His Face Among Many

Once in a blue moon, I visit my mother’s house. It’s one of those old ones, stuffed with furniture dating back to the 50s. The seats are dressed with patterned carpets, the curtains are decorated with colourful flowers. It’s not my style to say the least, but she loves it.
There is one thing that always manages to shiver my spine though. It is that vintage mirror. That freaking mirror. It taunts me. It plays with me and bends me over corners I wouldn’t take. It stretches me up and tears me down. It makes me question the knowledge I know to possess. I know my husband is dead. Yet, why doesn’t it feel like that anymore?

I have asked her about it, oh many a time, but she either uses her dementia as an excuse, or she simply doesn’t see what I see. It’s a fine line I would say—for now, I ain’t buying it. I see them, clear as day. I see lost souls wander around a darkened landscape. They seem to be searching, people unknown to me, unknown to their destiny. Their legs move in slow motion, ever carefully experiencing the ground that somehow appears unfamiliar to them. Their faces are blank, little emotion or recognition. Whenever they do turn their heads towards me, I see just a form of fear. It’s like they’re trapped inside some prison cell, but they don’t know that the exit is locked.

“Eliza, dear? Are you staring at that old mirror again, love?” Her voice echoed out of the living room, “Your tea is getting cold”.
“Coming,” My eyes slid off the captivating mirror as I started making my way through the remainder of the hallway.
“Will you be taking that mirror to the retirement home, Mom?” I asked curiously as my heels turned the corner of the doorway.
“Don’t call it that, will you, sweetheart?”
“Why? That’s what it is. Not then?”
Mom was sitting down opposite of the television with a cup of tea in her hand. The cups were probably even older than most of the furniture inside of this house.
I took a seat on the chair next to her and reached out for my cup.
“Will you though?” My eyes looked up at her. She knew that mirror did something to me, but she would never admit seeing anything herself. I didn’t buy it though. She knew damn well what was hanging on her wall.
“Dear, if you wanna have it, just say so.” Her hands softly trembled as she carefully lifted the cup to her mouth.
“That’s not– not what I’m saying, ma,” I let out a soft sigh and drank from my tea. You could say all you want about my mother, but the tea she made is simply impeccable.
“I don’t know love. If there’s plenty of space, I would absolutely take it with me. What’s it you see in there again, dear?”
I placed my cup back on the table. “Come on, I know you see it too.”
“Sweetheart, let me tell you something.” Mom followed by putting her cup back down.
Here goes, I thought to myself
“That mirror has been with us for many decades, your dad even bought it for me when we were still young and spritely. But love, never have I seen anything but a simple reflection inside of that mirror.” Her eyes looked at me with intrigue and mystery. It almost appeared like she was telling me her deepest, darkest secrets, though I knew that this entire story was bullshit.
“Mom,” I lowered my voice to bring it softly, “that isn’t true.”
“It is, it is!” Her face lit up again as she slowly dropped herself back into the couch.

I nodded in defeat as I grabbed our teacups and walked them to the kitchen. It was always difficult to tell whether she didn’t remember or was simply using her dementia as a weapon. There was no winning for me here. This might very well be a case for her to take to the grave.
“What about the clock?” I called from out of the kitchen as I placed the cups down on the counter.
“Which one do you mean?”
“Opposite of the mirror, the hallway one.”
My eyes caught a small Tupperware of cookies. I managed to snatch one before making it back towards the living room.
“The one that used to be grandma’s?” Her voice weirdly cracked in surprise.
I knew that neither of her clocks belonged to Grandma, but at this point, I had given up on proving my right.
“Yeah,” my voice sounded muffled underneath the chocolate-chip cookie that was crunching and breaking in my mouth.
“Oh yes dear, of course I will.” She smiled at me as I entered the living room again.
“Alright,” I recollected my purse from the floor, “next Friday, okay? Then we will start packing things. You can make a list in advance of all the things that you absolutely wanna bring, maybe Jeanny can help with that. If you forget, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”
Mom nodded and smiled, “Okay dear.”
I already knew she would be forgetting about that, but it couldn’t hurt to at least try.
“I’m gonna go now, you call me if anything else comes up, okay?”
She was still simply smiling as she started to make an effort to get up.
“No please, don’t bother,” I walked over to the couch and gave her a kiss on her cheek, “till Friday, mom.”
“Bye now.”
Before I could even turn around, her hands were already reaching for the TV-remote. That woman was a little addicted at times, but honestly, who could blame her?

As I walked back towards the hallway, I heard the deafening sound of the TV switching on behind me. It appeared to be a news channel of sorts, but soon enough the sounds were all over the place as mom started zapping.
I turned the hallway and aimed for the door. I wanted to march by the mirror, not giving it a single glance. It has taken enough of my mental energy for today.
Still, as I passed by the clock, I couldn’t stop myself from letting a quick glare wander off into the mirror’s direction. I was expecting another void. I was expecting lost souls, flying in circles over the land unknown to them. I was expecting greyscales, not him.
Amidst the crowds of clueless, his green jacket stood out. His hair was brown, not grey. His pants and shirt were saturated with a soft tone of blue. In this world of fear and hopelessness, he was the only one searching.
I stepped closer to the mirror. The sounds of the TV had settled as mom finally picked a Ðchannel to watch. But as he turned his face towards me, I didn’t hear the TV anymore.
His eyes and beard were familiar to me. Jonah.
My heart pounded in disbelief. I couldn’t even remember the sounds of my purse hitting the floor. All I saw was the sad expression on his eyes while he looked up at me.

I recall the world turning a bit more dim. As my eyes met his, my hands instinctively reached out to him. I felt the glass of the mirror separate us, until–it didn’t. His face and presence got clearer as I gently made my way towards him. He pulled me in, answered my call. And then—I stepped in.