Reflect
Reflect
Her teeth rattled in the cold. It was cold that night, such harsh and piercing cold. The street was practically empty and so dark, so dark—the only light came from cars whizzing on by, back and forth, back and forth through the snow.
She saw her breath in front of her like tendrils of smoke, swirling in mocking patterns before disappearing into the night. She felt her breath too, sharp and painful against her lungs. She felt weak. Another car passed and the blinking lights revealed something else: blood. There was blood on her hands. Old blood. Just another pointless piece of an old, abandoned puzzle.
The hood of her jacket blew back; the wind was getting stronger. She pulled it back low of her head to cover her slowly frosting ears and began to walk alongside the street, turning around, startled by every honking horn. She really had chosen the worst time to take a stroll down a busy street. The traffic light changed to red and a car skidded to a stop beside her. She stopped clear in her tracks.
That sound. It stirred up a distant memory. Very distant. Or perhaps it wasn’t distant at all. What was it? She shut her eyes and played the sound again, trying to remember. It was as though she wasn’t meant to. Her brow creased. That sound. As quickly as it came, the memory was gone. She hated when that happened.
Slosh-slosh. She continued to walk noisily on her way, glancing at her wristwatch. The diamonds sparkled, but it didn’t seem as pretty as it used to be. Not since it happened. But she didn’t have tears anymore for him. Even if she did, they would have frozen. She was frozen.
She looked at her watch again. It was late. Her children would be wondering where she was. Her sister would be worried. She took in her surroundings. Where was she anyway? She realized she had no idea where her house was from here. Instinctively, she knocked on the first door she came upon to ask for directions. It was a nice house. In daylight, it was probably blue with white trim. There was probably a flowerbed in spring. The bare trees in the front yard would probably be hued with gold in autumn. The owners of the house were probably safe and warm in bed; no one came to answer the door. She knocked again, just to make sure.
The door opened this time. It was a woman, middle-aged, brown hair. Nothing special. But it was the look on this woman’s face that was surprising. It was the same exhausted, worn-out look she saw in the mirror every morning.
“Excuse me,” she started, trying keep her voice level. “I’m a bit lost.”
The woman smiled. “I’m not surprised. It’s easy to get lost here at night. I suppose you were taking a walk; it’s a nice place to walk. Come on in, you can use the phone in the kitchen.” The woman went inside and left the door open.
She walked in. It was the cozy, comfortable sort of house she’d tried to create for her new life twelve years ago. A fireplace. A little stand for the newspaper. A warm, inviting sofa next to a tiny table for perhaps a novel and a hot drink. She could have had these things once.
The woman came back with two steaming mugs of coffee on a quaint little tray. “Here. It’s pretty cold outside.” The woman set a little plate of biscuits on the table. “You can call your husband after you warm up a bit. Coffee’s always the cure for a bad frostbite like you’ve got.”
She looked down at her hand. Husband. “He’s gone,” she said. She looked back up at the woman, unsure of what to say as she sipped from the mug. The woman was right. It was good.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Is…is your husband dead?”
She gazed into her coffee. “He is to me,” she said simply. It was the truth. The woman said no more.
She finished her coffee and stared at the empty mug, wishing she hadn’t drained it so soon. The woman took her cup and led her into the kitchen, away from the sleepy fire and the sofa. The woman pointed her to the phone.
The numbers. Her phone number. They were right there. And who would pick up? Her family? Her children, yes. Would they really be wondering where she was? The skidding. She remembered now. Her car skidded along the pavement as she hurried, as she rushed for them. She reasoned and was met with irritation. Annoyed faces that didn’t need her anymore. Did she need them?
“Oh,” the woman laid a hand on her shoulder. “You…you don’t have anyone do you?” She liked this woman. This woman understood. “Are you sure there’s no one you can call?”
She could call. They wouldn’t answer. She shook her head slowly, hesitantly. She wasn’t lying.
The woman sat down next to her. This woman was a mirror. Just like her. “Perhaps you should stay here tonight. You can go home in the morning; it’ll be easier for you find your way. There’s a lot of strange guys out here at night.”
She reached into her pocket out of habit and let out the tiniest gasp as she pulled out her cell phone. All along, she had it. She checked her messages. Nothing. She checked her calls. No one had called. She glanced one last time at the woman’s telephone.
