Reflection

The mirror came with the money, there was no way around it. Rachel had been right, it was creepy. John was a little over six feet tall and it stood higher than him. Dulled brass curved along the top, ending in a five point crown. The top two corners were decorated with open hands and the bottom of the mirror was supported by clawed feet. A few dark spots could be seen along the sides of the glass, but otherwise the reflection he saw of himself was clear. A little, black book had been affixed to the back with a ridiculous amount of tape and he had hoped to find some answers in there about the strange piece of furniture. He had flipped through it once on the day it was delivered and, seeing it empty, tossed it onto the bedside table next to what used to be Rachel’s side of the bed. Thinking of Rachel brought up the memory of their last conversation and he cringed.

“I can’t do this anymore, John,” she had said through tears. “Something has taken hold of you, or maybe it was already there. I don’t know.”

He hadn’t cried. He didn’t even feel angry. Hell, if anything, he thought of the money he might be saving. It wasn’t until she was gone that the sting of loneliness set itself in his chest. His brain understood she was leaving, but his heart was less informed.

She had been the one who insisted they go out more. She had wanted to spend the money more than he had, adding more plans to their wedding. More flowers here. More guests there. Another bridesmaid. He didn’t think he had been unreasonable in his response. Why spend so much on the wedding when they have their whole lives to get on with. It wasn’t the questioning of these extra expenses that caused her to leave, though. She claimed that he loved his newfound wealth more than her.

“All you care about is how much you have left for yourself,” she had yelled. “How big you think it makes you look.”

“I care about our future,” he had argued.

“Our future? We rarely see each other anymore. Even when we do, your eyes are glued to that stupid phone of yours.”

Nothing he had said seemed to matter. She had already made up her mind. He was simply being protective of their future, and she couldn’t see that.

Now, staring at the mirror, he saw no reflection of the ring he was currently turning over and over again in his hand. All he saw was himself, sitting on his bed, in his creaseless new suit looking poorer than he had before the antique came into his house.

He had no idea why his great aunt had left him something so strange. The money he understood, though it was unexpected. He had no idea anyone in his family had that kind of money. His mother had raised him and his sister alone and poor. He remembered her crying at the beginning of every school year because she couldn’t afford new clothes for them. Why didn’t his great aunt offer any financial assistance then?

Paying off his remaining school loans and allowing for a few repairs in the house had cost him twenty-five grand, nearly half the amount he had received from the old woman, and he remembered the mass of guilt that rose into his throat with each transaction. Still, being free from debt and being able to use his downstairs bathroom filled him with pride. He didn’t know his father growing up, but he suddenly felt like a man a father would be proud of.

After paying off his debts, he bought a new car and gave his old one to his sister, who didn’t seem as grateful as he thought she should be. The car only needed a few repairs and certainly she could manage. It wasn’t his fault this aunt of theirs hadn’t left her anything. The woman was likely old fashioned and wanted to leave her legacy to the oldest or the closest male of the family. Perhaps she had no idea Margaret even existed.

“I have children,” his sister had said when he began to explain the repairs needed for the car. “I don’t have room for extra expenses.”

“Having children was your choice, Maggie,” He had told her. “As was raising them alone.”

It was after he had hung up on his sister, that differences in the mirror became apparent. He remembered sitting on his bed just like he was now. He had been wearing the same new suit and facing the mirror, thinking about how Maggie hadn’t even said ‘thank you’ for the car. His offense had been interrupted when he noticed that the painting on the opposite wall was missing. His sister’s children had painted it for him when he moved into the house, having no money for anything he had actually needed. Now it was gone. He had turned to face the wall it had been on and saw it perfectly in its place. Looking back at the mirror, he realized only its reflection had disappeared.

His stomach soured. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to evict these memories out of his mind. They refused to leave just as the mirror in front of him refused to show reality. He ran his hands through his hair and looked away. Sleep. I just need sleep. He hadn’t slept in days. Every night he lay in his bed, all he could think about was Rachel and his sister. Even work had become dull and he had tossed and turned looking for some peace to set his mind on.

