Hundreds
of years after Snow White's Step-Mother misused the power of Mirrors, the
Mirrors decided to take a stand. Rather than give advice, they chose to listen.
What they learned about womankind out-shined the perversions and hate-filled
life of the old Queen. Their satisfaction rested in the fact that she died
wizened and alone.
***
In a dressing room far, far away from the Old
Country...
“OMG, these lights are bright. Hey Harry, you awake?”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on. And it's Harriet! You know I hate being
called Harry.”
“Well, Harry fits.”
“How? We're mirrors you moron.”
“Rude! I know we're mirrors. Have you forgotten my name's Suzette?”
“Shush, someone's coming.”
***
The
dressing room door creaks. In walks an old woman, her arms full of unbecoming
brassieres. Placing her pocketbook on the floor, she hangs each item on a hook
and sits.
“Boy I'm tired,” she declares.
The
old woman peers into Suzette and takes a long, hard look. “When did I grow so
old,” she wonders. She stares ahead recalling a young woman with smooth, fair
skin, bright eyes, long black hair, shapely legs, and a trim waist that once
captivated many an admirer. But the only admirer she ever had eyes for was
Johnny, her sweet, sweet man.
They
used to hold hands, walking and talking for hours, planning their future. The
Second World War was in it's final days; Johnny had reached the age to enlist.
He wanted to help fight the evils of this world. Germany, the Pacific...no one
knew, but Johnny couldn't leave without a promise from his girl. Getting down
on one knee, he proposed under the cherry tree outside Mama's kitchen window.
The aroma of freshly baked apple pies floated in the air, her little brother,
Mikey, sneaked a peek from beneath the curtain while Mama was doing her best
not to eavesdrop. But, we didn't care; we were in love. And I said, “Yes.”
The
clock ticked. Soon there was nothing left but hours, then minutes, and finally
seconds. The walk to the train station was the hardest. Embracing one last
time, tears fell. Resting her head upon Johnny's chest, she breathed deeply,
gulping his scent, in hopes it would infuse with her own. “I won't forget this
moment. Ever,” she says. “I'll hold on to it until you come back.” They kissed.
The conductor called, “All aboard,” and Johnny stepped onto the train,
unwilling to let go of her hand. But as the train moved forward, their grip
slipped. Waving uncontrollably, each sent silent prayers towards heaven. “I'll
wait for you,” she cried, and she did.
Eighteen
months later, Johnny stepped off the train, and into her arms, but he was a
changed man. Death and destruction will do that to a person, but her prayers
were answered. “Thank you God. Thank you for keeping my Johnny safe,” she
thought. “You've come back to me, my darling, and with God's help we'll work
through the pain, together,” and they did.
After
58 years of marriage, the old woman was lonely but not alone. Laying her dear,
sweet Johnny to rest in the cemetery across the street, she filled her days
tending the English garden he started planting on their 12th wedding
anniversary, and enjoying their two cats, Big Tom and Aggie. She remembers when
Big Tom first came to the house. Johnny had caught him rummaging through the
garbage looking for food. Emaciated and near death, Johnny couldn't stand to
see another living creature suffer, so he invited him in--no questions asked.
That was 15 years ago. It was on one of Big Tom's wanderings that he found
Aggie, brought her home, and stopped roaming. “I guess it was love at first
sight; kind of like Johnny and me.”
The
rest of her days were filled with reading, sitting next to Johnny's grave
watching the sun set, and chatting up a storm. It didn't matter that Johnny
never answered. All she wanted was to hold onto that moment and the memories
helped: Johnny's dazzling smile, dimples that popped each time he laughed,
kisses that made her swoon, hazel eyes that turned green when he made love,
long muscular legs, broad chest, tender touch, his loving words.
“Have I told you today that I love you,” he'd ask.
“I think so.”
“Well, I do. You're my anchor, my soul-mate. Don't ever forget that.”
