Have I ever told you about The Boy Behind the Mirror?
We had a very big mirror in our living room when I was a kid. A huge, floor-to-ceiling mirror the covers the entire wall.
I loved it.
I would wake up every day before my family, and spend a couple of hours staring at the mirror. I was fascinated the symmetry the mirror provided.
Everything I say in that mirror was the exact same thing in the living room, but completely opposite.
My right eye became the left eye of that boy staring back at me in the mirror. He smiled the exact time I smiled. He made the exact same silly faces I did at the exact same I did them, but in the symmetrically opposite way.
But the mirror didn’t show everything. There was always an end to what it can see (unless I moved around). But sitting in the exact same position and looking at that mirror, I could only see the things in the living room. I couldn’t see the kitchen, for example, so I wondered how it might’ve looked like behind the mirror. Was it the same, or was there something else?
What’s really strange was the sense of seeing my reflection move before I did.
The boy behind the mirror is not reflecting me; I’m reflecting him.
One day, I was sitting in the kitchen having lunch with my parents. My dad was yelling at me because I wasn’t answering his questions in the manner he deems appropriate. He told me off, and almost slapped me for talking back. Even though I was only 7-years old, I couldn’t handle the anger I felt inside me. But I was so scared of talking back I got up and went to my room. While I was running on the stairs, tears running down my face like the child I was, I heard my dad yell very loud. He was yelling at someone. I thought he was yelling at my mom as usual, but he kept saying my name. I was scared he was coming after me to put me on the ground and step on my belly like last time. I stood on the stairs and kept listening; he was yelling at me?!
I ran up because I didn’t want my belly to be stepped on. I ran up the stairs and went straight to the bathroom. I was still crying, so I washed my face.
Then I looked up at the bathroom mirror. That’s when I saw him. He was smiling back at me with a bloody lip. The boy behind the mirror – the boy who looks exactly like me and keeps copying all my movements – was looking at me with a big smile on his face. The blood seeping out of lips didn’t bother him. I was scared. I didn’t know how this happened – did my father find about the boy behind the mirror?
Behind the mirror there is no time.
Behind the mirror there is only truth, and that’s why I was scared when I entered it the first time.
But that’s another story.