The Reflection Looking Forward

The Reflection Looking Forward

By Bonnie Gerstenlauer

The reflection in my bathroom mirror is someone else. She looks like me, but I know she isn't me. Her movements don't mimic mine. Out of the corner of my eye I see her move when I'm still. You probably think I'm crazy. Maybe I am. Until a couple of days ago, my life was normal

It was a cold October afternoon and the sky was its usual dismal gray, the color found only in northern parts of the United States at this time of year. A drizzle fell as I stepped out from my apartment building’s front entrance. Opening my pastel-colored umbrella, I walked briskly toward the Daily Perk coffee shop, two blocks away, for my usual afternoon pick-me-up.

"Watch where you're going, lady!" a heavy-set, middle-aged man yelled from his cab.

"Oh sorry! My bad," I said, my face turning bright red, as I quickly stepped up onto the sidewalk. I can't see anything with this dang umbrella in my face, I thought.

I reached into my back pocket for my phone, which was buzzing incessantly. “Who in the heck could possibly be calling me?” I mumbled, not having any appointments or anything planned today. Glancing at my screen to see who it was, an elderly lady walking her cream-colored Shih Tzu walked right in front of me. Tripping over the dog, my cell phone flew through the air, landing about three feet in front of me. The pup screamed in agony as the woman pulled him up from the ground and into her large bosom. “My Lulu! What have you done?”

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. Is Lulu ok?" Thankfully the little dog immediately stopped crying as the woman soothed her. She gave me a dirty look then continued on her way.

I bent over to retrieve my phone just as a large man, who must've been over 300 pounds and at least 6 foot 5, stepped on it.

I cringed as the screen shattered beneath his weight, splintering into a spider web of cracks. My stomach dropped. The man looked down, and upon seeing me, his expression shifted from oblivious to apologetic.

"Oh crud, I'm sorry lady," he muttered, bending down awkwardly to pick up the remains of my phone. He handed it to me, the screen badly damaged and clinging tentatively to the frame.

I was amazed it was still working..

"It’s fine," I lied, taking the broken device from his massive hand. This afternoon sure was going downhill fast.

I trudged on towards the coffee shop in a daze, my umbrella doing little to shield me from my misery.

When I finally pushed through the doors of the Daily Perk, the warmth and smell of freshly ground coffee beans should have been comforting. Instead, I felt oddly disconnected, like I was watching myself from somewhere far away.

"The usual?" Marcus, the tall, dark-haired barista asked, with his typical easy smile.

"Yes, please," I managed, forcing a smile in return.

While waiting for my caramel macchiato, I caught my reflection in the chrome of the espresso machine. For just a second—less than a heartbeat—she smiled when I hadn't.

Shaking my head, I blinked hard, attributing it to the stress of the day; the broken phone and my general exhaustion.

I didn’t know it then, but that was just the beginning of my nightmare.

I sat down in a booth, hoping to gather my thoughts. The café was warm and inviting, filled with the rich aroma of roasted coffee and pastries. Every notification on my cracked phone screen seemed to blend into the next, like the gray sky outside. I barely noticed what they were saying.

I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I glanced up, scanning the café. A few patrons were lost in their own worlds; one with his laptop open, typing away, another, a woman consoling a small child. But one person caught my eye.

She sat alone at a table across the room, her gaze fixed on me. Her features were strikingly similar to mine—blonde hair, pale skin, and even the same close-set blue eyes. But there was something off about her expression. It was as if she were bemused by my existence.

I blinked several times as the woman's lips formed the question: "Who are you?" The words didn't escape her mouth, yet I felt the weight of them pressing against my mind.

“I'm imagining things," I whispered to myself, dismissing the thought, taking a sip of my coffee. When I looked back, the woman was gone. I felt a chill creep down my spine.

That night, while brushing my teeth before bed, I was mid-brush, foam gathering at the corners of my mouth, when my reflection slowly lowered her toothbrush while mine remained raised. For the first time, I saw this stranger, who was me, in detail. My hand froze as my reflection's eyes—my eyes, but not mine—stared back with an intensity that made my blood run cold.

My forgotten toothbrush clattered into the sink, as I turned away in fear. When I cautiously looked back, everything was normal. My reflection mimicked my movements perfectly, my wide-eyed terror reflected back at me with precision.

"You're losing it, Claire," I whispered to myself, goosebumps forming on my arms. ‘It’s just stress,’ I thought, quickly walking out of the room.

But I knew better.

The next day, I called into work, feigning illness. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong. I spent the morning avoiding mirrors, covering the one in my bathroom with a towel, turning my new phone face-down so I wouldn't catch glimpses of myself in the black screen.

By afternoon, curiosity—or something darker, like compulsion—drew me back to the bathroom. I pulled the towel, covering the mirror, down slowly, half-expecting to see nothing unusual. But there she was, wearing the same pajamas, the same messy bun, the same exhausted expression. Except she was looking slightly to the left, while I stared straight ahead.

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Who are you?" I whispered, my voice cracking.

The reflection's lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear. Then slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand and pointed at me. Not at herself, not at her own chest—but from the mirror, directly at me. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of twisted understanding, and I heard a voice in my head, soft but clear: "You have been given a gift. Embrace it."

