Reflections in a Hall of Mirrors

     I’ll admit, I really had been excited to see my nephew. But when my sister left him with me so that she and her husband could have some alone time, it sparked worries in me. You see, my husband and I had been married for almost two years. We had always assumed that we’d have children by now, but one thing or another had always gotten in the way. Seeing my nephew would usually bring me so much joy, but today it only brought me anxiety. 

     I was summoned back into the moment by an incessant tugging on the sleeve of my sweater. It was my nephew, and he was pointing towards a tent in the distance.

     “Can we go?” He asked in his little, high pitched voice.

     “What is it, sweetie?”

     “It’s the place with all the mirrors.” He said.

     “Of course we can go, sweetie.”

     I took his hand and we made our way across the fairgrounds. When we arrived at the tent, I saw a sign.

     House of Mirrors

     Adults: $9

     Kids (5 and under): $5

     I looked at my nephew. He was seven. It was ridiculous that I would be charged the adult rate for him. But I just sighed and handed eighteen dollars to the attendant. He stamped our hands and pulled back the curtain for us to enter.

     The inside was decently well lit, but the mirrors made it disorienting nonetheless. My nephew was in heaven, running around the first few turns of the maze.

     “Don’t go too far.” I called out.

     I heard the sound of his sneakers coming to a halt. He trotted around the corner of the maze and smiled at me. I followed him back around the corner.

     Upon entering, I was surrounded by distorted images of myself. I looked at them, my edges pushed and pulled around in every conceivable way. It was a perfect reflection (no pun intended) of myself. All of my insecurities. Thoughts of my own future children came rushing back. If I couldn’t accept my body as it was now, how could I handle all the changes brought about by a pregnancy? Would I suffer from postpartum depression? Or worse, postpartum psychosis? How could I take care of someone else if I could barely handle myself?

     On the other hand, my nephew was positively giddy. He ran from mirror to mirror, pulling his face into different expressions.

     “Careful”,  I said. “Don’t touch the mirrors.”

     “Touch”, he said, tapping his finger all over the one in front of him.

     “Okay, I think it’s time to move on.” I said.

     “But, why?” He asked, his eyes begging me to reconsider.

     “We can’t stay here. There are people behind us.”

     His hand dropped back to his side. He shuffled off around the next corner, still pouting. I followed him.

     I heard the family behind us as we arrived in the next room. It was a couple and their two kids.

     “Look Hannah, I’m tired. I don’t know what to tell you.” The man said.

     “I know you’re tired. You don’t think I’m tired too?” The wife asked, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and contempt.

     “I loaded the dishwasher just like you asked me to.”

     “But you didn’t start it. 

     “You didn’t ask me to start it.”

     “What’s the point of loading it if you’re not going to start it? The dishes should have been clean by this morning, and they weren’t.”

     A frosty silence filled the space between them. I heard their kids’ running around, oblivious to what was going on between their parents.

     I crossed my arms and sighed. Paul and I had moments when we fought like that. It could get really bad sometimes, but we always pulled through. Was it the same for this couple? Would Paul and I ever get to the point where we would bicker in public, never resolving anything?

     My nephew was smiling at me. He ran around the next corner. I followed swiftly, or so I’d thought. The next room was a circle of regular mirrors. No distortions, just reflections reflecting in upon themselves. I looked around, but I could not see him anywhere.

     “Lucas?” I called out. There was no answer.

     “Lucas?” I inquired again, looking around for him. I saw nothing other than myself reflected back at me.

     “Lucas, this isn’t funny. You can come out now.” 

     Even as I said it, I felt sick from the bottom of my stomach. My heart was racing. Had I lost him? What would I tell my sister? What could I tell my sister? That I’d let her child out of my sight for just a moment and he’d disappeared, never to be seen again?

     A part of me knew that I was overreacting. He had probably just run ahead of me. Even if I had lost him, he was still around here somewhere. I would get him back again. But the part of me that understood that was buried under the rest of me. All I could feel was an overwhelming despair, and a deep seated feeling of failure.

      I slumped to the ground, my face in my hands. I began to sob. I must have looked pathetic. And there I remained. For how long, I do not know. But I suddenly heard the awkward squelch of rubber soled shoes against the ground. A weight landed on my shoulders.

     “Boo!” My nephew shouted, bouncing up and down behind me. 

     I looked up with a start. I had never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I hugged him, wiping the tears from my eyes.

     “Come on.” I said. “Let’s go.”

     I stood and took his hand. We were only a few more turns away from the end of the exhibit. Those last few twists passed by in a flash of laughter and smiles. Whatever stress I’d had before faded into the background or my gratitude. Before I knew it we were standing back outside.

     I soon got a call from his mother. She was ready to take him back. I brought him to the place where we’d  met up earlier that day and handed him off.

    “Say goodbye to Auntie Margot.” My sister said.

     My nephew smiled and waved goodbye. The two of them turned and left.

     As he walked away with his mother, I felt the fear return to the pit of my stomach. Should I have told her what had happened? Would Lucas tell her? I should have been happy for the time we’d spent together, not fearful of its implications. I turned around and headed back to my car. 

     When I left the fairgrounds that day, I was both scared and frustrated. After all that had happened, I was still no more certain of my future than when I had arrived.