Mirrors

Mirrors (word count: 1,387)

The mirror laughs at me. I’m wearing my blue dress, the light cotton one with tiny yellow flowers and no sleeves. Tony likes this dress, but the mirror is mocking me for it, telling me I’m fat and that I should hide my flabby arms.

I hate mirrors.

I rummage through the hotel closet, looking for something else to wear. I have to look my best today. For Tony. I don’t want to disappoint him, and I don’t want to make him angry with me either. So I have to look just right, no matter what the mirror says. The mirror says I will never look right.

I hate mirrors.

My pink dress has wrinkles on it from the long flight. The mirror says I have wrinkles from the long flight, and I lean in to look for them. They are around my eyes, making them look a little puffy, and a little wrinkled. The mirror says I look like a witch from a fairy tale, or one of Cinderella’s step-sisters.

I hate mirrors.

Tony says it’s jet lag. “Los Angeles to Sicily is no jump across a mud puddle,” he said. “That’s not a very Italian saying,” I told him. He told me to watch my tongue. He says that a lot and I try to, but sometimes things slip out before I can stop them. The mirror says I deserve the fading bruises on my arms, remnants of other things that slipped.

I hate mirrors.

I show the pink dress to the mirror and it laughs at me again. I slip out of my blue dress and into the pink one, taking extra care to hang the blue one up in the right place. The mirror tells me I’ve done it wrong so I check it again. It looks right to me. The mirror laughs.

I hate mirrors.

With the pink dress on, I don’t notice the wrinkles very much. The mirror says they are an eyesore and Tony will be angry. I think it will be okay. Tony bought me this dress especially for this trip, so I have to assume he wants his parents to see me in it. The mirror says my calves look like elephant umbrella stands.

I hate mirrors.

I pull both pairs of sandals out of the closet and take them to the mirror. The white sandals have an open toe and a sling-back heel. They show off my painted toe nails. The nail polish bottle called the color “cotton candy”. It’s a much softer color than my dress. It shimmers a little. The mirror says the color clashes with my dress. The mirror also says my toes are ugly and I should hide them.

I hate mirrors.

The other sandals are brown. The toes and back are covered, but they look wrong with the bright pink dress. I put them back in the closet, exactly where I pulled them from. The mirror laughs. I put on the white sandals and check the mirror again. The mirror says I look like a wad of chewing gum. I suppose I do, but I hope Tony doesn’t think so. I check my watch, the one with the thin silver band and the opalescent face. I need to go; Tony wants me in the lobby in two minutes. The mirror laughs again and says I will be late.

I hate mirrors.

Downstairs in the lobby, everything looks grand: old and grand like a favorite family story told only on special occasions. The carpet is a rich burgundy with a winding gold design snaking its way around the room. To my left the carpet fails and a marble floor frames in a charming sitting area. There are four plush, elegant chairs with cherry wood frames and high straight backs. Famous paintings hang importantly on the handsomely carved pillars at the corners of the area. Against the wall, a velvet upholstered settee fits comfortably under a magnificent gilded mirror. The mirror says not to come over; I might ruin something.

I hate mirrors.

I stare at the carpet and wait for Tony. I worry that I was late and he left without me, but I was careful with the time so I don’t think he did. All around me, people are whispering in languages I don’t understand. By the door, a young couple make love with their eyes while they wait for something. I wonder if they will be meeting his or her parents soon. I wonder if they will be met by a huge family of people they hardly know. I wonder if that makes them nervous. The mirror informs me I should be nervous: if Tony’s family doesn’t like me, he will leave me.

I hate mirrors.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tony entering the lobby from another area of the hotel. He motions me towards the impressive glass entryway and the busy street beyond. I move quickly to join him. He came out of the lounge so I move a little faster. He clasps my hand as we meet in front of the revolving door. His eyes sparkle; he is happy and not drunk. I smile at him. “Tulip,” he says. “You look lovely.” The mirror disagrees.

I hate mirrors.

Standing in the doorway of his parents’ house, I can hardly breathe. Tony holds my hand so tight that my fingertips are going numb. I’m glad; it shows he cares. His mother towers over me, speaking so fast that it doesn’t matter what language it is, I don’t understand her. She fluffs my hair and says something to Tony. He is grinning like the Cheshire cat so she must be saying something good. The mirror in the hall behind her says she is making fun of me.

I hate mirrors.

Tony’s father has lots of very black hair springing up all over his head, wild, like Tony’s. Tony introduces me to him and I smile. I want to make a good impression. He flashes me a huge grin, full of teeth that are crooked like Tony’s. Then he and Tony kiss on each cheek, like you see in the movies. I thought that was just a Hollywood thing, but now I know better. Behind Tony’s father, an endless crowd of family members has gathered to meet Tony’s American fiancée. Everyone laughs and talks very fast in Italian and I don’t know what they are saying. They seem happy so I smile, too. The mirror tells me they are pretending to like me and saying mean things.

I hate mirrors.

Now we are sitting around the table. There is more food here for the family than at all of our Thanksgiving meals we ever had at home combined. Tony is drinking wine. His family tries to talk to me, but I don’t know what they’re saying. Sometimes Tony tells me. His mother says I am a bird. I don’t know if she means because I am too scared to eat or because I am stupid like a bird. The mirror in the hallway, just around the corner, says I am stupid.

I hate mirrors.

Tony’s father points to my hair and says something to me in Italian. He is smiling. I nudge Tony: “What did he say?” Tony looks at me. The twinkle is gone from his eye. He has had a lot of wine. I don’t know if I should smile or not. I smile. He smiles back and asks his father to repeat himself. Then he laughs and says my hair is very red. I wonder if that is a good thing. The mirror says it means I am temperamental and it was not a compliment.

I hate mirrors.

Soon, Tony’s family stops talking to me. I don’t understand them and they don’t understand me and Tony has had too much wine to translate. They are talking to each other now, in Italian. They don’t look happy anymore and their voices are getting louder. Tony’s mother points at me and says something. Tony growls in my ear, “Eat, dammit, you’re insulting her cooking by not eating.” He is angry. They are all angry. The mirror in the hall says it’s a good thing I brought long sleeves.

I hate mirrors.

I hate that they are right.


------------
Notes:

I think the formatting of this story is important to it. I have been told it makes it blur the edge between poetry and prose. Not sure if that was a compliment or not. Because of the formatting though, I have "bent" punctuation rules, especially for dialog and paragraph breaks. I'm also concerned that makes it hard to read those areas. Suggestions?

Any and all comments are appreciated and welcomed! This is one of my first pieces put up on WDC - how exciting! Thanks again to Anonymous for my upgrade!!