I could hear Junie talking to herself in her room. As usual, she directed comments to her twin sister, Julie, who died three months before. It was heartbreaking to hear.
I decided today was the day to help her understand that Julie wasn’t returning—ever. I dreaded this conversation with my child, as she and her sister were very close. Being a single mom, though, I couldn’t wait until things became more serious.
So I went to her bedroom door and was fixing to knock when I heard my daughter addressing herself as Julie and herself. It was a little creepy. I almost held my hand before knocking on her door and walked away—almost. Instead, I knocked and entered the room.
What I witnessed next was beyond comprehension. Junie, standing before her mirror, turned to face me. To my horror, her reflection also stared back, meeting my gaze. Junie, seemingly oblivious, asked if I needed anything, while her reflection tilted its head in a chillingly unnatural manner.
I was freaked out and wanted to scream. Then the reflection asked me if everything was ok, and I fainted.
Since the incident, I’ve covered the mirrors in our house. I told Junie not to remove the blankets from them, either. I don’t know whether to make an appointment with a psychologist or a priest.
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Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
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Comments (8)
ROCK is here! 💪 Hand me the mirrors! Shivers in me spine!
I'm with Jason. Start with a rock.
I suggest a rock first, then a priest, rabbi, monk and anyone else willing to assist.
Creeeepy
The priest for sure, lol. That was so freaking creepy. I would have died 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
Opt for the priest...lol
That was so creepy 😱. Loved it !
Holy Moly! I think I'd be binning the mirrors let alone covering them. This was super creepy and I loved it!