I've seen that face more times than I have seen my own in the last twenty-seven years. Since that first glimpse, I've been to the cemetery every single day - like a ritual - just to stare at him: messy blondish hair, perfect nose, square jaw, and just a little bit of stubble. The only thing I couldn't make out was his eye color. I figured they were dark brown, since all I could see in the reflection was black.
He was always there for me. Whenever I had a problem, I ran to the cemetery, with my mirror safely tucked in my backpack. Then I would talk to him, for hours and hours, even though I knew he couldn't hear nor see me. He was my only reassurance of a happy future, my Prince Charming.
I didn't have any friends in middle school, especially not after I told my - allegedly - best friend about Charming. I became know throughout the school as "Mary Cemetery" not long after trusting her with that secret. The nickname went away with my acne and my braces when highschool came around, but by then I was far too traumatized to be able to open-up and forge any friendships. Besides, I didn't need friends. I had him.
When the time to leave for college came, I chose to stay. Community college didn't sound half bad compared with the possibility of missing my unscheduled appointment with fate.
I never had a boyfriend either. Why waste my time with someone I knew was not right for me? No, not when I was already married - at least inside my little black mirror.
So I stayed here. I never chased ambition; I was happy enough with my job as a receptionist. I never chased love; always ran from those who sought it from me. Now, if I could go back to that day by the pond, I would shatter that wretched piece of glass filled with promises, all of them lies and deceit.
YOU ARE READING
The Man In The Mirror
Short Story"Look into the glass and your future husband's face shall pass." When an old family heirloom gives Mary a glimpse of her future, she believes it. For years and years, she clings to hope. But is it really what it seems to be?
