REPOST: The Man in the Mirror

(This was originally published in December of 2020 as part of the Chaucer’s Christmas collection. It is reposted now because I recently typed into a short physical copy and wanted to share it again)

The mirror had worn many faces in its existence. The first was the man who peered into it as he polished the glass, making sure it was ready for final production and finishing. He had a thick, red beard streaked with grey, and smiling blue eyes. Other faces came and went, but none looked at it as intently as that first man.

After a wood exterior was placed around it, it was placed inside the men’s bathroom at a high-end restaurant. It sat above the marble sinks and stared at door. There, with water flicked onto its glass and soap smudging its picture, it reflected hundreds – thousands – of faces.

It reflected the health inspector, inspecting the building to prepare it for opening. In the privacy of the bathroom, he whispered his personal opinion to himself. “I hope this place succeeds.”

The owner, an older man with crow’s feet and a bulbous nose, came in shortly after. “We did it,” he said, leaning conspiratorially to the mirror. “We have our own restaurant, you old devil, you.” He laughed as he left, throwing a glance over his shoulder. As he swelled his chest with pride, the mirror made him look how he felt – victorious and ready to take on the world.

Faces came and went. Most just washed their hands, checked their hair, then left. Others would lean close to the mirror and check their teeth for spots or blemishes. One or two would wink at themselves while wiggling their eyebrows and straightening their jackets.

The mirror didn’t care for these faces. It wore them out of duty, but without any real pleasure or fulfillment. No, the mirror loved those faces that let down their guard in front of themselves. When the only other person in the room was their face, the mirror found people where more willing to show their true colors.

Like the young man who came in, nervously playing with his tie. As he washed his hands, he whispered words of encouragement to himself. The mirror’s lips moved in perfect unison as he did. “You can do this,” he told himself. “Yeah.” He reached into the left inner pocket and his eyes went wide. “I know I had it,” he said, frantically patting himself. He let out a sigh as he touched the area of his right inner pocket. His friendly green eyes beaming with relief, he reached in and pulled out a small, dark box. He flipped it open and looked at the ring one last time, then lifted his eyes to meet his own. “I can do this,” he said.

The mirror made him look more confident, more ready to take on the task at hand. He put the box back in its pocket, then let out a breath, relaxing his shoulders. He was obviously still nervous, but excited at the same time. He pushed out the door, and the mirror, if it a face of its own, would have smiled to itself.

At least two or three times a year, the mirror witnessed that same action, or something similar. Every time, it made the man look more confident of themselves. And every time, they left with the same mix of nerves and self-assurance. The mirror very rarely knew the outcome, unless the cleaning crew were talking about it as they came through in the evening.

But the mirror didn’t only crave the good times. Indeed, it liked the opportunity to see the darker side of emotions and do it’s best to raise people out of them.

A man, dressed in a dark suit, came in and locked the door, then wilted, sagging against the sink. He turned the water, hanging his head and sobbing. He looked into the mirror with red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispered. “Mom, I don’t know if I can do it.” He let out deep, shuddering breaths. “Ah, Mom. You loved this place.” He took a paper towel and wetted it, wiping his face with the lukewarm water.

The mirror found itself only able to reflect. There was no way to encourage this man by making him look more confident. Instead, it just sat, a welcome ear to the man’s grief.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Mom,” he said, continuing to take deep breaths. He loosed his dark green tie, allowing his neck to vent. He hung his head again, then threw a glance over his shoulder.

Words were exchanged, but without seeing the man’s face, the mirror didn’t know what they were. He went and unlocked the door, revealing a heavyset man, also wearing a dark suit. The second man wrapped the first in a tight hug. The mirror could make out the words he was saying. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

The first man released the hug, then returned and turned off the water. He straightened his tie and threw himself a look filled with resolve. The mirror strengthened that resolve, pushing a determined smile onto the corner of his lips. The man accepted it without question, then turned away.

Other men, with angry eyes and nearly inarticulate grunts frightened the mirror, if it were able to be frightened. Even then, it tried as hard as it could to put peace in their eyes and their motions. Most, if not all, of them would take a deep breath at the end and turn to leave with at least a semblance of peace. Those that didn’t… Well, the mirror didn’t know what to think of them.

At the end of the shift, the automatic lights would turn off and the mirror would be left in the dark. It did not know how long night lasted – anytime the lights turned off was like night to it. It may have been months after its installation, it may have been years, but one day, short, dark-haired woman came into the room. She had dark brown eyes, which were filled with ambition. “We’ll have to replace the mirrors,” she said. “They’re a bit old fashioned.”

The mirror, if could be, was insulted. But it was also powerless to stop the new store manager from pulling the mirror off the wall and wrapping it in cloth. Like the night, the mirror did not know how long it was under wraps.

