The Boy in the Mirror

I have watched the boy for some days from the other side of the glass ever since I could see again. The farther away he was from me, the better I could see him. Up close, I could see the top of his head or only hear his muffled mumblings from the floor. I had been confined to a dark, cramped space facing nothing and no one. It is what I envision the unknown as being. But a few days ago, I was blinded by the sun, then I was here, watching this family. A little boy, his older sister, and their mother. I have watched families for years from the corners of the glass. Most of the time, I am invisible unless they are young. They are more curious though scared at first. The homes and the faces peering back have changed more than I can remember. I’ve had plenty of time to learn the boundaries of my punishment though none explain the reason.

The rules of the mirror are these: I can come out in the dark but must take caution not to be discovered. It’s never clear who can see me, so I am careful. The sunlight burns, so I must crouch in the corners behind the reflecting glass. It’s especially bad if an adult even glimpses me. They scream or yell chants to send me back where I came from. Though their voices are muffled, as if underwater, their words still pierce through the glass. The incantations create a strong pull to the dark unknown that emerges. During those times, I have shown myself, even bared my teeth to make them go away. I do not wish to hear their cries, but it has saved me from falling into the void. Their words continue to punish me in my nightmares. I have not hurt them, but I represent what they fear which is perhaps how they perceive themselves.

I watch the boy play with his sister. The room is their mother’s bedroom, but the three of them sleep together on a mattress at night. The sister is taller, older and pulls out strands of beaded necklaces that glimmer in the sunlight. She adorns her smaller, younger brother with them and clips gold-colored earrings on herself. Another drawer is opened, and a tube of lipstick is withdrawn. The girl draws red circles on her cheeks and out of view does the same on the boy. They are laughing. The girl looks at herself in the glass. I tested her. We are face to face, but her sky-blue eyes peer through me.

At first, the boy did not notice me because of his stature, I saw only the top of his close-cropped head, short hairs the color of toasted bread. He stood on tip-toes, then jumped up and down so I saw momentary glimpses of him. His attempts made me smile. His sister then lifted him as best as she could, and our eyes met. I grinned at him, and he gasped.

“Did you see him?” He asked, face gone pale. He wiggled free and disappeared onto the floor. My smile drowned within me, and I shrunk back into my confines.

“What?” I heard her ask, muffled. I watched from a corner on the other side.

“There’s a boy!” He cried and sniffled.

“Why that was you, silly.”

“No, he is as dark as ash with black hair and eyes, and his smile is full of spiked teeth.”

The mother burst into the room. It was then that I learned their names. “Finneas! Mallory! What in the world?”

I was now afraid of her presence, so I ducked farther into the darkness of the reflection. Innocence knows no discrimination, but old beliefs give in to fear, then panic and destruction. I felt their terror, and I was the cause. She remained unaware of me, but heard her scolding the children to put her things away and to get ready for bed. Water ran in the bathroom, then the lights dimmed in the room. It was a summer night, and the fading daylight fought through the drawn shades. I emerged to watch.

The mother tucked her children into the bed and by the light on a night stand, read to them a story about another world where everything was full of bright colors and happiness. Each sibling rested on one of her shoulders. The sight brought back a pang of memory. My own mother had done the same, and the thought stung my eyes. I still ached for her, for an embrace. She had fallen into the unknown.

The mother left the room for a time, and I heard voices, music and saw the edges of a pulsating light in a nearby room. When she finally crept into bed with her children, there was darkness everywhere, and no more reflection from my prison.

I hoisted myself up through the glass and explored their small home. I contemplated the door, but where would I go? Daylight would eventually expose me. The other side of the glass was my shelter and my punishment. I was all but forgotten and trapped.

I returned to the bedroom and carefully crept into the bed between the boy and his mother. The most peaceful sleep overcame me. She stirred and mistakenly placed a reassuring hand on my back. The sensation conjured my mother’s memory again, how she made me feel, but her face was a blur.

The room was cool that my body relaxed, and I forgot about daybreak. My toes tingled, then sizzled with the morning sun. That’s when the boy gasped and choked in surprise. I held my finger to my lips and crawled onto the dresser and into the glass. Once he saw that I wouldn’t hurt him, he slid out from the bed. Again, I only saw the top of his head. He left the room and staggered his way back with a small step stool. Now we were face to face. I waved, and he smiled. I grinned, which caused him to fall off the stool, and his mother and sister stirred. When he returned, I smiled less. He was being brave.

“Can you hear me?” He asked. I nodded, a bloom of heavy, long-awaited hope arose within me.

“Who are you talking to?” His mother asked. She propped herself up on a pillow. She had beautiful frizzy hair which glowed like a halo.

“No one,” he said.

That is who I am.

*

The boy came back later, and I understood that he was curious. He asked me to play. I told him that I could play in the dark. He could not hear me as well, so I mouthed the words slowly and as loudly as possible. That evening, he asked if he could go to bed early and to darken the room. The boy was smart because then his mother and sister stayed in the other room longer with the voices, music, and light. I slipped out of the mirror, and we played. I missed it so much. He brought me all his toys. One made a noise and I jumped. This time, I was scared! He laughed like a bird chirping.

“Who’s with you?” His mother opened the bedroom door.

“No one.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

“I wasn’t tired anymore.”

“Well, you can play quietly.”

As soon as the door closed, we created imaginary worlds. During the day, he darkened the room as much as possible so that I could emerge. His sister left him alone or we played by the dresser so that I could hide easily if she came in. The older they are, the less they are likely to let me stay. Finneas shooed her away. At night, I joined his sleeping family for a few hours before dawn.

“We are moving soon. Will you come with us?”

“But you’ve only just arrived,” I said.

“No, only you have arrived. We have lived here since my father left.”

“Where did he go?”

Finneas shrugged and continued driving the wooden truck, making grooves in the worn tan carpet. “Heck,” he said finally.

“I would very much like to come with you,” I said.

*

Always slightly out of plain view, I watched them pack their belongings. There wasn’t much. The dresser shook as the mother pulled her clothes and the jewelry with which her children had played.

“Will you bring the dresser?” Finneas asked.

“That stays here. It’s junk anyway. Just a freebie from the curb. We’re taking what we can carry.”

Later, Finneas and I devised a plan. He would ask, beg his mother to please bring the dresser or at least the mirror, so he could take me with them. That night, I waited for the three of them to fall asleep so that I could join them. They tossed and turned. They were moving the next day and were restless. Once again, the mother put her hand on my shoulder, emitting an envelope of love, safety, and warmth even if her gesture was meant for her son. I missed my mother so much my body ached. I remember how she made me feel, even if all my other memories of her have blanched in the light of years. The mother rubbed my back lightly then drew her hand up over my hair, and that was what ended everything.

She saw me. All I could do was wait. Perhaps she’d return to sleep, but she screamed. Her horror was so painful, it blew me off the mattress to the floor. I scrambled to return to the mirror.

“Demon!” She shrieked.

I hid in the corner of my space, but she found me. The girl and the boy on either side of her.

“He is my friend, Mama!” Finneas cried.

She paid him no mind and threw her hairbrush at me. The glass cracked in a jagged circle that grew like a pebble in a pond. She retrieved her hairbrush and wielded it at me like a knife. She hit the glass until I fell in a large shard. I no longer saw anything, my space had shrunk. Bright lights flooded me. The woman screamed that they were leaving that instant. The boy looked for me among the ruins and brushed the crystalline dust from me. He wrapped me in a piece of cloth.

Now, I wait. I must wait to be uncovered, kept safe, and not discarded. I do not know which is better. To wait in the space and live through someone’s eyes or until they choose to see you. For me, the choice has been made.