The Mirror

At 7 a.m. every morning she stood in front of me. There was a day on which I didn’t live to see her smile at me, when her mahogany eyes didn’t cause butterflies in my stomach. But this day was shelved among distant memories.

Today, now, each glimpse of her made me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling. Even when she came back from school all sweaty with tousled hair, she was still beautiful. She stared at me every day, but she never really saw me, only herself reflected in me. We were the same, and we were perfect.

Tonight I was lucky. There was a party at Alisha’s house, which meant she would spend at least half an hour in front of me, an extra half hour in which I would get to see her beautiful face. She had been discussing what to wear with Zahra over the phone. Flopped onto her belly on the bed, legs in the hair, one hand playing through her dark hair, she took my breath away. If I could breathe, that is. But all I could do was stand there and hear her musical voice ringing in my metaphorical ears.

The door opened. My heart thudded at the very thought of seeing her. Her walk was more of a skip. She always looked so happy, and it lit up her entire face. Another figure entered the room as well, but my eyes remained fixed on her. Every small action seemed perfect. Her delicate fingers flipped the light switch. There she stood, all dolled up in a fancy white dress. My heart was bursting with joy at what was to come as she and Zahra approached me. I could have leapt with excitement.

And like a rollercoaster, my heart dropped. What appeared in front of me was not the image I had waited all day to see. Zahra’s face blocked all sight of her. Internally, I sighed. “Hey, move up. I have to do my make up too”. At least her voice still rang clearly. Make up. That word always conflicted me. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need make up, because it only masked what was truly her. But make up meant she would stare at me intently, and those were the times I thought she might see me in there. She hadn’t yet, but I had nowhere to go. I could wait.

An eternity later, her adorable little nose came into view. A hand appeared from the side to dust her face in powder. Next came my favourite part. As she widened her eye a bit to apply mascara, I pretended we were staring into each other’s eyes. Up close, the swirls of gold in her eye became prominent. I drank in every feature of her face, preserving a memory to sustain me until I could see her again. Too little time passed when she stepped back. The brief sight of her was compensation enough, though. Her chocolate skin glowed against the white of her dress. I got one last look at this confident, stunning girl before she strode out of the room. A glimpse of long leg and she was gone.

When did I come to this? I felt like I had been in love with her forever, but the seven year old child didn’t make me lightheaded at the very sight of her. Her sketchbook lay open on the bed. My mind conjured a picture of seventeen year old her sitting there, cross-legged, pencils in hand and book in lap. The image of over a year ago was etched into my memory so deeply I could see it unfolding it at this very moment. Light hand moved rapidly across the page as my gaze fell on the extra sparkle in her eye for the first time. Countless times I had seen her creating some new painting, but always my attention had been on the art. Now, I realized what the art really was.

The clock on the wall must be broken. Each minute dragged on for an hour. Each time she went out, I anxiously waited for her to return. The fear remained that one day, she might not return. Today I could rest easy. She walked in at one a.m. in a zombie-like fashion. Shedding her fancy clothes in favour of her night suit, she collapsed into bed. I closed my eyes as well.

Months flew by and I continued my admiration from afar. The passing of every day brought a new thing to love about her. And then she broke my heart.

The morning had begun like any other, with the sunlight streaming in and illuminating her face. She continued our ritual of looking at me before dashing off to school. I stood there, waiting, as I did every day. Hearing her footsteps approach in the afternoon was the greatest sound I had every heard. Looking extra bubbly as she skipped into the room, my heart soared, and then it plummeted. A figure had entered behind her, but not one I recognized. He was tall and each footstep clunked loudly, masking the music of her voice. I hated him immediately. Of course, then it hadn’t registered why I hated him, but I have good instinct.

He’s just here for a project, I reassured myself. They’re sitting on the bed to discuss. She mentioned a project, didn’t she? They don’t need to sit so close though…why doesn’t she move away? Wait why is she moving closer? No, no, no. I shut my eyes to escape the pain. But I couldn’t shut my ears, and try as hard as I might to block out the sound; low gasps and whispers of ‘I love you’ reached my ears.

I love you. Those were the words meant for me. If I could cry, my tears would drown me and let me escape from this hell. I stopped looking at her. Her lips remained puckered to me. Her hands seemed tainted with his touch. Her love-struck gaze made my stomach sick. Each glance I sneaked broke my heart further.

May was a difficult month. She spent all her time studying in her room. This time last year, my eyes had been marveling at her neat little writing; at the way she closed her eyes and whispered facts; her excitement at correctly reciting a formula. Now, my gaze remained fixated on the blank wall ahead.

June and July were easier. The family relaxed on some beach in France while I mourned silently. 1st August brought hope. They returned on the eve of her nineteenth birthday. A cake was cut that night. Enraptured shouts of ‘Happy Birthday’ travelled through the floors and filled the empty room. The merriment couldn’t have lasted. When the door opened, a harsh screech echoed off the walls. I opened my eyes to witness a sharp slap laid across the face of the person I detested. I gave a small chuckle before a loud slam jolted me out of my amusement. Her face was shining with tears. My eyes widened. I desperately wanted to reach out, wipe her face, pat her arm, and just let her bury her face in me. Yet all I could do was watch.

That night stretched forever. Soft sobs prevented me from going to sleep. How could I? She needed me. I had to watch over her. Morning was a blessing I had prayed for the entire night.

The progression of the month worked in stitching together our broken hearts. Each day she smiled a little more, and I returned it. By the 25th, the wide grin I had grown accustomed to was back. I was fortunate to be able to witness her dancing around the room, singing along, and emanating a glow such as I had never seen before. That night was the best night of my life. Taking a break from hopping around, she stood in front of me. I barely registered her in front of me before she reached forward, and planted a kiss on my lips.

I could have jumped high enough to reach the moon. I was soaring with the birds. I settled into the most tranquil of sleeps, lost in my fantasies. All the sadness, the heartbreak, the anger; all the negative feelings were shrouded by the pure rapture of love.

The next morning, expecting a warm greeting from my love, my heart dropped to see an empty bed instead. Well, she must have woken earlier. No problem, I could wait till the afternoon. She didn’t come back that afternoon, nor at night. Not the next day, or the day after that. Months I waited, and those months turned into years. The room was gradually emptied of furniture. Eventually, the familiar footsteps of those who lived in the house disappeared, only to be replaced by ones alien to me. That kiss hadn’t been recognition; rather it had been a farewell.

A young boy ran into the room. He pressed his palm against my side. The touch was all wrong; the hand too clammy with none of the gentleness she possessed. An old couple replaced the boy after a while. After them came a middle-aged man; then a baby girl; but not her, never her.

Each day I prayed it would be the day she returned, but my prayers were never answered. I stood there in that room for the rest of my life, the imprint of her lips the only memory that remained.