Mirror Man

We wandered down that path, long forgotten; overgrown, the foliage needed to be subdued. It was definitely not the same as the last time we’d crossed the brink. The old fence was no longer white, but rusted to a dim yellow. “Whatever happened to the days of being young? Did everything decay so relentlessly, “ my mind raced as a golden curl ran down my face, blowing in the soft breeze. Regardless of my mind screaming a million things at once, almost warning me, we walked forward. I did not know whether to be afraid or excited, or perhaps both at once; all I knew was that I had not been in this yard, this secret garden, our safe haven and strange fortress in ages. Though the word ages is over used, it had been at least a decade, or two, or at least that was what my mind told me. My body on the other hand, seemed childish. If only I had a mirror…

The pathway seemed to grow longer and longer. The bricks had long ago sunken into the weeds and crumbled to an ashy residue. I gently tip-toed over them. The tree branches seemed so tall and grabbed towards me. I was too small for them to reach. My dress hem caught on a weed and I had to pull it loose, tearing the bottom of my favorite paisley hand-me-down. I had worn it a thousand times if I had worn it once! The bell of the dress was so stained from grassy forts and mud pies fights that upon first glance, it had a greenish tint. I could feel my feet moving under me, but had no idea what was really happening. I may never understand why my shoes were just bigger than a compass. 

The house was just ahead. I could see it looming and almost glaring at me as if I were an uninvited guest. What could I have done to anger the house? Perhaps growing up was never acceptable with such a loss of innocence and an understanding of such worldly organisms. I stopped questioning myself and paced forward with more than just my feet. As I took a step, I suddenly went colliding to the ground. When I opened my eyes I saw that I had tripped on a rock, with clock hands in the center of it. “How strange, I thought,” feeling as though I were about to cry. I fumbled to push myself up and steady to my feet. We had reached the front of the fortress.

Recklessly, the boy ran ahead of me and suddenly changed from a boy into a man. He sprang up three feet, to a grappling six-feet-four-inches. I felt so tiny in comparison. Why was he so tall and so handsome and I so short and infantile? I could feel the angst surround me as I stepped on to the stairs. One foot, then the other, a slow and steady pace. They were different than they had been. I remembered sitting on the house’s front steps, wishing and waiting for news of my family. They never came. I heard a whistle that startled me from my shoegaze of memories. A deadened tree branch scratched against the all too broken glass. I jumped and almost lost balance. A shadow ran past me, sending me straight up the stairs and to the front door. I watched the man pull the door open for me. I entered and he bowed, following after me.

He closed the door, and the breeze was gone, alluding to a stark, musty hallway. He stepped forward, and took my hand. I felt his skin against mine and all of my fears eased. The house environment was no longer a threat and the terrain was a left to a mild wooden hallway. As we traipsed, I took notice of the mirrors on lining the way. Each held a set of candle sticks next to it; each was a different size and shape, full of curves and sharp edges. Elegance sprang to life, even in the darkness of the dusty quarters. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to envision what it had looked like before. In that instant, my hand felt clammy and alone. I opened my eyes to find the man soaring towards an enclosure, and slamming into a wall. I chased after him, in what seemed a never ending tunnel. The darkness grew pitch but, I could still see myself running in the calamity of mirrors. I followed it down to the end and smashed into a wall, causing me to double over. When I regained feeling, I pulled myself up, peeling with me, wallpaper from the baseboards. Tears started streaming from my face. “Don’t leave me here alone!” I cried and pounded on the wall with every ounce of energy I had left. I heard a noise and lifted my head ever so slightly. Coming from a mirror, I saw something coming forward. I looked closer and realized that it was hands, beating on the glass, signaling for help. Was he trapped inside?

When I peered through into the mirror, harder, focusing all of my thoughts away. I did not see my reflection, but instead the man’s. He had a look of awestruck love on his face, and his eyes had a soft and tender glow. I gained this eerie sensation that he loved me and suddenly, it made sense! For when one loves another, you can look into their eyes and see the love reflecting. Was it possible that the house wanted me to know my future? He then winced in pain. He lifted his hands to show bloody holes where what looked like nails had been placed. A blackish fluid dripped from the gaping outlets. He was hurt, and I could not help him. The tears began to flow again.

The mirror rendered him useless, for he was stuck in some strange dimension which I never has guessed existed. I could not fathom this. Why should the house attack us so? We had never mistreated the house, only loved it as one should love where they dwell. I started to cry out for help and the house hushed me with the slamming of every open door in the house. I fell to the wooden floor, sobbing harder and harder, praying for a way to help the man who loved me and whom I so dearly loved in return to me. I knew fate would be cruel and that our fate had turned to doom. I pulled the mirror off the wall and placed it on the floor next to me. He smiled when our eyes met and I figured that it would be okay to be near him, even through the glass. I pressed my ear to the glass and could hear his heart beat. The hope that had touched me when I held his hand returned. I could not control my body and a smile flooded my face, washing away my sadness. The wind rustling through the broken trees combined with the soft and rhythmic beating of his heart to make the sweetest love imaginable. The symphony lulled me to sleep.

I awoke to silence. Silence that was deafening; not a noise was to be heard. I lifted my head to see that my hair had fallen from its ribbon. It was no longer golden and curly, but grey and frail, breaking when I touched it. My hands were wrinkled and pale with warts engrossing every finger. My attention switched from my age to the man in the mirror. If this predicament had beset me, what happened to my lover!?

His image had faded. His eyes were sagging and his hair was wildly overgrown. He was no longer handsome, just a shamed version of the man who once stood tall and protected. The young boy was gone from his smile, and his smile gone from his face. His eyes were cold as stone and glossy. He was gone, just a faded memory. I could no longer hear his heart beat. He was just a mirror.

The house moaned when the wind blew. The sound it made will haunt me forever, in sleep, or in wake; it sounded as a human sounds, when whispering their last wishing. Someone died that night; in life and in sadness, I can hear his heart beat.