One-Hundred Days

You’re standing in front of the mirror again. You stare into it, eyes flickering from corner to corner, across its gold-plated frame. You never like the frame, but you said it was from your grandmother, and you never give up anything from family.

I watch you from the hallway. I can see you and I can see your reflection. I can see how your hand runs across your face and then down through your chest, over and under the bumps and curves that form your body. I can see how your eyelids move closer together, squinting in the dim light to see the things you never want to see. I wonder why you bother taking the time to do these things, to stare at yourself when you know you will only walk away disappointed, grabbing at every part of your body and grimacing.

I watch from my hidden piece of the hallway as you brace your palms against the wooden table. You hang your head beneath your shoulders, your eyes closed. I can see the gears turning inside of your mind, preparing yourself for the sight you are bound to see no matter how hard you try to avoid it. You lift your head to face yourself, the reflection bouncing off the glass in front of you. I see the tears fall from the corner of your eyes, marking their tracks along your cheeks to your chin. I watch as they fall to the floor.

You whisper beneath your breath “Who are you?” over and over again. You whisper through gritted teeth and slit eyes, anger seeping from every syllable. It drips from your lips onto the table and loosens your grip.
I watch inside my hidden piece of hallway as you shake your head, teeth and fists clenched, bones being ground into powder. I watch as you lift your head higher and speak a little louder.

I watch as you scream that one question over and over again into an unflinching reflection. It mirrors every move and every word and never shies away from a single guttural threat or word. I watch as you scream in vain, screaming who am I, who am I, and thousand times over. I want to walk over to you, take your shoulders in my hands, turn you around and tell you that no matter how many times you ask, the answer will never be quite right, will never be quite what you want it to be.

I wonder, do you find it unsettling to look in the mirror and see a stranger? Do you find it scary to see a stranger that mimics your every movement, every word, every breath, perfectly on cue with no delay of thought, as it is the same as yours. Tell me, does it scare you, my dear, to know that you will never know who you are, and that this mirror with the golden you never liked but could never give because you don’t give away things from family (especially not the dead ones) is simple three-dimensional proof of that? Does it scare you to know that you will never be able to escape from that stranger that follows you in your shadow and shows herself inside the glass?

I wonder as I watch you dig your nails into the wall and take the mirror from its nails. I watch as you take off the frame and place it on the floor as gently as a baby. I watch as you walk out of the hallway, and follow you towards the backyard. You hold the mirror in both hands, stranger side down, and I watch as you throw it into the alleyway sitting on the edge of the lawn like a gaping mouth.

You walk back inside, and hang the empty frame on the wall.
I watch, wondering.

You take notice of me and say, “Never throw things away from family.”