and down, then to my horror raised his bag and crammed it under his arm and moved toward me with a dreadful leering smile. What I remember is the sudden sight of his teeth: they were black and broken. I backed away from him, but his eyes were fixed on mine. He said something, but in the clamor of the store I could not hear what it was; there was no need, because I could guess what he said. He looked huge. All I wanted was to correct my blunder and get away from him. I turned to run and collided with someone, another man, but he was unaware of me. The invisible man was almost on me, reaching out with his free arm, the hand clawing to grab me. I knew that being in a public place offered no safety, that if he caught me he could do anything he liked in full view of everyone. I had never been so frightened. I rushed away, dodging between the shoppers, knowing he was behind me. I wanted to scream, but no one would hear me! It was lunchtime, there were hundreds of people in the store, and none of them moved to get out of the way. In a crowd like that there was no help, only obstacles. I looked back at him once again: he was running with terrifying agility, his face violently angry, a predator deprived of his prey. This glimpse of him so scared me that I nearly fell. My legs were weak, and the fear almost paralyzed me. I knew I was plunging deeper into invisibility—my instinctive defense, but useless against this man. I pushed through the crowd, aiming for the closest exit.