A new face unwrapped it, with compassionate gold eyes. Dark brown hair with purple highlights framed her olive skin and wide grin. “You’re a beauty!” she said. At first, the mirror thought she was talking about herself, but then the woman continued. “Whoever got rid of you was an idiot.”

The mirror was set up with other mirrors in the thrift store. Even more faces, with even more diversity, came through and looked in her. There was the tired mother with her three children that the mirror tried to make look more alert and less exhausted. There was the young couple, looking to furnish a house, who the mirror made look more mature, more level-headed. There was the homeless man from just outside who would use the mirrors to check his face, who the mirror didn’t know what to do with. It tried to encourage him, but he seemed to refuse it.

One day, a man in his thirties walked up to the mirror. He chuckled when he saw it, the skin around his green eyes crinkling. He picked it off the shelf and bought it. The mirror was stowed safely in his backseat, and driven home. It saw his face one last time, just before he folded wrapping paper around it.

It was unwrapped by a woman with luxurious blond hair and vibrant blue eyes. Her soft lips parted in surprise. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “It’ll go perfectly in the guest bedroom!”

“There’s a bit more to this one,” the man said, standing over her shoulder. “October 1st, 1997, we walked into Smithson’s. When we left, we were engaged.” He kissed the top of her head. “This is the same style of mirror I encouraged myself in when I went to the bathroom. When I saw it,  I knew I had to get it. Happy Anniversary, my dear.”

If the mirror had lips of its own, it would have smiled. Fortunately, the couple was smiling wide enough for it. It pressed the corner of their mouths, making them even happier.

The mirror was installed in the guest bedroom, over an old hardwood dresser. It listened as the woman’s parents came and discussed their daughter and son-in-law. It watched as their son wandered into the room and began jumping on the bed – and watched the scolding that came after.

As more children came, the same son was moved into the guest room. The mirror watched him suffer through algebra, his first break-up and attempting to learn how to drive. The room changed colors, the bed moved and replaced, but the mirror remained. Pictures and stick-it notes were placed, then taken down. The boy grew into a young man, and moved to college. The mirror watched his mother come into his room and weep for the growing pains.

For four years, the mirror watched the young man leave, then return, then leave, in what seemed an endless cycle. Near the end, he dressed in a suit, looking in the mirror with those vibrant blue eyes that he got from his mother. He took a small, black box from the top of the dresser and flipped it open, looking at the ring inside. Then he tucked it into his right inner pocket and smiled at himself. “I can do this,” he said, with excitement and some nerves, but the largest smile.

Soon afterward, he packed all of his things from the room and did not return. The other children grew and left, and the room became a guest room once again. Occasionally, the mirror would see the once-young man, now with children of his own, come back to visit his parents. He and his wife would take his old room, which was now redone with a larger bed and fresh paint. Some days, they would laugh and talk. Other nights, there was a stony silence. Before they crawled underneath the covers, however, they would always try to work whatever it was out.

Just like their parents, the grandchildren would sneak into the room to jump on the bed, or have pillow fights. Just like their parents, they were reprimanded. If it had a mouth, the mirror would have smiled lovingly at them.

One day, a pillow fight got out of hand, as it so often did. One of the pillows launched across the room, hitting the mirror’s base. It wobbled, but did not get steady. It fell forward. The mirror saw the floor, and felt itself cracking as it landed.

The mirror reflected the shoes of the kids’ grandmother, who rushed in to see what the noise was all about. She lifted the mirror to see the damage, concern and frustration evident on her face. Then she turned to her grandchildren. They sat silent on the bed before her, already knowing that they had done something incredibly wrong. A granddaughter – the one with the cute button nose and soft brown eyes – pulled her thumb out of her mouth and said, “We’re sorry, Grammy! We didn’t think it was going to happen!”

There was no glass across the floor, thankfully, but the mirror was cracked beyond repair. Everything it reflected had massive fractures in its picture. These gaps got wider as the cracks were taped up to ensure they didn’t crack further.  “It was such a nice one, too,” the grandmother said as she and her son took it to the roadside to be picked up.

“Yeah, it was,” her son said, smiling at it. Even through the fractures, the mirror smiled back. “I’m sorry the kids broke it.”

It’s okay, the mirror would have said, if it had a voice. You watched yourself grow up through me. I’m perfectly content with everything I got to show you.

Yes, the mirror had worn many faces in its existence. However, it decided, the most important face to wear was whatever face was in front of it. It realized now that it had no power to change how someone looked – but maybe, just maybe, it had the power to change how they perceived themselves.

And, the mirror realized, changing their perception might be even more powerful than changing their appearance.

(Scribe’s Note: This is easily my favorite story of this collection. It reminds me a lot of Virginia Lee Burton’s The Little House, a children’s book that is worth the read for adults, too)