No Refunds, No Exceptions

As I wandered along the narrow street, a weathered, wooden sign with the word “Antiques” painted in red caught my attention. I stepped into the di­­mly lit shop, and the floorboards creaked, announcing my presence. At the entrance, a very strange man stood behind a thick table serving as a workbench. He looked like a cliché. He was wearing a tall top hat with a red ribbon, a dusty black jacket, and he had a stuffed raven sitting on his shoulder. The man was working on some sort of device or appliance, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Parts were strewn everywhere. As I looked around, it was exactly the type of shop I expected.

The shopkeeper looked up from his work.

“Weeelcome…” he said, drawing out the word to appear enigmatic.

I nodded in greeting, intrigued by his theatrics. It really set the mood. The shelves were lined with various odds and ends and trinkets and bobbles. I saw some old cuckoo clocks, weathered books, and vintage clothes. The shop itself was antique, and I tried not to breathe in what I imagined to be dust and asbestos.

As I browsed the odds and ends, I saw an old mirror and picked it up to check my hair. As I was looking into it, the shopkeeper walked over.

“May I?” he asked with his hand extended.

I gave it to him.

The shopkeeper held the mirror up into the light and squinted as if it would help him see it better.

“Ah, yes. . .” he said turning it over. “A mirror.”

He lowered the object and looked at me. I waited expectantly for him to say something more profound. After a few moments of silence, I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.

“THIS mirror,” he said, speaking more loudly than necessary, “is quite special.”

“It is?” I asked doubtfully.

To me, it looked like an old, cheap mirror you might find at one of those stores that sell things for a dollar. I was pretty sure my niece had one in her dollhouse. It had been painted gold at one time, evidenced by the dull, brown color that was flaking off and revealing hard plastic underneath.

“No,” he said frankly, putting it down.

I laughed at the joke, surprised that he didn’t take himself as seriously as I first thought.

“But this one. . .”

He pulled out a large hand mirror seemingly from nowhere. I thought he was just skilled in sleight of hand, and I missed the trick. I looked at the mirror he was holding, and it was a far cry from the other one. It had a brilliant pearl handle that reflected iridescent light. The frame was what I imagined to be real gold. It was molded to look like a snake eating its own tail, and the head of the snake was resting on the very top. The unblemished glass was polished to a pure sheen. I was admiring it, and when I looked at the shopkeeper, he grinned, taking pleasure in my impressionability.

“It isn’t just any mirror,” he said, spinning it around in his hand. I was afraid he would drop it. It looked valuable. He stopped, and I exhaled in relief. I wanted to take it from his hands to protect it.

“The mirror reveals the truth. If you look into it, you’ll see yourself for who you really are.”

He lost my attention with talk of magic.

“No, thanks,” I said, turning to leave.

The man shrugged. He continued with his sales pitch, his voice chasing after me.

“It would make a great gift for your mother,” he said, tilting his head a few times in no particular direction. It caught my attention because I had been thinking the same thing.

“How much?” I asked solely out of curiosity.

“One-hundred dollars. The gold alone is worth more than that, but you seem like a worthy gentleman, so I’ll offer a little discount,” he said, jerking the line to try to hook me. His theatrics no longer impressed me. He was simply a businessman.

The price was steep, but it was late November. Christmas was around the corner. She would love the gift.

“Fine.”

I waited as he retreated to the back room and returned just as quickly as he left. I took the package wrapped in oily, brown paper, and thanked him.

As I wandered the street in search of other interesting things, I began to doubt my decision. It was a lot of money to spend on one thing, and I really couldn’t spare it. I decided it would be best to return it, but when I arrived, the shop had already closed. It would have to wait until tomorrow. I laid it in the back seat of my car and drove home to a cold six pack.

*****

         Six had turned into twelve, and when I woke up, my head was splitting. I didn’t want to do anything, but it was Saturday, and I didn’t want to waste it. I popped some medicine, guzzled some water, and ate some eggs. I sat down on the couch and opened my laptop. When I saw my reflection on the black screen, I remembered the mirror. It was better to get it out of the way, so I closed my computer and put my shoes on before making the hour-long drive into the mountains.

         When I arrived, it took me thirty minutes to park. There were so many people. Asheville had become a popular spot for tourists. I had to walk almost a mile to the shop. Surprisingly, no one was entering. In fact, it looked like they were avoiding it. I opened the door, and a little silver bell tinkled. I took a deep breath as if I were submerging myself in water and walked inside. The shopkeeper was standing there in the middle of the shop, facing the entrance. It was almost as if he was expecting someone. He still had his top hat and raven, but that day he was wearing a black, scaly vest that shimmered as he moved.

         “You’ve come back. . .” he said, slowly stroking the dead raven.

         “To return it,” I said, holding out the mirror still wrapped.

