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The Other Side of the Mirror

A story about connections.

By Shenique Published 6 years ago 5 min read
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Crystalize by Shenique

It’s one of those kinds of days: the wind is light, the sun is bright, and... it’s pouring rain. It’s humid and sticky and by the time I reach to Union Station I’m drenched, dripping puddles on the ground, guess who left their umbrella at home. Security guards can’t kick you out for leaving a trail of dirt and water where you walk, right? I check my watch and then I remember that it’s just for show, for me anyway. I don’t know who told me to get a 24-hour watch, at least it’s waterproof. So I take out my phone instead. The VIA Rail to Montréal leaves at 10:30 AM and it’s 10:15, it’s a good thing a bought my ticket online.

I use what little time I have left to try to dry off in the washroom. As I stand in front of the hand dryer with my shirt in my hands I look at myself in the mirror. My short brown wet hair is sticking together and the heaviness of the rain is making it go into my eyes. As I continue to stare into the mirror absently, a tall, buff, and bald-headed man with a dragon tattoo trailing up his left arm from the back of his wrist to his shoulder walks in the washroom muttering expletives under his breath. He notices my shirtlessness and his expression darkens. I, on the other hand, am extremely confused and somewhat terrified watching him from the mirror. Can’t a man dry his shirt in the washroom? And that’s when I notice his hands in the mirror, wet with blood. Ok, maybe it’s not my bare chest. I blanch and then look down at my feet, all the while I feel his eyes on me. I take a deep, shaky breath and slowly put my semi-wet shirt back on and grab my backpack from off the floor.

“H-here you go, the dryer’s all yours,” I say and he surprisingly lets me through without protest. I look back at him quickly before I exit the door, tears start rolling down his cheeks as he looks between his hands and the mirror. Outside the washroom, I look around to see if anyone is dead or dying but everything seems to be calm. It’s almost time for the train but a voice tells me to go back to the washroom.

I open the door slowly and find the man holding the countertop. His hands no longer have blood on them but as I get closer I can see shallow cuts on his wrists. He jumps and swiftly turns around when the door creaks. He looks more terrified and confused than I did.

“Are you... What’s your name?” I ask not sure exactly how to approach this. He looks at me weird then turns back around to face the mirror.

“Zeke.” He closes his eyes and after a long pause, he says, “I’m fine, ok? I’m not gonna do it, I’m fine.” An awkward silence ensues.

“Oh... ok um well that’s good, I just wanted to make sure, sorry to bother y—” His eyes suddenly dart up to meet mine in the reflection and I feel something like an electric shock go from the soles of my feet to the scalp on my head. I suddenly feel a heavy amount of sadness and despair so deep it feels like I’m sinking. My breath catches in my throat.

“She’s dead, you know. Niena, they raped her and killed her and sent me a goddamn video.” His voice is eerily calm. I’m frozen.

“The police found them. It’s great, really. My daughter got justice. Only—” His voice cracks and he slams his fist on the counter making me jump.

“ONLY I WAS SUPPOSED TO PICK HER UP FROM HER FRIEND’S HOUSE BUT I WAS TOO BUSY SCREWING THE NEIGHBOUR SO I... so I told her to take the bus. Take the goddamn bus at midnight?! Father of the f***in’ year. She was 15, I could have at least called her an Uber, goddammit.” As he hangs his head I search for something to say, anything but I just can’t. Abruptly, he starts laughing, startling me.

“I’m lucky her mom died during childbirth so she couldn’t see how much of a failure I am.” He looks at me in the reflection again and grins. “I have no one... nothing left.” His grin drops. Tears well up in my eyes, I can’t even speak.

“Niena, I’m sorry,” His voice catches, “I CAN’T EVEN STAND TO LOOK AT MYSELF!” He punches the mirror sending shards flying. A guy opens the door to the washroom, sees Zeke’s bloody fist and the mirror and closes back the door. I’d find that hilarious if I wasn’t so shaken. An announcement comes on saying that my train was delayed which somehow helps me find my voice.

“Zeke, I... do you want me to call someone for you?” I wish I could be more helpful.

“What? Oh... no. I... I gotta go back to work...” He chuckles then. “I gotta pay back the money I borrowed for her funeral, after all.” He washes the mirror shards and blood off of his hand and then runs it under the heater. When the heater stops he taps it somewhat affectionately and goes towards the door. As he opens the door he looks me in the eyes and says with a sad smile, “Thanks for giving me the heater, at least I have something now.” I wait a minute before I leave the washroom and then I head towards the waiting area.

After ten minutes the train arrives. As I go to take my seat the person who asks to see your ticket starts coming around. He’s a tall man who looks professional and well put together in his uniform so when he comes to me and asks to see my ticket and his eyes meet mine I know I’m the only one who sees and knows the sadness reflecting in his eyes and his heart fractured like a broken mirror.

{*Niena- nye-‘e’-na}

literature
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About the Creator

Shenique

Writing is my vocation. I feel so complete and so warm when I am writing, reading or even talking about my stories or poetry. Therefore I am grateful for this website.

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