Perhaps she would stay a little longer.
She saw her breath in front of her like tendrils of smoke, swirling in mocking patterns before disappearing into the night. She felt her breath too, sharp and painful against her lungs. She felt weak. Another car passed and the blinking lights revealed something else: blood. There was blood on her hands. Old blood. Just another pointless piece of an old, abandoned puzzle.
The hood of her jacket blew back; the wind was getting stronger. She pulled it back low of her head to cover her slowly frosting ears and began to walk alongside the street, turning around, startled by every honking horn. She really had chosen the worst time to take a stroll down a busy street. The traffic light changed to red and a car skidded to a stop beside her. She stopped clear in her tracks.
That sound. It stirred up a distant memory. Very distant. Or perhaps it wasn’t distant at all. What was it? She shut her eyes and played the sound again, trying to remember. It was as though she wasn’t meant to. Her brow creased. That sound. As quickly as it came, the memory was gone. She hated when that happened.
Slosh-slosh. She continued to walk noisily on her way, glancing at her wristwatch. The diamonds sparkled, but it didn’t seem as pretty as it used to be. Not since it happened. But she didn’t have tears anymore for him. Even if she did, they would have frozen. She was frozen.
She looked at her watch again. It was late. Her children would be wondering where she was. Her sister would be worried. She took in her surroundings. Where was she anyway? She realized she had no idea where her house was from here. Instinctively, she knocked on the first door she came upon to ask for directions. It was a nice house. In daylight, it was probably blue with white trim. There was probably a flowerbed in spring. The bare trees in the front yard would probably be hued with gold in autumn. The owners of the house were probably safe and warm in bed; no one came to answer the door. She knocked again, just to make sure.
The door opened this time. It was a woman, middle-aged, brown hair. Nothing special. But it was the look on this woman’s face that was surprising. It was the same exhausted, worn-out look she saw in the mirror every morning.
“Excuse me,” she started, trying keep her voice level. “I’m a bit lost.”
The woman smiled. “I’m not surprised. It’s easy to get lost here at night. I suppose you were taking a walk; it’s a nice place to walk. Come on in, you can use the phone in the kitchen.” The woman went inside and left the door open.
She walked in. It was the cozy, comfortable sort of house she’d tried to create for her new life twelve years ago. A fireplace. A little stand for the newspaper. A warm, inviting sofa next to a tiny table for perhaps a novel and a hot drink. She could have had these things once.
The woman came back with two steaming mugs of coffee on a quaint little tray. “Here. It’s pretty cold outside.” The woman set a little plate of biscuits on the table. “You can call your husband after you warm up a bit. Coffee’s always the cure for a bad frostbite like you’ve got.”
She looked down at her hand. Husband. “He’s gone,” she said. She looked back up at the woman, unsure of what to say as she sipped from the mug. The woman was right. It was good.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Is…is your husband dead?”
She gazed into her coffee. “He is to me,” she said simply. It was the truth. The woman said no more.
She finished her coffee and stared at the empty mug, wishing she hadn’t drained it so soon. The woman took her cup and led her into the kitchen, away from the sleepy fire and the sofa. The woman pointed her to the phone.
The numbers. Her phone number. They were right there. And who would pick up? Her family? Her children, yes. Would they really be wondering where she was? The skidding. She remembered now. Her car skidded along the pavement as she hurried, as she rushed for them. She reasoned and was met with irritation. Annoyed faces that didn’t need her anymore. Did she need them?
“Oh,” the woman laid a hand on her shoulder. “You…you don’t have anyone do you?” She liked this woman. This woman understood. “Are you sure there’s no one you can call?”
She could call. They wouldn’t answer. She shook her head slowly, hesitantly. She wasn’t lying.
The woman sat down next to her. This woman was a mirror. Just like her. “Perhaps you should stay here tonight. You can go home in the morning; it’ll be easier for you find your way. There’s a lot of strange guys out here at night.”
She reached into her pocket out of habit and let out the tiniest gasp as she pulled out her cell phone. All along, she had it. She checked her messages. Nothing. She checked her calls. No one had called. She glanced one last time at the woman’s telephone.
Perhaps she would stay a little longer.