I stumbled backward, my hip catching the edge of the counter. Pain shot through me, but I barely noticed. When I was brave enough to look up, the reflection mimicked me once more, clutching her hip, and the face, a mask of fear, matched mine again.

Every reflective surface in my apartment became a potential threat that evening. The darkened television screen. The glass of the picture frames. The window that showed my ghostly reflection against the night sky. I saw her in all of them, sometimes matching my movements, sometimes moving independently, but always watching. I didn’t sleep at all that night, or the next; I couldn’t.

By the third day, I was a wreck. Dark circles hung beneath my eyes like boxing bruises. As I made coffee, the grounds spilled all across the counter. My hands shook as I poured a cup of coffee, droplets splattering across the kitchen counter in trembling arcs. I knew I needed help, but how could I explain any of this to somebody? They'd think I was having a breakdown. Maybe I was.

That afternoon, desperate for human contact and some semblance of normalcy, I decided to get a coffee at my favorite spot. As I ventured out, the freezing cold temperatures pressed down on me like a weight, making my skin prickle with wary discomfort.

The streets seemed alive with the early morning sounds: cars honking, people chatting, and the distant hum of construction. Everything appeared different, distorted, almost as if I were walking through a funhouse mirror, the world bending in ways that defied the ordinary laws of perception.

I almost walked right past the coffee shop, feeling a strange, invisible tug at my arm, as if someone didn’t want me to go inside. I went in anyway, against my better judgment.

The café was moderately busy, filled with the gentle hum of conversation and the hiss of steaming milk. When I entered, Marcus smiled and waved at me from a table he was wiping down as the familiar warmth and aroma instantly relaxed me.

But then I noticed her—the woman from the mirror. She sat at a table in the corner, her expression unreadable. This time, I marched over, determined to confront her, the figure in my reflections. "What do you want from me?" I demanded.

She looked up, an amused smile playing on her lips. "I want to show you who you truly are."

"What does that even mean?" I asked, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Follow me," she said, standing up and walking toward the back of the café. I hesitated, but curiosity overpowered my fear, pulling me onward despite my trembling legs. I followed her through the door marked "Staff Only."

The room beyond was dimly lit, filled with empty boxes and broken furniture. I felt an electric charge in the air, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

"Here," she said, gesturing to a large, antique mirror hanging on the back wall. "Look."

I stepped closer, my heart racing. The reflection was a kaleidoscope of images of me, swirling and shifting. I could see fragments of my life—my dreams, my fears, my unfulfilled potential. "What is this?" I gasped, stepping back.

Her eyes darkened, a sense of urgency suddenly invading her voice. “It’s the truth you've hidden from yourself."

"Why would I do that?" What do you mean.”I asked, my voice trembling.

"Because you were afraid of what you might find," she replied. "But you are more than you realize. You must embrace the woman in the mirror to uncover the kind of power you've spent a lifetime suppressing, even if it terrifies you.”

Looking at the woman staring back at me from the mirror, I asked, “Are you real?” The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them.

The reflection laughed softly, a sound that echoed in the stillness of the room. "More real than you know," she smiled. "I am your potential, your dreams, your fears—all the parts of you that you've buried."

Suddenly, everything clicked. I wasn't losing my mind; I was awakening to a part of myself that had long been dormant. The woman wasn't someone else—she was me. The me I'd been too afraid to become. The me who took risks, who embraced uncertainty, who didn't apologize for taking up space in the world.

"So which one of us is living in the real world?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"There is only one world that matters, Claire; the one where you are. You need to understand you are more than you've allowed yourself to be. You've been living as half a person, It's time to become whole."

“I don't know if I can," I admitted.

"You’ve already started," she said. "The moment you followed me here, the moment you asked the questions, the moment you stopped running from what you saw—that's when you began."

As I looked deeper into the mirror, I saw myself not as I was, but as I could be. Confident. Fearless. Alive in ways I'd forgotten were possible. The reflection reached out her hand, pressing it against the glass from her side. I raised mine, matching her gesture, and when our palms met, I felt a surge of energy course through me.

I stared into the mirror, curious, as swirling colors appeared. Suddenly our images coalesced into one another. I felt sick as the world tilted, and for a moment, I couldn't tell which side of the mirror I was on. Then everything settled, and I was standing alone in the storage room, my hand pressed against cool glass, my reflection moving in perfect synchronization with me once more.

But something had changed. I could feel it in my bones, in the steady rhythm of my heartbeat, in the way I stood straighter, breathed deeper. I wasn't just Claire anymore. I was all the versions of Claire I'd ever been and could ever be, unified at last.

I steadied myself, then walked out of the storage room and back into the café. Marcus was behind the counter, and as I approached he looked up, staring into my eyes.

"You okay?" he asked. "You look, different, better."

"I am different," I said, smiling. "I'm finally real. I mean the one and only real me.”

“That’s great Claire. Can I get you the usual?” He asked, still looking me in the eyes.

Realizing I hadn’t gotten a coffee earlier, I said, “You know what Marcus, I think I’ll try an espresso today,”

As I stepped out into the October afternoon, the day seemed less dismal, the air warmer. Although the world was the same, I definitely had changed.