“How can you not have a single mirror in here? How do you know if your outfit matches? How would you know if you have broccoli stuck in between your teeth?” Vicky asked, the first time she visited my apartment, way before she moved in and became my wife. She has since stopped asking and learned to live with it.
Spectrophobia. That’s what Google search tells me it is called.
One warm Saturday night when I was 8, I stayed over at my great grandma’s home. Mom had taken me to her hometown for a relative visiting spree for the weekend. Like most 8-year-olds, I had an abundance of energy. I was always bored, which resulted in me playing late into the night. To curb the late night habits I was developing, Mom started giving me young teen books to read. It put my brain to the test trying to understand thought processes alien to me, which would wear me out quicker than usual. For reasons I cannot remember, I did not bring any books on that trip.
That night, Mom went for late night supper with a couple of family members to discuss “adult things”. This left great grandma and me at home to entertain ourselves. I pretended to fall sleep, so that great grandma would leave me alone. The grandfather clock outside chimed, signalling midnight, so I ventured into the bathroom, having abandoned the idea of exploring the garden as it was too dark outside.
As I brushed my teeth, I hummed ‘I Love You’ by Barney the Purple Dinosaur.
The bathroom was small. A shower, toilet, sink, white tiles and a tall wooden framed mirror fit in that tiny space. Because of the dwarfed space, the tall mirror was situated on the right of the sink rather than above it.
The mirror looked old, taller than me, and was chipped along its frame but it could capture the reflection of anything that moved in that bathroom. It also had various glass sections that looked distorted, twisting and deforming my image. From certain angles, my face became completely deformed due to those gnarled spots.
I started making faces and moving my body in front of the mirror, pleasantly occupied by the occasional distorted reflection I got. I inched closer and closer to the mirror with each pose. I stopped in my final stance, thumbs next to my temples as though I was a bull, tongue out as long as I could stretch.
I was so close to the mirror that my breath fogged it up. As I stared back at myself, I decided to hold my breath. It was at that moment I noticed something was off. It was brief, but I saw my reflection breathing into the mirror. That lasted for two seconds before the steam faded away. I was sure of it, I had held my breath so tight in my lungs that my chest was feeling pinpricks.
I wasn’t sure what I had seen then, as I recall. As an adult, I might have reacted differently, but 8-year-old me had seen less of the world and had less fear and more curiosity. I continued staring into the mirror. My reflection’s ears twitched. I had never figured out how to move my ear muscles in anyway, whether it was up, down, in or out.
Intrigued, I released my pose and slowly reached out to the light switch next to the mirror, wanting to catch my reflection of guard. ‘Click’. The lights went off.
Light was still coming from the mirror. My reflection was grinning from ear to ear.
I let out a scream and bolted out of the washroom, closing the door behind me. Drops of sweat fell onto my eyes. I stumbled into my bedroom, avoiding all the mirrors along the way. When I reached the bed, I curled into a ball finding a small sense of comfort underneath the covers.
The door creaked. My heart froze. Did my reflection crawl out. Dear God, where is Mom!??
I felt a tug at the blankets. “No! No!” I screamed. I kicked blindly, eyes shut with fear. I dread looking at myself again, with that devilish smile on my own face. The lights suddenly came on, and I felt someone pinch me hard. ”Wake up silly boy!”
It was great grandma. My screams must have woken her up. I pulled the blanket off me and hugged her with tears streaming down my cheeks. I was so relieved. I sputtered through my account with my reflection. As I ended my story, great grandma whispered, “Maybe your reflection did this because it was tired and really just wanted to sleep.”
I giggled hearing that.
“What’s so funny about that?”
Suddenly, great grandma’s voice didn’t sound like hers at all. No… it was my voice. I screamed as I looked up at great grandma’s face, but saw my own face instead.
I passed out.
Great grandma was found lifeless the next morning, her face stuck in a huge grin.
