Looking Glass

Since my creation I dreamed of this moment. To be selected.

~

A woman peers at me through the thin sheet of cellophane protecting me from dust and fingerprints. I can only watch and wait, she turns my packaging this way and that, giving me a better view of the store than I have ever had, then a view of my clones on the rack. Her words are muffled through the packaging and to my disappointment I am put on the shelf and she walks away.

The next person is a man, he picks me up with a smile, then opens my arms and puts me on his nose, my hands rest gently on his ears, and for the first time I feel I belong. My eyes see what his eyes see, he turns to look at the mirror and strikes a pose.

“How do I look, hun?” He asks the woman standing behind him.

“Like a dork.” She replies with a grin.

“Perfect.” He props me up on his forehead and continues with his shopping.

I have been selected. I watch the shelves of food and clothing zip by, before I am placed on a moving black platform and picked up by another, and dropped into a bag. Am I already discarded? Was that my purpose?

I am pulled from the constrictive white plastic prison a few moments later, and to my surprise my own plastic covering is removed. My arms embrace the man’s face and I get to look at the world beyond a thick sheet of protective glass. He takes me and the woman to a meal, it looks like the fanciest place I could ever think I would visit, and I get to look at it all, from the top of the man’s head. He slides me from his eyes up onto his head the moment they step into the dimly lit interior. Booths filled with other people, couples chatting, and full families with boisterous children, even a single older gentleman sitting alone reading a book.

“Welcome to Chili’s.” The hostess says and takes the couple to a booth.

~

The man takes me everywhere with him over the coming weeks. We go for walks every evening with his dog. We go for drives to a place he calls work every morning, and home every afternoon. On the days they call the weekend we go hiking. These are my favorite days.

I protect his eyes from the brightness of the sun above, and I get to enjoy the sights. Trees, birds, a waterfall, a large hole he called the Grand Canyon, and views of colorful sunsets that often brought the woman to tears.

~

He slides me up onto his forehead and leans on his woman’s shoulder. I take in the view of the mountains in the distance, and the river rushing beneath the bridge they have stopped on. I see a bird circling far overhead, I wonder for a moment what it would be like to fly. The man pulls out his phone and holds it up in front of them. I love when he takes pictures of me. I always look so reflective and shiny. He has taken care to make sure my eyes stay clean and undamaged.

He tilts his head to the side, my hands start to slip on his hair, I try to grip him tighter but I’m slipping. He chuckles and fixes me on his head before taking another photo. I hold him tight when he puts me on his nose, holding him close. I am safe.

They stop for lunch at an overlook, the river far below us. I can see for miles across a valley filled with green leafed trees and mossy boulders. I see movement of animals in the distance, and more birds ride the wind that pulls at the man and woman’s clothes. He takes me from his head and places me on the rock beside his bag.

He pulls a small box from his bag and gets down on one kneel. The woman’s eyes fill with tears before she throws her arms around him and plants her mouth against his. They jump and yell for joy at the top of their mountain. I wish I could jump and yell for joy with them, but I do not know why they are so happy.

They grab their bags from the rock, the man’s bag bumps me and I start to slide from the stone and he does not notice, lost in his mirth and the tears of the woman beside him. I slip onto the pebbles below and bounce a few feet down the slope. As I tumble I see the couple walk away hand in hand.

I come to rest among some pebbles and a wildflower. The orange flower waves like a candle flame in the breeze, lighting the way for insects to come and drink from its petals. I notice for the first time that I have a spot in my eye, part of my eye got scratched in the fall. It does not prevent me from seeing, but I wish I could rub it away.

~

Days pass before I see anything but the waving flower beside me. A deer grazes a few feet from me, its fuzzy brown ears flicking this way and that, listening for danger. Its herd mates graze behind me, others behind her. It is nice to have company again.

A cold wet nose nudges me, hot air blasts against my eyes fogging them for a moment. The young buck that is searching the pebbles for any pine seeds will not find any on me, but he still picks my arm up in his mouth and chews at me. I want to scream, I want to strike him with my other arm and teach him not to put strange things in his mouth, but to no avail. He stands with me in his mouth, stops chewing for a moment, and spins his head. I dangle from his jaws as another buck releases a loud trumpeting noise through the still morning air.

The herd starts to run, the young buck still has my arm lodged in his cheek. I cannot get loose as he thunders through the trees with the others. Howls of their pursuers hot on their heels, as I get bumped and jostled I can see some of the wolves chasing the herd, the young buck has little to worry about. He leaps tall logs and twists around tree trunks like water through a stream.

