Your Secret Is Safe With Me

Karen held the artifact with two hands, turning it over to inspect every inch. The pewter hand mirror had impressions of the Romani Chakra symbol on its backside with interwoven vines and thorns along its sturdy handle. She remembered playing with her great grandmother’s hand mirror for hours, imagining some magic within revealing far away, mystical forests or foretelling her future. When she mentioned to the shopkeeper that it bore an uncanny resemblance to her great grandmother’s hand mirror, the shopkeeper said, “Perhaps this mirror has found its way to its intended.” She insisted that she take it as a gift. She would not discuss it.

“Are you Romani?” Karen asked.

“I am enough Romani to believe that this mirror holds a powerful curse,” said the old shopkeeper as she pushed Karen toward the door with her crooked, skinny fingers. 

Karen felt strange about taking the gift but understood the Romani way. “Okay, okay. I understand. I’ll take it. Thank you.”

Karen stood outside the shop just admiring the artifact. The old woman popped her head out. “The burden of the curse is now yours to bear,” she said. “Beware jakhendar.”

Karen and her friend, Stacy, sat across from one another looking at the mirror that lie face down on the table. Two recently emptied wine glasses rested on the table.

“It’s a beautiful mirror,” Stacy said. “Look at the detail in the design. Do you think the shopkeeper was crazy?”

“No, probably not crazy. Just a traditional old Romani lady,” Karen said. “Growing up, my grandmother and great grandmother told me all sorts of stories about the culture. The evil eye or the jakhendar was a big deal. I’m supposed to put on a red ribbon or wear my clothes inside-out for protection.”

“It’s just a mirror. What would a curse do? Make your hair look bad? Should we try it? What do we say?”

“My grandmother would say that it talks to you through your hands or vision. You would have to wrap your hands around a crystal ball and the visions would appear in the globe. Maybe we just hold like you are using a mirror and meditate on a question. Like this.” Karen wrapped her hand around the handle of the mirror. She closed her eyes and appeared to meditate. Then, she opened her eyes to look into the mirror. 

“Got anything? Flashes of the future? Dead people?” Stacy affected a mysterious tone.

“Did you see that…in the mirror? I asked a question about my future and I saw a lot of mist. Swirling dark mist. It was telling me stop, like it didn’t want to show me anything. Let me ask it about you instead.” Karen grasped the mirror again and closed her eyes. “Look into the mirror as I do this.”

Stacy stared into the silver-coated glass as Karen repeated her meditation. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “What did you ask?” 

“I asked it to show you the best day of your life. Did you see something? Cut the crap. Are you kidding me?”

“I saw —,” she started to speak but was unable to continue past the second word. Some invisible force held her back from speaking. “I saw —.” Nothing more would come.

“What’s the matter with you? Tell me,” Karen said with a rising voice.

“I can’t. I physically can not say it. Something won’t let me.” Her hand rested on her chest. “I saw —. I saw —,” she started choking and could not vocalize any words. “Try something else.”

Karen started again as Stacy looked deep into the mirror.

Stacy’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No! Stop! Karen stop!” Stacy ran for the bathroom, lifted the toilet seat and vomited. She remained kneeling at the toilet, breathing heavily.

“Stacy, what the hell is that all about? Are you okay? Did you see something gross?” Karen was unnerved by Stacy’s reaction. She entered the bathroom and knelt next to Stacy, helping her to hold her hair back. 

“I saw —. I saw —. Oh my God, Karen, I can’t say it. But, I have to say it. I have to tell you. Oh, God, Karen, if I can’t tell you what I saw —.”

“Why can’t you tell me?” Karen asked.

“When I think about saying it out loud, something stops me. I can’t find my voice. You have to get rid of that thing!”

When Stacy got home, she popped an Ativan and washed it down with red wine. She put herself to bed…and dreamt. The images from the mirror would not leave her mind.

Stacy saw through her own eyes as she walked up to Karen’s door carrying a bottle of wine. She pressed the doorbell. When Karen didn’t answer after a few rings, Stacy let herself in and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m here. Why didn’t you answer the —?”

The wine bottle dropped from her hand and exploded on the hard floor at her feet. The red wine spread across the floor expanding in an ever bigger pool of red; just like the blood that had drained from Karen’s neck.

Stacy’s sleeping body sat upright in an instant while her heart beat like a raging drum. She wanted to say out loud, “You are going to die.” When she tried, a crippling pain consumed her body. Her flesh felt like it was on fire; her head hurt like an agonizing brain freeze. She could see the images but could not share them. She would be unable to save her friend.

150 Years Ago

The young Romani woman peered into the ornate hand mirror. Her thoughts were of her new born baby. What does the future hold for my baby, she wondered.

A purple swirling mist appeared inside the reflective glass, growing darker and swirling faster with each moment. The woman squeezed her eyes shut as the images of her daughter’s future blazed through her mind. 

Her little girl, merely a toddler, lie on her bed with pus-leaking sores covering her body. A fever ravaged her delicate brain. She convulsed with alarming frequency. Her mother watched as the girl slowly died.

When she opened her eyes, she said, “I will protect her.” The woman vowed to keep her safe from that horrible end. The girl would not leave the wagon until she had passed that age so she would not be exposed to any disease. 

The girl existed only in the wagon for two years, being brought food and water by her mother. She did not allow contact with any other human. As the day of her freedom approached, she promised her daughter that she would be soon be free to live her life fully. On the day of her freedom, her mother quietly entered the wagon in the early morning hours to wake her and usher her into her new life. She placed her lighted candle on the floor by her sleeping daughter and stroked her hair. 

“Come outside, darling. It’s safe now. Come see the world that has been waiting for you. I’ll get your shoes outside.”

The daughter threw her covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her cotton nightgown brushed the flame of the candle and caught fire. The flame crawled up her long flowing gown engulfing her petite body like it was a wick. Her screams were too late for her mother to save her from the cruel death she thought she staved off these past few years. 

The woman grieved more deeply for having thought she saved her baby. Would she have grieved less if her daughter’s fate was unknown? Would she have accepted death more easily if she hadn’t worked so hard for so long to try to prevent it? Her knowledge of the future did not empower her to change its outcome. Fate, in all its cruelty, would win. Her curse on the mirror would prevent anyone from knowing their future. This, she thought, was more kind and prudent than allowing anyone to think they had any power over fate.