Enchanted Mirror

       Kensington found the mirror in an antique shop. She was looking for anything that caught her eye, and did it ever. She couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing, the mirror was too dirty for that, but she was certain it was something. Something wonderful. She bought the mirror — $182 — and took it home. She wiped the mirror, polished the brass until it was shining, and made the mirror look like new. Finally, she hung it. 

            She had been careful not to look in it yet. She didn’t want to be disappointed. But now the time had come. She took a deep breath in and stepped before the mirror. Incredible! It was her, but not her. Her without the scars. Her the way she should look. With beauty pageant trophies all over and, and, yes — she was doing it, she was winning Miss America! 

            Beside herself with joy, Kensington clapped her hands. It was everything she’d ever wanted. To be beautiful again, winning beauty pageants — that’s all she desired. She brought a hand up and touched the left half of her face. Scarred, as always. The mirror hadn’t changed her, just shown her changed. No matter — the mirror made her beautiful again. Made her able to recognize herself in the mirror for the first time in five years. Not since the accident had happened had she been able to look in the mirror and see herself. 

            It happened on a stormy night in her podunk town. Her father was driving too fast, as usual, only this time he lost control of the car. It careened out of control down the highway, hit a rail and flipped onto its back, then slid about fifty feet. As Kensington struggled to get out, the car caught fire, and just as she began to get out, exploded, sending her flying through the air in a fireball that singed the entire left half of her body, leaving her with heavy scars and nightmares every night. 

            Her family paid for her to go to therapy, but no amount of therapy could remove the scar of not being able to do beauty pageants anymore. They were Kensington’s lifeblood. She lamented her beauty. If only she hadn’t had it to begin with. Now, however, she was glad again for her face, her slender arms and small waist. She was a picture of beauty — in the mirror, at least. 

            Kensington broke down then. She cried and cried. In the mirror, it was made into tears of joy at having won the contest for Miss America. In reality, she was horrified at herself, that she couldn’t match up to this image of herself. She had to be sure of what she was seeing. She needed backup. 

            She called her friend Marissa. She said she had an emergency and needed to see her right away, and Marissa hurried over. Once in the house, Kensington guided Marissa to the mirror, stood her in front of it, and asked her what she saw.

            “Nothing,” said Marissa. “Just me.” She shrugged.

            “You’re not… different?”

            “Different how?”

            Kensington wasn’t sure. Her friend didn’t have any scars. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “You’re not doing anything?”

            “Doing anything?” said Marissa. “What would I be doing? I’m just standing here.”

            “Marissa, when I look into the mirror, my scars are gone.”

            “Oh, is that what this is about?” said Marissa. “Yeah, I can see it now. Your scars have gone down some. Congratulations!”

            “No, no, that’s not what I mean.”

            “Yes, yes, they’ve definitely lessened some.”

            “That’s not what I mean!” shouted Kensington. “I mean the scars are gone. Entirely.”

            Marissa looked at Kensington like she were an injured puppy. “Oh, honey,” said Marissa. “In some lights I’m sure it does look like they’ve gone away…”

            “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m saying, when I look into the mirror it shows my face the way it used  to be, and I’m winning pageants.”

            “I think you’re just tired,” said Marissa. “And stressed. Definitely stressed.” Marissa put a hand on Kensington’s shoulder and Kensington shrugged it off. 

            “No, look,” said Kensington. She got in front of the mirror, and saw herself returned to her former glory, winning Miss America. “Now lean over and tell me what you see.”

            Marissa leaned over. “I see you,” she said. “And that beautiful face of yours.”

            “So you see it too? My face without scars!”

            “N-no, I just meant —“

            “Humph,” said Kensington. “You really don’t see anything unusual?”

            Marissa shook her head. “Just you and me,” she said. 

            Kensington showed her friend out, then stood in front of the mirror. Eventually, she brought a high-backed old chair over and sat before it. She was lost. Her children came home, then her husband. She forgot to make dinner. She stayed transfixed to the spot for the day, the week. Eventually, a year had gone by, and all the while Kensington sat before the enchanted mirror, seeing herself in all her youthful glory. 

            Her husband divorced her, and took the children. Her mother moved in to take care of her. Nobody knew why she sat before the mirror like she did, day in and day out. It was assumed to be a mental disorder brought on by her extensive scarring. She did stints in medical institutions but she refused to talk or eat, having been taken from her mirror. Years went by, then decades. Kensington turned into a feeble old woman. Still, when she looked into the mirror, she saw herself as a young woman in all her splendor, winning Miss America.

            “That, that coulda been me,” she said to confused attendants working around her, bringing her her medicine and checking her equipment. When she became bedridden, she demanded the mirror be hung above her bed. 

            On the day of her death, the mirror turned on her. It showed her as she was — decrepit, bound to her deathbed, full of wrinkles as deep as her scars. She gasped in horror and brought her hands to her face. What had she done? She had never looked into another mirror besides the enchanted one, and had no idea of what she looked like. Now, she curled up in dismay. Her life gone, whatever beauty that was left after the accident long wasted. She had spent her entire life staring into a mirror that told her a falsehood, and for what? She was as old as a withered oak, dried up and destined for a cedar box. She took one last long look into the mirror, seeing herself as she truly was, and the light went out of her eyes. She rested then.