The Cracked Mirror

Click. Click. Click. 

The ancient grandfather clock on the wall stirs you from your thoughts. It makes every minute loom over your head; feeling as though you are stuck in the clock yourself—trapped amongst the Roman numerals. Minutes go by in a flash. Hours tick by. You ball up your fists in anticipation.  In a moment of frustration, you look around you and time nearly stands still as you take in your surroundings. The smell of antique  books fills the air; your love of literature has colored your  childhood. You take a deep breath in. A whiff of the fresh apple pie in the oven hits your nose. Fragrant. Just the way you like it. People may mock you for your ‘old soul’ tendencies. But it’s your life. Books, baked goods, and a simple approach to life has kept drama and toxicity away from you. 

Click. Click. Click. 

The ticks from the clock distract you from your thoughts and you’re shaken back into reality. 

Of course she’s not coming. Why would she? She has been absent for most of the 25 years of your life. 

The “she” is your mom. You sigh and pick up your calendar lying across from you. June 26th, 2013. It’s only your birthday. No big deal. Only your 25th birthday. She had called to say she’d visit. You had cried and said you were going to show her your new apartment. And your fiance. He was new, too. He was going to be a surprise for your mother and you were going to talk about engagement plans all giddy like schoolgirls. 

You wipe fresh tears away and cross the date off on the calendar with a bright, red marker. The red slashes through the date like a knife. Well, happy birthday to you. You head to bed. 

      * * *  

Bring! Bring! 

Your phone rings with a sense of urgency. You roll out of bed and pick it up. You answer with a groggy “..hello?” 

It’s her. Your mother. The one and only. 

She had been MIA most of your life. She had left you and your father when you were only 5 years old, claiming that she had to “find herself,” and she wasn’t really “cut out” to be a mother. She disappeared—just like that. Then, last month, she left a long voice message about how sorry she was and how she’d try to make it up to you by visiting you. But she hadn’t remembered how old you were. Nor when your birthday was. She said she’d check into a hotel nearby and you could catch up. Pitiful that you believed her. 

“How are you? I’m sorry I couldn’t come.” 

“I’m alright.” 

“Good.” 

“So when?” 

“When…?” 

“When will you come? Or are you even going to?” 

“About that…” 

“Bye.” 

You slam the phone down. The tears come again, but you push them back. 25 years of forgiving her and just accepting whatever excuse she threw. But not this time. Your anger nearly smokes out of your ears as you call her number back. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m DONE with it!” 

“What’s going on?”

“I’m SICK of this, did you FIND YOURSELF or whatever?? I’m 25 years old and I’m NOT going to just TAKE whatever LOUSY excuses you throw at me. You’re my MOTHER. WHY CAN’T YOU ACT LIKE IT?” 

“...” 

“No comment huh?” 

“Well, what do you want me to say?” 

“I really don’t know. Just know, I WILL figure out WHAT you’re up to.” 

You slam the phone and take your face in your hands. Tears trickle down. In a mix of anger and sadness, you slam your face into your pillow. 

Shortly after your mom had disappeared, your father was left alone to raise you. It was a tough journey. Then, you had gone off to college and gotten a job. You’d gotten older. You’d “moved out of the nest.” 

But then, a sudden heart attack took him from your life, too. You had been left all alone. That hadn’t stopped you from gaining success with your career and saving up to secure your own apartment. 

You quickly snap out of the backstory. You get dressed and throw your wallet, phone, and some snacks into a tote bag. It was time for a little road trip. 

She sent out a letter when you were 14 years old. She made the mistake of including a return address. She had wanted to disappear, but that address was your key into discovering just what was going on. 

You throw on a jacket and head to the car. She lived a few states down, in South Carolina. Since you lived in Delaware, it would take nearly 10 hours. But you are ready. Since she decided to call at 4 in the morning, you had time to book a train. 

You put the pedal to the metal.  

    * * *  

You park the car and step out of it. Since it’d take almost the entire day to reach her, you were prepared to park your car overnight. Bag in hand, you arrive at the station. 

You step onto the train. Out of your window, the first streaks of daylight bring light to the sky. You pull a book out of your bag and read as the train chugs along. Eventually, you fall into a deep sleep that lasts the duration of the quest. Truly, you had no idea what to expect. Besides the one letter you received from her 11 years ago, and the phone calls you’d exchanged with her starting from last month, you had no contact with her. She just didn’t want it. And you wanted nothing to do with her. 

SSSh. 

The train comes to a halt. It appears you’ve arrived. Bag in hand, you head to the station. You call a cab and hold your breath. It’s finally time to find out the truth.

“Wait!” 

The taxi remains glued to the road. A mother and daughter appear to be in dire need of a ride. You groan at first, but then you take another look at them. They are almost identical. The girl of about 6 years has her mother’s eyes, nose, and smile. It was like looking into two sides of a mirror. You move aside and let them sit next to you, and smile tiredly over the mother’s several thank-you’s. 

The taxi departs the station. The mother and daughter got off an hour ago, their stop was to a beautiful brick house where a man welcomed them with happy arms. A family. Sounded foreign to you. 

But now, you were at the address. Her address. 

You squint at the house. It is run-down. It is almost abandoned. It is small, beat up-looking.  

You thank the taxi driver and tip him, then you brace yourself. 

You pound at the door.  It opens to reveal a tiny hallway. Scattered around it are bottles of every color and brand imaginable. Shards of glass are at your feet. Carefully, you step over them. 

Ashtrays are gingerly placed on the windowsills. There are a few plants. But they are all dead and withered. 

Then, a woman steps up to you. You look at her. She has your hair, but it is dirty and thinning. She has your eyes, but life is sucked out of them. She has your facial structure, but hers looks worn out and much older. She starts to cry. 

You are startled. You realize, you are looking into a mirror. 

But the mirror is cracked.