Mirrored

It's my thirteenth birthday tomorrow. Tomorrow is also Mirror Day and I truly just can not wait. I never thought about my own Mirror Day before, it was ages away and anyway, I didn't care about all the hoopla everyone makes. Besides, once someone was

Mirrored, well you know, everything changes. I decided I just didn’t care about it. I did not want a Mirror Day of my own and I told my parents so. My Mom covered her mouth fearfully, like she does when she sees a bug in our house. My Dad put his arm around her, sitting her down in His Chair at the eating table. Nobody is ever allowed to sit in Dad's Chair, except Dad of course. I nearly forgot what I had even said, I was so transfixed by the terror on my Mom's face and the fact that my Dad was hovering over her while she sat in His Chair. I could hear them whispering softly. I heard my name in the shaky timbre of Mom's voice; my Dad talking to her in a gentle way I’ve never heard before. It was just so bizarre to be honest but then seriously, I was only ten years old at the time and really, what do twelve year olds know about anything, really.

I grow bored and scrub my feet on the carpet. I like the way the color changes, depending on which way my feet move across it. Mom makes sure that everyone knows it is the very best and newest kind of floor fur ever made. I think she said it cost a gazillion dollars. She vacuums it every day and makes sure all the fabric stuff goes the same way, so the color is all unique or in sync or something like that.

Mom and Dad finally stopped whispering, I looked up to see what was going on. Mom was still sitting in Dad’s Chair. Dad was sitting in Mom's chair and he had that look, you know, the Dad Look. It’s really hard not to start giggling, they both look so uncomfortable and out of place. Mom in Dad’s imposingly massive chair and Dad perched uneasily on the edge of Mom’s ornately delicate chair. I really want to get back to whatever it was I had been doing but no, I have to stand here and wait for him to say whatever he is going to say, which seems to be taking an awful long time for him to say, too.

"Joelle," he said my name. Uh oh, this was going to be a long one. He never uses my whole, real name anymore. Everyone calls me Joe and I like that just fine.

"Joelle, look at me when I'm speaking to you."

l really need to pee and had been staring at the closed bathroom door just down the hall.

My mom always closes all the doors, even if no one is in there. Sometimes I go around and open all of them up, just to watch her go up and down the hallway closing them; then opening them again so she has to close them again. I asked her once why she did that. She looked surprised when I asked and didn't say anything at first. I thought she wasn't going to answer me, but then she looked down at her hand on the doorknob with a sort of confused look on her face and told me she was double checking to be sure the door had actually latched. I told her it had latched just fine until she had opened it again and unlatched it. She didn't much like that and said my attitude was in poor form that day so I had to stay the rest of the day in my room, which was perfectly fine with me but of course, I didn't say that to her. One thing I am not is a dead doorbell, even when I was ten. Dad was saying my name again.

"Joelle, are you listening to me? What I'm saying to you is very important. What you just said to your mother could have, would have very," he stopped, glancing at my mother.

"A very, negative impact not only on you but on this entire family. Do you understand that?" He kept looking at me with the Dad Look, waiting for me to say something.

"I just said that I'm not going to have a ..."

"STOP! You are forbidden to say those words. Never again. Don't even think them! The consequences, Joelle, you must swear to your mother and me that you'll drop this nonsense and never once say those words out loud, to anyone, even to yourself again, ever! Do you understand?"

He held both of my arms and shook me in agitation. I started to feel, not really afraid I think but angry. I didn't get what the big deal was anyway, over some stupid Mirror. I almost said that but then he shook me again, harder this time. I promised to not ever, ever say what he didn't want me to say, again. Ok, maybe I was scared some, but only for a second.

So anyway, tomorrow is my Mirror Day, I'll be thirteen. I guess I started sort of caring and wondering about it when I turned twelve years old. That was my Pre-Mirror Day birthday. Plus, over half my girlfriends had already had their Mirror Day and honestly, I was getting irritated at myself for feeling so curious. Wondering. It seemed to be all I could think about anymore. I really, truly didn't used to care; not one way or the other. But now, I couldn't think of anything else at all. I mean, I've heard stories, everyone has. We're not supposed to talk about it, but you know we do. Some of the previous girls, but no I couldn't think about them. Still, what if it happened?

What if I became ‘One of Those?’ I touched my face, my nose, my lips. My teeth felt pretty straight but it was hard to tell for sure. I could see that my hair was brown, at least toward the ends I could see it was a light brown color. A friend of mine had black hair on the bottom but the top was brilliant white. I wondered if mine would be bi-colored or maybe even tri-colored. I think it's so pretty when ...

"Oh!" I looked around my room but I was alone and, I hadn't said it out loud. I was sitting down on my bed, trembling. See, this is what Mirror Day did to you. I never had thoughts like these before, and now, it's all I can do to stop myself not just thinking it, but God, I almost said it out loud I think. I'm nearly thirteen, I should not be having these kinds of thoughts. I close my eyes tightly, so tightly I can see black stars shooting underneath my crinkled eyelids. I quickly stopped because mom always gets on me about fostering wrinkles before my Mirror time. She doesn't have any wrinkles. Not one. She is very proud of that I think, but of course I don't know for sure, it's not like she could ever say that out loud, right?

I keep looking at the clock, probably for the gazillionth time, but it is still today and not tomorrow, not my birthday yet. I look at my clock again. I like the way it ticks, each click of its hand resonates the slow passage of time until my birthday.

I like when all three hands on my clock line up together and just for a second, my clock goes completely quiet. Yes, I like that a lot; the sound of time stopped for an interminable Mirrored moment.