Reflection of a Mirror

By: Sarah Moody

I am a mirror. I see everything in the world. I see tears and smiles. Made up faces and plain. I see perfections and imperfections. Whatever you wish wasn't there – I make you see it and you realize it won't ever change. I know the precise location of that mole and the exact color of your hair. Don't question me – for I do not lie. I can't. I'm a mirror.

What is a mirror? What am I – seems to be the better question. I show you what you look like...but I long to know my identity – my reflection. What a grand thing to be able to know what you look like! Do I even have a reflection? If I don't have one then do I even exist? Once somebody took a picture of me but since they were standing in front of me their reflection still showed, except this time they had a camera blocking their face. There was my chance to finally see me and it was rudely taken away by the mere fact of what I am.

I'll admit it, being a mirror isn't all bad. I'm an ever-changing chameleon, I take on everybody's look – I am the master impersonator. I can have blonde hair, or brown. Blue eyes or green. I can be pretty, ugly, rich or poor. I can be whoever looks at themselves in my mirror. But after trying on someone else's shoes – I dream of finding my own. I obsess about it and think of different ways I can actually learn what I am.

Taking a picture didn't work. What could be better than taking a picture? Oh, I've got it! A painting! Wait, no. Then, the artist would have to sit in front of me and they would end up painting themselves as well. That would be, though, if they painted what they saw. If they imagined instead of painting what they saw...well who knows if the painting would actually show the real me or not. I want to see me, the unique one.

I'd be happy with just one peek – a glimpse, per say, of me. That would be sufficient enough for me. The wardrobe suggests to look into something reflecting – like a window. But all I see is the view of the window – not me. It was a nice try, but it still failed because of what I am. The window apologizes for the inconvenience and recommends that I try the pool outside, after all it reflected thing as well. But when I look into the pool, the reflection of the water and the sky blend together and again I'm not seen. The pool bubbles an apology and advises that I try the new shiny refrigerator.

I do as told, but this time, I see magnets and drawings when I look into refrigerator. Frustrated at not being able to find me, I break down. I'm desperate to find some sort of answer, but I keep coming up blank. Someone approaches, it is another mirror. He asks what is wrong and soon I find myself wailing my troubles upon him. Then he has the audacity to laugh – laugh at me! I wish I knew what was so funny. Upset and troubled, I begin to leave but am stopped. He tells me to look into him to see myself. Confused, I do as he said.

There I am. It's me but he's there too. We are together. But for once, I can see myself. He tells me that the only way we know what we look like is to look into each other. We see our reflection in those who are like us. I don't want him to leave. He holds the key to my reflection. He tells me not to worry, he's not going anywhere. In fact, he's going to be hung on the wall across from me. Which means I can see my reflection, in him, any time I want.