         “She didn’t like it?”

         “No, she didn’t.”

         “Did you not notice the sign?” he asked, pointing above the door.

         I turned and looked.

         No Refunds. No Exceptions.

         “Come on, man. Do me a favor.”

         “Did you read the second part?”

         I sighed in frustration.

         “Have you even looked in the mirror?”

         “No,” I replied, holding up the package to show him it was still unopened.

         “Are you afraid?”

         “Afraid of what?”

         “Yourself.”

         It was an odd question to ask a person, but I could answer easily without much thought. I wasn’t afraid of myself. I was generally pretty harmless. I even took spiders outside in a paper towel instead of killing them, and I told him so.

         “Take a look,” he said.

         “Right now?”

         “Why not?”

         I humored him and opened it. I’m still not sure why I took the bait, but something compelled me. I took the mirror in my hand, and it felt as light as a feather despite being made of pure gold. The snake looked at me with slits for eyes. Why would a snake eat itself?, I wondered.

         “The Ouroboros,” the man said as I peered at it. Again, he seemed to be reading my thoughts, and I didn't like it.

         “The Oro what?”

          I examined the antique more closely, and when I did, I caught a reflection of myself.

         The glass of the mirror began to ripple slightly like a lake in a stiff breeze, and I looked away. I suddenly felt very dizzy. I was still in the shop, but the man was gone. The atmosphere changed in a split second, and I was thrust into an unknown world. It felt like I was underground, and I could even smell earth. The walls seemed to be breathing, and the floor felt sticky. It threatened to swallow me up like quicksand. I felt like I was about to vomit. I wondered if I was dead.

I looked back into the mirror just to be sure I wasn’t, this time full on.

         I saw myself. I was not dead. In fact, quite the opposite. I looked very handsome. My eyes were bright blue, shining forth in contrast to the dark room. I smiled and saw my teeth. My mom had paid an orthodontist a lot of money to make sure they were beautiful. I felt appreciative and thanked her silently. She loved me. As I continued to look at myself, I felt a bit narcissistic, but I looked almost. . . angelic. It seemed like there was a soft aura of light surrounding me, and I fell in love with myself. My mind flashed with memories. I was helping my niece with her math homework. I gave a little money to a few homeless people. Then, I saw myself sitting on the edge of the bed with my dad, holding his hand as cancer took his last breath. I loved him. I no longer felt so bad about blowing a hundred bucks on the mirror. It was worth the experience. I was proud of myself; I turned out to be a good person, both loving and loved.

         And then, my thought was interrupted as the experience took an ominous turn. I heard a deep sound like a metallic vibration, and the walls pulsed harder. I sensed a shift, and I didn’t want to leave the Heaven in which I had found myself.

         I looked back at the mirror, and I saw myself again, but this time I looked like a completely different person. I was still me, but my pupils were dilated, darkening my eyes. They looked like two black holes. My skin was dry and splotchy. I looked like a bad person—someone you would find in a federal prison in solitary confinement. I imagined myself as an addict, a thief, a murderer. The reflection of my face was swirling in the mirror like fire. I didn’t look like an angel. Instead, I saw a demon, and I was in Hell. My mind was flooded with memories once more. I saw myself closing the blinds and opening my laptop to lose myself in sexual fantasies. I knew it was wrong, and many of the girls were victims of exploitation, but I needed the rush. I was popping the top of another beer or unscrewing a cork in a bottle of whiskey, drinking myself into a coma so I wouldn’t have to think. I was telling women I loved them when I really didn’t. I felt terrible. I wasn't the good person I thought I was. I welcomed death. I saw the reality that I was a bad person, both hateful and hated.

For the third time, the walls pulsed, and I saw one more version of myself. This time, there was no reflection in the mirror. I couldn’t see myself, but I could feel it. I felt cold, lonely, and scared. I was in the dark, and there was no one and no thing but me. I couldn’t enjoy the taste of an apple or the warmth of a fire. I was all that existed. There was no one to love or hate but myself. It was how God must’ve felt at the beginning of the universe, when there was no one but God, and how it would feel at the end when it fizzles out with a whimper.

         As I gazed, I felt like I was going to be sucked into the glass. The surface rippled violently, and without warning, the glass shattered into a million fragments like drops of water. In each of them, I saw myself. I was everyone and everything. I was both culprit and victim, killer and killed, violator and violated. Everything I had done was done to myself. I existed in perfect equanimity and equilibrium. As the mirror broke and the fragments dissipated, the experience ended, and I was back in the shop. The shopkeeper was standing in front of me, watching me silently with his finger held up to his chin.

         I was without words. The experience was ineffable.

         “Do you see?” he asked, tilting his head.

         I did. I saw everything.

         “No refunds. No exceptions.”