A Tale of Mirrors

Most of my family avoid mirrors like a sickness. They call them cursed objects, gateways to vanity. They say that looking in a mirror will invite restless spirits into your life, and they will steal away your soul.

The only proof they have is the folklore, but that's really all they need. Folklore is fiction mixed with belief, and it's a potent solution.

I don't know if they're right. Sometimes I feel as if I know they're wrong - a reflection is an image and nothing more. But other times, I wonder. I wonder so much that it borders on belief.

Maybe I only wonder because I wish that it were true. That spirits could reach through and take something from this world. That they really could be a source of reliable divination - good luck or bad. Because if the scary folklore is right, then maybe the reassuring holds true as well. Maybe the legends that say mirrors can be portals are true, and one day I can step into my reflection and find myself somewhere beautiful. Somewhere wonderful and completely devoid of harsh-minded people.

There is one piece of folklore that I truly believe, and it isn't really even folklore. I met a woman once who told a story about a brave hero. He was sent out on a mission to save his younger sister and faced such impossible odds that not a single other would go with him. He valiantly faced beasts and difficult terrain, but the true task was getting past the gate.

For the gate was made of fear, and in order to go through you had to conquer something you had never faced before.

The fear swirled around the hero, pulling at him and whispering at him. It covered him from head to toe and swept along his veins until it reached his beating heart, urging it to go faster, faster than it ever had before.

The hero's heart beat so fast that it began to give out, and he collapsed to his knees in front of a lake.

'Go on,' the fear whispered to him. 'Go in. Go deep.'

It urged him forward, and he was so overwhelmed that he moved rather easily. He shuffled forward, weighed down to his hands and knees, shaking hard from the shadows rioting inside of his blood, until he was right on the edge, his face above the water.

'Down,' the fear told him. 'Into the water. I'll leave you once you're in the water.'

The hero obligingly lowered farther, until his eyes could look nowhere else but at the surface of the lake.

On the surface, delicate and wavering with minuscule waves as he took labored breaths, was his own image.

Terrified. Alone. Defeated. The hero watched his own reflection as his heart broke, and on his own face, he saw such deep sorrow that for a moment, it called his attention away from the fear.

He met his own eyes, watching all of the doubt and panic in their depths. But there was something else, too - something small that he had not thought about in a long time.

A small scar above his left eye - tiny enough that no one had ever noticed or asked him about it. The only three people who had ever known about the small mark were him, his younger sister, and his own mother.

He remembered how scared his sister had been that day - much like he was at this moment. How the fear that he could see in the silver water below had shadowed her light blue eyes and paled her skin. He remembered how worried he had been, because she was surrounded by crumbling walls, and the ground was shaking hard enough to displace even the sturdiest of stone.

'Jump,' he had told her, his hands out. They were trembling, but she was too far away to see that. 'I'll catch you. I promise.'

The fear in her eyes had only increased, but she had closed them tight. And when they opened again, the fear was accompanied by trust and courage. Enough courage for her to jump, just as the wall gave way underneath her feet.

His sister had tumbled, screaming as bricks and clay fell around her, and he had run forward to catch her.

She landed safely in his arms, and a piece of glass had fallen with the other rubble and cut him, so that blood poured down and half-obscured his vision.

His sister had been so frightened by the incident that she had nightmares for weeks, but each night the fear in her eyes grew smaller. Until one day, there was no fear, and her smile came without strain.

The hero watched his reflection and wondered if the fear in his eyes would also fade. If one day he could think back on this day and smile, though it was the most awful thing he had ever felt.

The longer the hero looked at his own reflection, the less fear he felt. And gradually, fighting against the lethargic drag of his limbs and the painful beat of his heart, he straightened.

He looked at his reflection one last time, standing tall, and saw only courage in his eyes, for it had shown him his darkest, most breakable self, and given him a reprieve. 'Go on,' it seemed to say. 'You've seen what you can be. Now go see what you can do.'

So he bid goodbye to the silver lake, and that was the day he saved his younger sister again.

It was a good story.

The woman who told it sounded so knowing - as if she could see what was inside people just as sure as the lake could, and she knew that I could see it too.

And so, just like every night since she told me about the hero, I'm sitting next to the lake.

I always see fear - it is dark, and painful to see. In the light of the moon, I am always pale. The image looks small and breakable. The words of the day echo in my head; show in my eyes.

'Look at her - the girl with unusual eyes.'

'I bet your parents mourned your birth.'

'You are the ugliest daughter.'

'You were our punishment for your father's faulty crop.'

'You are a curse on this family.'

'The only use you will have is to bring us money the day you are sold.'

The words always fill me, speeding up my heart and pouring into my eyes. Pouring out into the world, crashing inside me until I feel too heavy to stand. And so I come to the lake, and I watch it in my own eyes.

I watch it until I understand it, and then it is not so heavy. By the time the moon is halfway down the sky, I can stand again.

But last night I stayed longer. I watched more. I looked for more.

And tonight - although now the night is almost over - I have stayed much longer. Almost long enough for the moon to disappear behind the trees.

Today is the day I am meant to be sold. I am meant to be discarded and thrown away, because I am flawed.

But tonight, I have lightened the fear. I can stand. And for the first time, I think that maybe I have what the hero had inside of him - I think I have courage.

The longer I watch, the more I see, and what I see surprises me a little.

Because I see courage. And I see anger and hope and resolve.

I see everything I need.

So as the moon descends, and the sky begins to color with pink and orange, I take one last look into my faithful lake, which has helped me for so many months and years.

And I don't just stand anymore. I don't leave my lake to go back to a dark home, where I will collect the fear as I've done my entire life. I don't go back to the place that weighs me down so fast I can barely stand it.

I stand up - and I leave to find a home with light.

I leave to find a place where I can smile again.