I’ve never liked mirrors.
Not in the daytime, especially not in the nighttime. There was something about being around them that brought me uneasiness, and caution. I could never place exactly what it was. I would only allow myself to stare into them for a few minutes, at the most. Any longer than that, and I would feel like something was about to go wrong. Very wrong.
I guess, it was because I felt like mirrors weren’t just a one-way reflection, as most people always said — told me. I’ve found myself thinking that there was another side to them. And if I were to ever so stare a little too long at one, that other side would open.
And then, bad things would happen.
Don’t ask me what those what be. I don’t really know. I just know it wouldn’t be good. It would bring trouble.
So, I allow myself not to stare too long. As simple as that.
But today, it was a bit harder to carry through with this technique. I was going to the prom. Or rather, my parent’s were forcing me to. And if one were to go to prom, one was going to have to sit in front of the mirror and get ready. For many hours. Especially being, a female, as I am.
You see my problem?
“Kat,” my mother said me the moment I flinched from looking the mirror. She had decided it was her job to help me get ready. And really, it kinda was. There was no way I would be able to do my makeup right without making myself look like a clown. “You know what people who fear mirrors are called?” I shook my head. This conversation again, I thought bitterly. “It’s called spectrophobia. There are other people with this problem too, sweetie, you just need to overcome it.”
See, my mom thinks it’s a phobia. A problem. I would tell her it’s much more than just that, but really, she seemed quite proud of herself after discovering the phobia. One of her psychology majored friends, had told her so himself. I didn’t want to burst her bubble. Even if it wasn’t true.
In her eyes, I had a chance to be normal again. I could be a normal daughter. But first, I had to be treated. By a psychiatrist.
Fun stuff, I know. And I’m saying that sarcastically.
“I know,” I replied. Which was basically the word I used for: you’ve already told me that before and I don’t want to talk about it. She seemed to know that, too, because after that she dropped the topic.
By the time she finished my hair and makeup, I was facing my back to the mirror. She kissed me on my forehead, “You want to see the ending product?” Honesty, I wanted to say ‘no’. I didn’t want to look in another mirror for as many hours I could. But she had spend almost an hour and a half preparing me, so I had to say ‘yes’. It was the right thing to do.
She turned me around. I got a quick glimpse of myself before thanking her and turning away. My usually messy brown hair, was pinned on the top of my head in a bun filled with curls. I very minimal makeup on; soft eyeliner, and rose pink lipstick. My eyes seemed bigger, and it somehow brought out their green color nicely. It wasn’t much, but I liked it.
I liked it a lot.
I went to my room and slipped on the dress I had placed on my bed. It was a light shade of pink, and fell past my knees. It’s silky fabric was cool as it pressed to my skin. It fitted my body almost perfectly. And that was all I needed to know, for I wasn’t going to even dare to look in the mirror again.
The doorbell rang almost immediately after. I dashed down the stairs to get the door.
Now, the person I was going to prom with, wasn’t my decision, exactly. It wasn’t my decision at all, actually. It was my parent’s idea, once again. “It’s your senior year,” they would say, “You have to go to prom!”
So they made me go with family friend and neighbor, Joey Miles.
Joey wasn’t a bad person. I liked the guy a lot, really. But I never saw him as someone I would go to prom with, or date, for that matter. He was just a friend. I saw him as an older brother, more than anything. And let me tell you, he already knew that, too.
In middle school, he had confessed he had a crush on me. I, of course, had to reject him. He was only a friend. And that seemed to break his heart, even though middle school dating wasn’t really dating. I mean, you eat lunch together, and that was that. Then, maybe a week — or if you’re lucky — a few months later, you break up.
Anyways, he eventually got over it. And somehow, our friendship stayed intact. Our parent’s thought it was a brilliant idea for the both of us to go to prom together, since neither of us were probably going to get a date. Because, we’re such charming people.
And it wasn’t that Joey was ugly or anything, he was just…
Well, let me just describe him for you.
When I opened the door, he had his hand held up, as if he was about to knock. He slowly brought it down, awkwardly. “Oh, hi,” he greeted with a wide smile. His smile was probably his best quality. It was one of those smiles that told you everything was going to be okay.
“Hey,” I replied. He nodded. I noticed his eyes were fixated on my dress. “Nice dress, huh?”
“Yeah, I didn’t know you were even capable of dressing nicely,” he said. I smacked him in the arm. “Kidding.”
I turned my head, calling, “Mom! Joey’s here. We’re gonna leave now.”
“Have fun, honey!” She yelled back down from upstairs. I suspected she was working on her soon-to-be novel.
“Bye,” I shouted. “Bye, Miss. Walden!” Joey chimed in.
Joey led me out to his truck. He opened the door for me. “Such a gentlemen,” I observed. “Even that suit is so very…dashing.”
He wore a navy blue suit, with a red rose hooked in his right pocket. It matched his dark brown hair almost perfectly, which he had slicked back for the occasion. His glasses were pushed to the bridge of his nose, as usual. He looked like a nerd in a suit, basically. But it was the cute type of nerd.
He rolled his eyes. “Get in the car Kit-Kat.” I smiled and hopped inside. Kit-Kat was a nickname he gave me in grade school. Kit-Kat’s used to be one of the very few things I would eat back then. I was a picky eater up and ‘till middle school. Thank God, I got over that one.
He adjusted the mirrors. I flinched. I saw his eyes flicker in my direction. “Kat,” he said slowly. “You really need to do something about that.” He started up the truck.
“It’s nothing,” I told him. He started to back up, and then drove down the neighborhood street. It was already starting to get foggy. The street lights beamed as we passed by them.
“Yes, it is, Kat,” he disagreed. “You’ve had the fear since we’ve known each other.”
I was about to argue that I’ve only had the problem with mirrors since I was seven, because of a bad dream I once had. And we had met when we were five, but instead I said, “You sound like my mom. She keeps bring up the same conversation.”
I had dreamt I was going to the bathroom, but none of the house lights worked. I walked into the bathroom, trying to flip on the switch. But, of course, that didn’t work either. Then I did my business and washed my hands. I glanced up at the mirror for a moment. In my reflection, I saw me, but at the same time, it wasn’t me. It was a demonic version of me. I had black eyes, with no whites. My teeth were razor sharp. I was grinning in the reflection; laughing.
Then I woke up.
The dream had scared me of mirrors ever since. “She’s worried about you,” he said, stirring the wheel. He glanced over, “As am I. This isn’t a normal fear, Kat.”
“I know.” I ended the conversation.
The rest of the ride was in silence. We didn’t speak again until we parked in the school’s parking lot.
Simple Writing; 