Broken Mirrors

Broken Mirrors

         As I approached the house, I knew something was wrong.  All the lights in the house were on and the curtains were all closed.  I rarely left the house without opening all the curtains, and I never left the front door open.  I might occasionally leave the light on, but not all of them.  At school, when the police came to give us safety tips, they always said that if you came to your house and something felt wrong, you should turn around and not enter without calling the police.  But surely, a quick look inside wouldn’t do any harm.

         I crossed the entry and was immediately struck by the broken hallway mirror.  It was a large mirror that gave me my last opportunity to fix a disastrous ensemble.  I stepped across this glass to enter into the dining room off to the left.  I had several smaller mirrors in this room and they were broken as well.  I circled around to the right to enter the living room and was frozen in place.  All the mirrors were broken.  There was glass strewn about the living room as though someone had rushed through the house, and not liking what they saw, struck the glass with all the force of the disappointed.  Other than the broken mirrors, nothing seemed disturbed.

         I walked lightly and slowly, ever ready to turn and run, or change direction without thought or foresight, as I entered each room.  I’d been walking with trepidation for a while, but it was not as though I could spend the rest of my life living with the lights on.  Darkness had its solitude, even if that solitude was draped in the darkest of blue and the soberest of violet.

         It was beyond belief how anyone broke into the house and didn’t leave a mark to tell you how they entered.  Surely, they didn’t have a key.  The keys were no longer made at-large; only I knew how to make them.  I wanted to find some comfort in that thought, but all I found was confusion.  If only I could remember why that bothered me?

         Sitting on the couch, being careful not to sit on any glass, I took another look around me.  I couldn’t figure out why I was so bothered.  People came and people went and houses were places they came into and went out of.  It was just broken glass and all the superstitious stories about seven years of bad luck didn’t really apply to me.  If anyone was blessed, it was me.  I hadn’t broken the mirrors.  But, if I hadn’t broken the mirrors, why did all this seem so familiar to me?  It was like déjà vu.  I could feel it, even if I couldn’t know it.  I had yet to call the police.

         I began to squint my eyes as the enormity of the broken mirrors began to sink in, pursing them tightly to keep from crying.  It never worked before, but this time, my eyes were so dry; all the squinting did was scratch them.  I felt some comfort in that.  At least, there weren’t any tears.  I’d probably get corneal abrasions again, but at least I wasn’t crying.

         Suddenly, I stood up.  I brushed myself off.  I had to do something.  I had to do something with myself, but I just couldn’t figure out what it was.  Maybe I should call them.  Calling for a little advice was good.  They told me it was.  I hadn’t called that many times since I came home.  A simple phone call would help it all make sense.  It would.  It always did. 

         I hadn’t walked very far from the couch when I sat back down again.  It was like bugs were crawling up my legs.  I sat on my hands to keep them from shaking.  I took out my cell phone, but I didn’t remember the number.  Just as soon as it formed in my mind, it was whisked away like a puff of cigarette smoke, there, but undecipherable.  Gosh, I could do with a smoke.  Just one puff and I would be fine.  Just one puff and I would be…I would be on my way to smoking three packs a day, one cigarette used to light the next.  I’d be running around collecting cigarette butts from people who had who knew what viral sores on their lips, what ulcers on their tongues, or holes in their teeth.  It was a spiral merry-go-round and all I had to give, as my nickel for a ride, was my lungs, my health, and my sanity.  I knew it.  I’d been there before.  I’d been here before.

         I stood up again.  I brushed myself off again.  Ow, a small shard of glass in my palm.  How did that get there?  A memory, but then it just fades like all the others.  I had to do something.  Maybe I should run upstairs and look up there.  Didn’t somebody live with me?  Maybe they were upstairs.  Maybe the upstairs was fine. I had to do something with myself, but I just couldn’t figure out what it was.  Oh my, I was repeating myself.  I was swirling around like ice cubes in a glass of what; Spicy gin, dry vodka, or a glass of Puerto Rican rum?  Oh, now I could taste it, scalding alcohol coursing down my throat and burning my esophagus, entry to my ulcerated stomach.  Stop thinking!  Did I hear something or someone?  There’s nothing in the house.  Nobody lives with me.  Nobody lives with me.  The house is empty.  There’s nothing in your stomach. You threw everything up.  There’s nothing in your head.  They took it all away.  They’d promised.  You told them to take it. 

         Focus on something, anything.  I can’t see!  I can’t see!  Turn on the lights.  Turn them on!  They’re on!  Oh, I’m covering my eyes …with my hands.  I’m laughing.  I’m laughing hysterically.  I’m out of control.

         Sing.  Sing something.  Pop goes the weasel.  That sounds good.  It’s easy.  I know all the words.  Yeah, now that’s it, around and around the mulberry bush.  They’d taught me that somewhere.  It’s amazing it works.  I can feel my pulse coming down, round and around the mulberry bush.  Good, my head’s not pounding anymore.  I don’t feel my tense diaphragm anymore and my abdominals don’t ache from the strain.  It’s easy.  You don’t have to think about breathing.  It’s natural.  It takes care of itself.  You can’t forget it.  Just let it flow.  Let it flow.  I didn’t like those mirrors anyway; always staring at me.  Somebody did me a favor.  I know they did.  Just who was it?  It seemed like something I'd do, but did I?  Yes or no?  Neither answer is particularly comforting.  Where’s my phone?