Reflections

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I turned my head and took a closer look, sure it was just an optical illusion. A trick of the light.

I was trying to check my clothes in the mirror. My husband complains that since I started being able to dress myself again, I had a tendency to put my clothes on inside out or backwards or both. I joke with him that it's to hide from the Fair Folk. Emma Bull said in The War for the Oaks that wearing your clothes inside out will hide you from the Fair Folk. Luckily, he never asked why I would need to hide from the Fair Folk, since I had no answer for him. Charlie says I read too much sci-fi and fantasy.

The reflection in the mirror turned her head and stared at me. She looked a little like I used to look, her hair still red, not white. Slimmer than I had been in years. Her face looked about ten years younger than mine.

The oddest thing about her were the ears and the wings. Her ears were pointed like a Vulcan's or an elf's. The wings weren't the dainty, gauzy kind you buy for your niece or daughter at Dollar Tree. Her wings were feathered and seemed to go down her whole back, the tips of the feathers reaching to the floor. Raptor's wings. I was reminded of Angelina Jolie in Disney's Maleficient. But her wings were an auburn brown, not black like a crow's. Raptor's wings, as if a younger, skinnier version of myself had been crossed with a Harris hawk.

I turned my head away from the mirror and forced my feet into bedroom slippers. My podiatrist has forbidden me to go barefoot. As I limped to the door, I cast one last glance back at the mirror. She had turned her head and was clearly watching me.

I can't say I hurried out of the bedroom. Since the stroke I don't do anything quickly. I know I'm supposed to be grateful that I'm not dead, and grateful my physical therapist got me out of the wheelchair and taught me how to walk again, but it's easier to think of what I can't do any more than to be grateful for what I can manage.

I limped to the kitchen and grabbed a clean bowl from the dishwasher. I got two packets of Peaches 'n' Cream flavored store-brand instant oatmeal. I grabbed the scissors to cut the packages open. I can't tear paper packets open anymore. Two packets worth of instant oatmeal, one packet's worth of water, three slices of frozen peaches. I put the bowl in the microwave, shut the microwave door, and set the timer. Then I saw my reflection in the microwave door. No, I didn't. I saw her reflection. I limped to the kitchen table and sat down with my back to the oven. Maybe if I couldn't see her, she'd go away.

Douglas Adams said in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy that the Ravenous BugBladder Beast of Traal is so stupid that the best way to elude one is to wrap a towel around your head, because it's so stupid it assumes if you can't see it, then it can't see you.

I stood up slowly and limped back to the microwave. I carefully got the bowl out of the microwave. Very carefully, I didn't want to burn myself. Most people think I have no sensation in the limbs affected by the stroke. Wrong-oh! I can and do feel pain on my bad side. After I closed the microwave door, I saw her reflection again. She smiled at me. That proved she wasn't me.

Since the stroke, I can't smile without conscious effort. My speech therapist and I worked on controlling the facial muscles to fake a smile. The signs of a stroke are FAST: Facial drooping, Arm weakness, Speech difficulties, and Time to call 911. The facial drooping makes smiling and enunciating correctly difficult. Like most women, I am sometimes scolded by total strangers for not smiling when they think I should. It's not worth explaining to them that smiling is difficult for me. It's none of their business. But since the stroke, women scold me as well as men. Smiling is work and when everything hurts, which is usually, I don't want to smile.

I turned my head. She was still smiling at me. Then, quick as a wink, she was gone. I saw my own blurry reflection in the microwave window. "Jim-dandy," I muttered, "now I'm hallucinating." My last MRI said my Circle of Willis was maintaining sufficient blood flow to my brain, but maybe I was having a TIA, a ransient ischemic attack. Maybe the stroke had done more damage than my neurologist realized. I carried the oatmeal to the table and sat down to eat. Maybe with something solid in my stomach, my eyes and brain with settle down.

I heard the microwave ding again, even though it was empty now. I turned, and there she stood. As I had suspected, the wings did reach all the way to the floor.

"Who are you? What are you?" I demanded. "You're not real."

"No, I'm not," she agreed calmly.. "Not as you define reality."

"I wondered if I should spread my fingers in a Vulcan salute, or quote Professor Tolkien: 'a star shines on the hour of our meeting.'

"I am not here to harm you," she said.

"Not as you define harm," I parroted her.

"Eat your porridge," she told me. ""You've kept me waiting."

"Have I?" I tried to remain calm. I wanted to throw the hot oatmeal at her and scream obscenities at the top of my lungs.

"I was beginning to think you'd never learn to dress yourself properly."

I didn't see her move, but suddenly she was beside me. She touched my hand. Her hand was icy cold.

Then everything went black.

Charlie got home late that afternoon. "Hi, honey, how was your day?"

The female that looked like his wife said, "All right. Very quiet."

"You didn't call me at lunch," he complained.

"I had nothing to tell you."

"You usually call, even if it's just to tell me what movie you're watching today."

"I don't remember the name. It was so boring I fell asleep on the couch partway through it," she fibbed.

"The doctor said when you sleep is when the brain synapses grow. That's why napping is good for babies and stroke survivors."

She nodded.

Charlie saw something on the floor and reached down to pick it up. "What's this? It looks like an eagle feather. You know, the Indians say it's good luck to find one of these. What's it doing here?"

"I think the wind blew it in when I went out to get the mail," she lied.

"I told you, don't you not to go out to fetch the mail. I can get it when I get home. What if you fell, and there was no one here to help you up."

"I did not fall," she said truthfully.

"But you might."

"Anything is possible," she allowed. "Everything is possible."