When My Mirror Spoke to Me

When My Mirror Spoke to Me

I’m nothing like Snow White’s stepmom. I would never poison anybody’s apple. The only thing we have in common is my mirror has been talking back to me. I did not ask it anything stupid like, “Who’s the fairest of all?” I already know I am not.

           All I did was stumble into the bathroom after a restless night, peer into the mirror, and speak to my reflection. “How did I get this old?” I asked.

           “Well, that’s easy,” someone said, “You’ve lived for seventy years. Do you still expect to look like a teen-ager?”

           The bones in my neck made a cracking sound as I whipped around. They continued to protest as I jerked my head to scan the corners of the room and the ceiling. I grabbed the shower curtain and dragged it open. The tub looked like it could stand some scrubbing, but at least it was empty. No one else was in the bathroom. I heard my husband, Grant, snoring loudly in the adjoining bedroom.

           “I’m losing my mind,” I said aloud.

           “Well, it’s not quite that bad,” the nonexistent person said, “but you are definitely slipping.”

           The disembodied female voice seemed to come from the vicinity of the mirror, so I opened the medicine cabinet door behind it. Could there be a device someone had planted as a joke? No wires or speakers inside, just Tylenol, Tums, and some face and eye cream to cover up the fact that I am seventy.

 “Nowadays, though,” I muttered, “They have electronic bugs that are so tiny they could fit on a pinhead.” I saw that in some movie. I did not remember the bugs talking back though.

           I had come into the bathroom to wash up, but I was so freaked out, I went back into our bedroom and shook Grant awake.

           Mid-snore, he opened his eyes. “What time is it?” he said.

           “Grant, I’m scared. The mirror is speaking to me.”

           “Huh? The mirror is what?”

           “Just come and listen. It’s really sarcastic, too.”

           “You’re kidding right?”

           “No, I’m not.”

           He shook his head as he rolled out of bed. He poked his feet into his slippers. I pulled him along toward the bathroom.

           We stood on the fuzzy blue bath rug and stared at the mirror for maybe two minutes. Not a peep.

           He turned and scrutinized me. “Well, Kathy? Looks like the mirror ran out of things to say.”

           “Maybe if I talk to her,” I said, hopefully. “She answered before.” I tried to think of a question.

           “Kathy, you didn’t sleep well last night, maybe you’re having some sort of hallucination.”

           I ignored him and said loudly to the mirror, “How do you feel about seeing everything backwards?”

           I waited for a snarky comeback. Nothing.

           Grant patted my shoulder. “Maybe you should go back to bed and get a little more sleep, Hon.”

. “I’m wide awake now. I’ll go make us some breakfast.” There was no way I was staying in the bathroom, even if my face was unwashed.

“I’ll take a quick shower while you’re getting us something to eat,” Grant said.

As I broke eggs into the frying pan and stuck two slices of bread in the toaster, I hoped Ms. Mirror would address Grant and tell him he was not quite as sexy at seventy as he was at seventeen or some other caustic criticism. I pictured Grant jumping out of the shower in a panic and running into the kitchen in the altogether.

“You were right,” he’d yell, “the mirror insulted me too.”

Most of my fantasies do not come true. All I heard was water running and his off-key rendition of Penny Lane. The Beatles would have cried if they had heard it.

While we ate our eggs and toast, Grant kept stealing sideways glances at me.

“You gonna’ be all right here by yourself?” he asked. Wednesday mornings, Grant moseys over to the Senior Center to play cards with other retirees.

I nodded. If I stay out of the bathroom.

After Grant left, I dressed and tossed some clothes in the wash. My cell phone rang. I rummaged through my purse.

“Hi Kathy,” my friend, Olivia, said, “Want to go to Darla’s Dress Shop? They’re having a 50% off sale.”

“Sure,” I said, without thinking.

“Okay, I’ll be over around ten.”

As I swiped my finger across the screen to hang up, I thought about the state of my hair, my unwashed body, and my lack of make-up. All the paraphernalia for restoring myself resided in the bathroom’s twilight zone.

I looked at the clock. I had only one hour to get ready. Straightening my shoulders, I lectured myself. This is ridiculous; it is your bathroom, just barge in there, and if Ms. Mirror speaks, ignore her.

Quickly, I shucked the jeans, t-shirt, and underwear I had thrown on and leaned into the bathtub to moderate the water.

“I don’t see everything backwards, you do,” she said, answering my question from an hour and half ago.

I did not even turn around. I stepped into the tub and yanked the curtain shut. The warm stream of water calmed me momentarily.

As I toweled off afterwards, she cattily commented, “Gravity has certainly done its work on you.”

Forgetting my earlier Fifth Amendment stance, I countered, “Let’s see, this house was built in 1930. You must be eighty-five. Your finish is deteriorating, and you have a crack on your side.”

That shut her up for a few minutes. I put on my bathrobe to cover gravity’s work, washed my face, and brushed my hair. But as I applied my make-up, she sneered, “All the cosmetics you’re applying won’t cover up those wrinkles.”

“You’re right, but they are all happy wrinkles, so I still look like I’m smiling when I stop.”

No answer. It is hard to argue with someone who’s agreeing with you.

“Well, it’s been brutal talking with you,” I said, giving a wave to my reflection.

As Olivia and I drove to Darla’s, she said, “You’re awfully quiet this morning, is everything okay?”

Olivia has been my friend for many years, yet I hesitated to reveal my brush with unreality.

“I had a very weird experience this morning.”

Olivia’s eyes grew large behind her glasses as she stared at me. “Did Grant moon you or something?”

“No, no,” I said, wondering where that remark came from. “The mirror in the bathroom started talking to me this morning, making rude remarks.”

Now Olivia was frowning. “Are you taking any new medication? I’ve heard some drugs have strange side effects.”

I never should have said anything. No one was going to believe me. I probably should shop for a straight jacket.

“No, Olivia, just the same stuff I’ve been taking for four years. Forget I mentioned it.”

Of course, once you let the delusion out of the bag, people start viewing you in a different light.

At Darla’s, Olivia kept glancing at me when she thought I was occupied pushing hangers aside on the sale racks.

I found a loose-fitting blouse. According to my new mirror fashion advisory, I had better cover up my deficiencies. I did not feel the same elation about my bargain that I usually do. Even our lunch at Taylor’s Fish House disappointed. The clams in my chowder were gritty.

As we drove back home, I made a decision.

Grant met me at the door and examined my face. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, much better, but I have a request.”

“Okay,” he said, warily.

“Please tear out the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and take it to the dump. Then let’s go to Home Depot and get a new one.”

“Right now?”

I nodded my head.

My husband of forty-eight years has already lived through similar outbreaks of craziness during menopause, so he did not ask questions. He went to the garage and got the proper demolition tools.

I stood in the doorway, half expecting the mirror to emit blood-curdling screams while being dismantled. It did not even whimper.

At the dump, Grant stood at a distance, as I stomped on the glass, shattering the shiny surface into little pieces. Fiendish pleasure welled up in my chest. Maybe occasionally, I do resemble the wicked stepmother.

What was left of the afternoon, I used to exchange my baggy blouse for a more form-fitting number. After all, I still do have curves, just more generous ones.

I never have figured out what happened that morning. Maybe, the voice was just an echo of my negative thoughts. The new mirror Grant put up has never said a word. I talk to it instead. “How nice,” I say to my backwards image. “You’ve still got all your teeth. That is a knockout smile,” or “You’re looking great for seventy.”

However, I always end these upbeat conversations with, “Mirror, mirror, YOU’RE the fairest of them all.” After all, you cannot be too careful.