KMisuTirah

The Girl in the Mirror

I didn't see that "Caution, Wet Floor" sign until the very last minute.   And I pay dearly for it.

It's almost comical how my body flies through the air. One minute my feet are levitating, the next minute the sound of my head slamming against the floor with a sickening crack echoes within my ears. I would ever wish this pain on anybody. As my eyes drift up toward the ceiling, I can't help but wonder if the janitor will be pissed at me for getting blood all over his freshly mopped floor. 

Lucky for him, and for me, it never comes. 

As I slow got up from the floor, it felt like there's static in my head. Like an old-school television, where you have to position bunny ears antenna a certain way in order to get a clear picture. Everything felt hazy and out of reach. I know I look like a fool, sitting in the middle of a hallway, hands on my head. But that's all I know. And my brain is too hazy to offer me any concrete answers.  My hands are a terrible pair of bunny ear antennas and I can't seem to position them in such away that will make everything in my head much clearer.

"Finn!" In the blur, I can see the figure leaning over me. They are no more than a messy, blurry blob.  But it sounds like they are concerned. "Are you okay?"

My eyes sharpen enough to see the hazel eyes.  My heart aches.  But...I don't understand why.

"I...don't know." I know I'm speaking but I don't really know what I'm saying.  The world feels fuzzy and pain throbs in my head as I'm helped off the floor. "Ari, I...think I hit my head."

"You think? I could hear the crack all the way over here!  That looked like it hurt."

"Yeah..." The static in my head just won't ease up. No matter what I do,  it just won't let up.  "Is there a bathroom nearby?"

"A bathroom? Okay, but shouldn't we take you to the clinic or something?"

Somehow, I wander into the ladies' room, still in a haze. Lucky for me, it's empty.  I don't want anyone to see me like this. Little details begin to filter through the static. I just finished my English class. Ari and I have the same class and that's why he's with me. We're headed to the cafeteria to have lunch with the rest of our friends. It all seems legit.  But there's something missing. Not a small fragment, but a huge, gaping chunk that's very important. It's so close and yet just out of reach.

Grunt in frustration as I grip the sides of the counter, my head hanging over the sink.  After a few deep breaths, the dizziness begins the fade away, little by little. As if guided by some higher force, my eyes look over to the mirror.  

The moment I see myself in the reflection, something snaps. 

A young woman stares right back at me.  Her skin is discoloured or fraught with winkles, but smooth and supple, young and fresh, not old and withering away.  Her hair isn't grey and brittle, but jet black, cascading down the curves of cheeks down to the her shoulder blades.   The straight bangs frame her face nicely, giving me a bit of an edge even though she think she's anything but.  Her fingers run up and down the length of her charcoal grey wool trench coat, her most treasured piece of clothing, looking somewhere between a elegant model and modern witch.  

I can't take my eyes off her.  She can't her eyes off me.

Entranced, I run my fingers through my hair and she does the same, over and over again.  It's so thick and shiny, the kind of hair you dream of when tossing in some stupid boy's face.  The kind of hair that belongs to an model on social media with thousands, maybe millions of followers.  The kind of hair that would make you want to buy the most expensive hair product possible to recreate the look.

And her eyes...those honey brown eyes that were rich and sweet as candy.  Childlike yet mature, muted with heartbreak after heartbreak, but vibrant with hopefulness and youth.  With one good look, her eyes could mystify any boy she wanted, even if she thinks they'd run away on sight.  

As my mouth drops in shock, hers drops at the same time.  Just like me, she's shocked by what she sees.

It's...it's me.  The girl in the mirror is me.  I am her.  And she is me.

But how can it be me?

Something isn't right. I search my mind.  Push through the fog that takes up so much of it.  At first, it's fruitless.  Everything seems normal.  I'm at school.  I just finished class and because ignored a sign, I slipped and fell, hitting my head.  But I'm stubborn.  I keep going.  Endure all the static blasting in my ears.  

But then everything goes quiet.  

A faint image, warped and hazy like an old home move plays out in my head.  The older woman I'm used to see, with her brittle grey hair and muted brown eyes, motionless on the floor, her pale lips curled into a satisfied smile as her blood staining the plush white carpet around her.

Oh my God...I...I died.

I fell down the stairs and died instantly. 

But now I'm awake...and I'm young again. 

Wait...I'm young again?!

The fog in my mind clears up, only to be bombarded with countless memories of a lifetime lived but a lifetime that isn't meant to be, not quite yet. It hits me so hard it knocks the air out of my lungs. I...I remember everything.  My husband's anger. My tumble down the stairs.  Dying...and then waking up in a white room with a man holding a tablet. And then...then...

An offer...for a second chance.

- * -

It all comes back to me.  Waking up to a stark white room startled me.  I guess that's what happens when light cuts through the darkness. At first, I thought maybe I was in a hospital. That somehow the whole thing about dying after a tumble down the stairs was just me being dramatic. But there were no windows, doctors, nurses, beeping machines, or odd smells. My husband was nowhere to be found. Then again, he's the last person I wanted to wake up to. The whole place felt airy, with a mysterious atmosphere. It felt like it went on and on for miles and miles.

That's when I realized I was sitting down in quiet possibly the fanciest chair I'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in. The arms of the chair were painted white wood and my cushions like fluffy clouds. Definitely the kind of chair a rich person could not afford.

Before I could contemplate what was happening, a bespectacled middle-aged man, dressed in a crisp black suit, appeared in front of me. He sat behind the kind of cherry wood desk that belonged nestled in the corner in some grand, dusty antique study. That's when I figured that maybe I was really dead and that this room was meant to have an otherworldly feel to it.

"Ah yes, Mrs. Harwood." His grey beard and tortoise hell glasses signalled to me that he knew everything and it was fruitless to try hiding things from him. He already knew. "I've been expecting you."

"Ah, really?" I looked around once more. "Is this place...what I think it is?"

The man offered a sympathetic expression. "I won't sugar coat it for you, Mrs. Harwood. This is the afterlife.  Unfortunately, you died after a tumble down the stairs.  Your husband, Wesley Harwood, is the one who pushed you."

I nodded. "Ah...right. Death by crazy husband. What a way to go. Can't be helped, I guess."

"Unfortunately, no. As tragic as the events were, it was your fated time to go. Though I understand if you would have liked such events to happen under better circumstances." I knew he was trying to be nice and all, but I wasn't in the frame of mind to really appreciate it. "That being said, do you know why you're here?"

"Um...because I'm dead? And...because I was a half-decent person while I was alive."

"While that's all true, I'm afraid you are here for a different reason." Before I could ask him what he meant, the man pulled out a small tablet from his desk. "According to our records, Mrs. Harwood..."

"Finn," I interjected. "Please, call me 'Finn'."

"'Finn'. Right. Well, Finn, it is our belief that while you are eligible to enter Heaven immediately, you are also a good candidate for our pilot second-chance program."

I threw him a puzzled look. A second...chance? At what?  "Say what now?"