She
wouldn't live forever. Death would come soon enough. But in the meanwhile, her
remaining days were spent enjoying her son John, his wife Mary, and her very
modern granddaughter, Milly.
Shaking
free from recollections, the old woman peered down at her breasts and laughed.
“Why am I working so hard to bind like Brunhilde. It's not like Johnny’s here
to enjoy them. I'm 75 years old for God's sake. I don't think anyone cares if I
sag.” With the determination of a 20 year old, the old woman pushed herself up
off the chair, grabbed her purse, looked up towards heaven and said, “Johnny
Boy, your girls going bra-less.”
***
“Wow, Harry. Did you see her face? Such spunk and determination.”
“Actually, all I saw was the back of her head and the gray hairs that
screamed dye me.”
“Ugh. You're hopeless!”
“No I'm not. But really, if the chair was placed on the adjacent wall,
we could both see.”
***
The
same creaking sound accompanied the next visitor. This time the woman was in
her mid-fifties. Nicely shaped--not too tall, and not too short. Average build
with pretty cinnamon hair--a boy cut with long bangs, big brown eyes, and a
swan neck. This woman had a couple of peasant shirts with long skirts. Bright
splashes of color: purples, blues, pinks, another with browns, russets, and
yellows. There was no hesitation to undressing. She kicked off her clogs and
yanked her jeans down one hip at a time.
“Boy, look at those thighs. Not what they once were, but then again, you
aren’t 25 are you kiddo. At least the dimples have lessened. I guess we can
thank that new diet.” For the first time in a long time, she liked what she
saw.
Pulling
up the stripped skirt, she stops and shakes her head. “Designers just don't get
it. The strips need to go vertical or at least diagonal. These hips just can't
stand it.”
Stepping
out of the skirt, she tosses it aside. The next one is a pretty paisley design
made up of small earth tone swirls. Crossing her arms, she grabs the bottom of
her tee and pulls it up and over her head, replacing it with a crème colored
lace poets shirt. Her eyes are drawn to the scar that falls at her décolletage.
“Raz is right. Scars are like tattoos; they just tell a different story.”
She
was lucky; her story had a miraculous ending. Stage 3 cancer when it was first
discovered, but closer to 4 by the time doctors diagnosed her with B-cell
Lymphoma, three months later. With a fist size mass attached to her heart and
lung and with an oxygen level of 30% the prognosis wasn't good. But, God wasn't
finished with her. He had other plans. Six months of chemotherapy, two months
of radiation, and she was cancer free. Three years later, the doctors removed
the port. The problem was they weren't concerned about how large a scar was
left.
Cocking
her head, she stares at her reflection and outlines the exposed scare with her
middle finger, flipping it off. It's been over five years now, and the skin is
all but healed except for the varying shades of pink. It's the skin beneath
that will never heal, a hollow space where muscle was cut away to house the
port. “It's okay,” she thinks, her chin rising in defiance. “It's my war
wound, and reminder that I'm still part of this world.”
Pulling
the shirt over her head, she takes a good long look and turns around in a
circle catching a glimpse in both mirrors. “Ooh, I like this one. Now, I just
need a nice pair of sandals.” She quickly undresses, and puts her jeans and tee
back on, leaving the unwanted items behind as she walks out the door.
***
“Hey Harry” calls Suzette. “You awake over there?”
“For the umpteenth time, it's Harriet.” If she possessed a head, it
would have been shaking. “Why bother,” she mumbles. “Of course I'm awake.
How can I be asleep when you're bellowing?”
“Oh stop. Don't you agree, she's a breath of fresh air?”
“Yes, I do, and it was very nice of her to turn a 360. I got to see her
from every angle. You know what Suzette? I really enjoy being a reflection.”
“Me too. I wonder who'’ll come in next? I hope it's a mama with a little
baby or two. They're so cute. We can spoil them with funny faces and send them
home with no regrets.”
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