Through the Mirror

Unlike other personal accounts on HER, this is a piece of creative non-fiction based on true events. The mirrors in the house are truth. My hope through this story is that each of you healing from your own pains can look in the mirror and see playing eyes that belong to you, and that you remember your worth. Namaste.  -Sophie Lea

She sat on the front step of her sister’s house.

Taking a long, slow drag of her cigarette, she murmured under her breath, “How the hell did I get here?” She let out a scream that echoed down the street. She screamed again, hoping the whole damn neighborhood could hear how desperate she felt. It wasn’t a scream of despair, or a scream for help. It was a scream of disgust. She was totally disgusted with herself, for what she had become. This was a scream of hatred for a woman she saw in a mirror.She hadn’t really looked into a mirror in forever, because her house didn’t have any. There used to be one in their small bathroom, but he was in the process of gutting and remodeling. He’d been in the process of that small project for over three years, but he could never find the time to finish, or even really begin. He had wanted to put in a new shower, but of course, he’d started by tearing into the walls. It was a project that begun at 6am on a Saturday morning. The pounding, the drywall dust, the grunts of aggravation and his groans of self loathing. The beginning of this particular project meant the bathroom mirror had to be the first thing to come down. Besides the holes in the walls, it was the only thing that had changed in that bathroom.She used to have a mirror in her bedroom too, a mirror that would allow her a final check before heading out the door. Except, he had thrown a shoe into that mirror during a fit of rage, and it was long ago broken - just pieces. That’s what her entire soul felt like: Remnants, shreds of empty promises, broken dreams, and hateful words. The mirrors had become just a representation of disaster, and so among the rest of the emptiness, there was no point in having one around. Who needed the constant reminders? She sure didn’t. Reminders that she wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t desirable, couldn’t attain the level of perfection that he’d come to expect, and the reflection in the mirror didn’t align with the voices that echoed in her head. That empty gaze...when it caught hers it was the only honest thing she recognized, and that terrified her. That gaze was unbearable. If she caught its eye, it implored her to stand there for awhile. “Look,” it beckoned. “You are beautiful. See your auburn hair as it falls around your shoulders, your freckles as the evidence of sunshine kisses? You really are beautiful,” those empty eyes would plead. So, it was better not to look.She’d visited her sister. Her sister had three bathrooms, and each had mirror. Her sister’s living room had a mirror. The hallway had a full length mirror, so that you could walk down it and inspect yourself as you moved closer and closer. The entryway had a small mirror above the desk where keys were haphazardly thrown. It was absolute torture to be in that house. Everywhere she turned a set of eyes were looking back at her. The tools of this torture were not the mirrors themselves, but those hollow eyes. Those eyes looked right into her own soul. And they were sad, sad because they knew.“I’m going outside to catch my breath” she gasped as she hurried out the front door. She didn’t want company, but her sister had heard her scream, and come running. That’s what sisters do. And so they sat, shoulders touching, silence piercing the afternoon, and cigarette smoke penetrating their noses. The tears started to fall. They fell and fell. But not a word was spoken. It was better that way. Silence. Precious and peaceful silence.