“Is that a new suit?” He remembered Neil asking.

“Yes. I figured I would allow myself some indulgence.”

“Aw, surely you have more room for indulgence than that, Johnny? Let’s go out after work and celebrate. I’ll even buy the first round.”

This is what he had been afraid of. Sure, Neil would buy the first round, then he would be expected to spend his new money as if he owed it to others. If he had learned anything from his mother, it was that people take advantage of the generous. She died a poor woman. He refused to have such an end.

“No, thanks, Neil. I’m pretty busy tonight and the rest of this week. Meeting with investors and paying off loans and such.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem. Maybe next week sometime, then.”

John went home alone that afternoon and would do the same the weeks following it. The friends he had once had at work stopped asking him to go out. Over time, plaques, framed diplomas, and pictures of friends that had lined his walls disappeared from the mirror’s view. He turned around and saw them hanging, but felt nothing. All sense of accomplishment and connection felt wasted.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He finally had what he wanted. He had the money to live a successful life and to be respected. He finally had new clothes and a new car. He looked like a man anyone would be proud to know, but felt less like a person than he ever had. Even staring at the numbers on the bank account app in his phone, something he had once been obsessed with, left him unsatisfied.

His fingers kept playing with the ring, needing the feel of the metal to prove its existence. Finally, he stood up and looked away his jaw sore from clenching. He grabbed a blanket and threw it over the mirror. Crazy or not, he refused to let the delusion make him feel worse. He placed the ring back in its box on the table, ready to be returned, when he heard the swish of the blanket falling to the ground. He stared back at it as if it were an insolent child before falling to his knees.

“What? What do you want?” He sobbed. He hadn’t cried in years, but now he was alone. No one would know, save the mirror in front of him. He tore off his jacket, heat building in his chest. His eyes grew wide as he caught site of his bed, the only remaining object in the mirror at this point, beginning to vanish.

“No, no…” he said shaking his head. He knew it had been coming. He had not found rest in anything recently. Maybe the mirror did show reality.

He fell forward, his face to the floor and his arms covering his head. He had worked so hard to keep what finally allowed him some security. He had struggled and lost everything for the sake of being this man, who people respected. So where was it? Where was the respect? The honor? The love?

His mother’s dying face came to mind as he continued to sob. She had died a poor woman, but she smiled the whole time she had been sick. Her funeral had been full of people she had helped, regardless of her own situation. People who had loved her.

He sat back up and looked at his reflection. No smile. Just lines on his face and bags under his eyes. He saw nothing but a well-dressed beggar. He blinked remaining tears away, his dry eyes the only part of his body he could feel. Everything else felt numb. Then he saw the book. He had forgotten about its existence until then. Rachel must have set it on the blanket when she was packing her things.

Desperate, he grabbed for it. If the reflection in the mirror had changed, maybe the book had as well. Maybe it was no longer empty. A cold chill ran down his neck into his arms. What if opening it wasn’t a good idea? If the mirror had caused him this much grief, could this little book do the same? He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He fingered the cover for a moment before finally pulling it open, holding his breath.

Blank. He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. He flipped through it and nearly slammed the book closed when he noticed the markings on the inside of the back cover.

“Closed fists are often empty,” was all it said.

There was no name, just the words carved into the black leather. Had they always been there? He looked back to the mirror, staring at the brass hands and crown at the top.

He reached over and pulled a pen from his crumpled jacket. Turning to the first page of the book, he began writing the names that had been keeping him awake. The names he wished he had thought about more than the money he had been afraid they were after. It was his own fear that had done this to him, after all, not the mirror or the people it had shown vanishing from his life.

Pulling out his phone, he found the numbers he should have been looking at all along. Scrolling through his contacts, he found his sister’s phone number. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his throat tighten. He let out a loud breath before pushing the call button.