The buck stops at a stream with the rest of the herd, panting hard he shakes his head, sending me flying free from his cheek. I no longer need to wonder what it feels like to fly, the air rushes through my arms and the world flows by. I am weightless, no strain on my shoulders from holding up my heavy eyes, no scratching rocks rubbing at my sides, just soft air.

Splash.

I am still weightless, as I float like a leaf, the movement of the water catches my eyes and takes me away from the drinking herd. I bump off rocks and sticks in the water, tumbling through bubbling torrents. I worry one of my arms might snap when I get stuck on a rock, my arm strains in the wrong direction but a torrent of bubbles from above lifts me out of the rock and on my way. I tumble and spin, the watery world around me a blur of brown and gray, before coming to rest at the bottom of the river, where it is wide and slow.

I stare up at my new watery home. Fish flick towards the surface in an attempt to catch insects. One large humpbacked salmon swims towards me, its large round eye staring at my own, it’s gills working to take breath in the water, before another humpbacked male races towards him and they drive each other away into the water.

I remain wedged in the silt and the current buries my arms until only my eyes peek out of the silt. I watch the salmon get larger, they gather in large numbers in the water over me. The big jawed males fight for spots near the front of their congregation. They are a storm of red and brown scales and like a storm they decide to move on with the current. They fight their way upstream the way I had come, I would warn them of the strength of the river if I could, but they swim by, determined to continue their own journey.

When the salmon have gone the water is quiet, the ever flowing force of the river does not care that it still buries me in its grasp. The fish that remain dart towards me from time to time, thinking my shining eyes are beetles lost in this watery grave. They bump me on occasion, keeping my eyes just above the silt when they rock me up into the dusty water.

~

I am not sure how long it has been since the salmon left, time has little meaning in this place. The water keeps flowing and the fish hunt for their insect prey at the surface. Then they scatter as long thin legs step into the water. Thick black rubber protects from the frigid water, small fish and insects start to appear at random in the water, always making their way towards one of these rubber legged creatures, before vanishing from the water to appear somewhere else in the water a moment later.

One trout darts for one of these strange insects and is rewarded not by a meal but by being dragged from the water by a rubber clad creature. A rubbed boot presses into the silt beside me, and I feel my body shift, my arms slide free of the silt and I see up the long rubber leg. Blurry through the rippling surface of the river, I can make out arms and a pale skinned head. Humans walking in the river. Notice me, I hoped, please take me with you, return me to my person. They do not see me, they only look down to pull a fish from the water, I am not what they seek. When the fisherman moves again, I am lifted into the current and taken a few feet down stream. My arms catch on some pebbles and I come to rest in a hollow beneath some gnarled roots.

The rubber legged humans leave and return for days, but none notice me, as their boots kick up the silt and pebbles of the river. I watch them stand still and cast their dancing lures into the water. Most of the trout are smart, older, wise to the humans and their tricks, and they hide in the deep water near me. The young are not so clever and fall for the fisherman’s game, chasing their lures through the water with wide open mouths. When the fishermen leave the large fish return to their usual routes around the wide lazy part of the river. I have a clear view of the river from my resting place beneath the gnarled roots. My right eye is blurry from a scratch that runs across it, and there is a chip out of my left eyes, but the water’s beauty is not lost to my eyes.

The sun has just risen when thin scaled legs dip gently into the water ten feet away. The fish huddle in the roots beside me. They press against each other, mouths opening and closing as they gasp for air but try not to move. The legs grow closer, and I can just make out the strange curved white shape over the water. I would have swam away in fear if I could, as a black spear plunges into the water followed by a white head and beady black eyes. It snaps at a small fish and pulls it from the water. The school scatters further into the shadows, and the white shape on stilts stands still in the water. The jabbing sword like beak stabs into the water once more, this time grabbing me, my shining eyes must look like scales. I am pulled from the water by my right arm, and I dangle from the beak of the stork. The bird squawks and shakes its head vigorously.

The wind does not feel as free this time, as water clings to my grim covered arms. My eyes are not as clear out of the water, the branches of the trees do not seem as clear. The sky is cloudy and gray, the air cold against my eyes as I sour through the air towards the rocky shore. I clatter to the stone, my loose left eye pops free of my head, I can do nothing as the thin dark sheet bounces away and wedges between some pebbles. I see my reflection in the lens, one good eye, dirty with a layer of algae and silt, my right arm is bent up at an odd angle. There is no pain, just acceptance, as I watch the sunrise through gray clouds over a forest of gold and orange. The gray soon becomes a torrent of white.

The snow buries me, and blinds me to everything. I am lost, I am broken, but I served my purpose.