The Kid broke my mirror. It hung on the wall behind my bedroom door and was the only full length mirror in our apartment. I used it daily. Not excessively – a minute or two a couple times a day. I hated looking in it. I’ve avoided mirrors for as long as I can remember.
I cut my own hair and it shows. When I look in the mirror I see my uneven, unflattering hackjob. And if I look long enough, I see my deflated bank account. I can’t afford a professional haircut.
My face looks awful. My skin is sensitive to stress. When I look in the mirror I see the flaws – the bumps, the lines, the splotches. And if I look long enough, I see toddler tantrums, disputes at work, errands to run, diapers to be changed, meals to be cooked, cleaning to be done, bills to be paid. Sleep that’s not to be had.
My body is thin, too thin, and out of shape. When I look in the mirror I see a lack of curves. A lack of tone. And if I look long enough, I see years of anorexia accusations and skinny jokes. I see a lack of the time needed to exercise and feel good again. Wrecked and ravaged confidence.
When The Kid broke my mirror, I was irritated. It was the only mirror I used. A few quick, agonizing moments a day to ensure that nothing had gotten worse. I needed to see that I still had hair. Check that my face hadn’t fallen off.
A week after the mirror was broken I set out to buy a replacement. The store had one in stock. A closer look revealed a long, horizontal crack that wandered from one edge to the next, splitting the glass in two. I left empty-handed.
Now, a full month later, the spot behind the door remains bare. When I close my bedroom door expecting to see my reflection, my problems, I see white wall. I see four screws that protrude awkwardly from the emptiness, supporting nothing but air. But if I look long enough -hard enough – I see what could be. What I like to believe will be. I see Kodak moments with The Kid, a job I enjoy, a sufficient bank balance, good health, and a little more time. And then I think about my mirror, the shattered pieces that had fallen where my feet now rest. And I remind myself to do something nice for The Kid – a thank you for doing me such a huge favor.
You and Me, Kid 