I touched the glass, palm pressed against the smooth surface.
It was warm out today.
I settled down in front of the mirror, cross-legged and peering through the pane. The park in the mirror was mostly empty, still too early for most travelers. I watched the leaves rustle in the trees – breezy, but not too windy. It was too gentle for flying kites. One of my favorite things to watch was the beauty of how they soared in the wind, lost to the whims of an unseen force.
I watched as people began to pass by, each headed somewhere else.
Visible on the edge of my view was a lone clock tower, my resolute companion. On clear days I could read the time. As it neared eight o’clock, an elderly woman appeared and headed for her bench. I knew it was her bench because everyone else that had sat there eventually stopped returning. Even the man she once came with stopped coming eventually. She always came back though, like clockwork.
She settled down, resting her cane against the end of the bench. I watched her face as she gazed around the park. I don’t remember when her face started to look so old to me. We sat as silent companions. She was oblivious of me, just as I was ignorant of her life outside my narrow view. After half an hour, she got up and left.
For the rest of the day, I watched as people came and went. Dusk eventually wavered over the park, and I turned from my mirror. The dark was approaching.
— —
I touched the glass, palm pressed against the smooth surface.
It was warm out today.
As I settled into my usual position, a stranger appeared in front of the mirror’s view. He couldn’t see me, but I watched his morning activity. Between mimed words he sipped from a cup and held a slender rectangle to his ear. I wanted to reach out and touch his hair, grab the rectangular device, or do anything. I couldn’t do any of these things, so I just watched.
Eventually the man moved on, like they all do. He disappeared from my silent world like so many others, walking away to anywhere else.
Soon enough the elderly woman appeared, as usual. While she settled onto her bench, I traced my fingers around the edge of the mirror. One side was life and reality, one side was emptiness. The border between my world and the woman’s world was a fine sheet of glass, a mirror between nothing and everything. It was all I had, this glimpse of my small park. Some days I wanted nothing more than to just hear what was across the glass. Some days I would have done anything to be able to touch just a single blade of grass.
I took my hand from the mirror and traced the contours of my face. My face always felt the same. I only had distant memories of a time before the mirror, and they were fleeting ghosts by now. Even though I had no way to be sure, I knew my face hadn’t aged like the woman’s features. Her face became wrinkled like the folds of tree bark, and her hands became spotted like a cloudy day.
Some piece of me knew that one day she would stop coming to my little world, just as everyone else did.
Another stranger approached, this one waving to the woman. The new stranger neared the woman and her bench, bending down to hug her. He seemed to give no similar greeting to the bench. The pair began to talk. They talked about dragons and fantasies, of distant stars and magical princes.
At one point the man’s face broke into a laugh, an infectious bellow that made the woman smile. The warmth of their joy stopped at the mirror, visible through the glass but not crossing over to me. I could never share a joke with the people I watched; I could never share a quiet moment between friends or an intimate second between total strangers. The mirror was the only thing solid in my world, and it blocked me from ever touching anything inside its light. The people I saw were a universe away, visible yet unreachable.
The man and woman finished their conversation, and the man left. Finished with the distraction, the woman continued gazing over the park. She lingered at her bench longer than usual, perhaps to make up for the time spent conversing. She didn’t usually get visitors. Eventually, though, she took her cane and left.
The rest of the day was calm, with few visitors to the park. The scattered trees I could see were my entertainment, my dancing companions. I could have traced the acrobatic dance of the leaves forever.
Dusk neared.
— —
I touched the glass, palm pressed against the smooth surface.
It was cool out today.
The view showed a foggy and chilly morning. Clouds hid the sun.
I couldn’t see the hands on the clock, so I waited in blind anticipation for the woman to return.
Maybe it was the weather. Maybe I’d missed her. Whatever the reason, I never saw the woman that day. My world was lonely, my silent companion cut out of it like a ghost cut from the stitches of time.
Darkness fell early, a storm approaching. I turned from the mirror, but flashes of lightning sparked through the glass all night.
— —
I touched the glass, palm pressed against the smooth surface.
It was warm out today.
The park was wet, drenched by the storm-clouds in the night. The morning sun had a crispness that only came on clear mornings after storms, the light resonating off every damp surface and cutting through the air. I anxiously watched the clock, waiting for the elderly woman.
Eventually, she did reappear, though a few minutes later than usual. She took her time, ambling to her bench and sitting. After I was reassured by the moments of silent companionship, my world was safe again.
— —
I touched the glass, palm pressed against the smooth surface.
It was warm out today.
The park was completely empty and remained that way until the elderly woman arrived. She sat on her bench, either ignorant or unperturbed that she was the only one there. Well, she and I were the only ones there. My thoughts wandered.
I thought about the woman. I don’t remember the first time I saw her, but I remember the first time I recognized her. I was so happy that week, ecstatic to have even the smallest connection to this outside world. Even though this connection was nothing more than recognizing one person, day after day, I felt a little less alone.
I thought about those days I’d watched the woman, wondering if I would have aged the same as her. How similar could our lives have been? Would we experience the same difficulties, bear the same wrinkles and scars?
I thought about the events I’d witnessed. I’d watched when the man she once came with knelt on one knee near the bench, and the woman burst into tears. I’d seen them kiss between the vibrant hues of autumn leaves that danced in the wind while she wore a white dress that she never wore again.
The man came with her to the park more regularly after that, but one day the woman came alone and cried meekly on the bench. She held her arms across her stomach and rocked gently back and forth. I wanted to reach out, to grab hold of her and tell her that everything would be alright. Tell her that whatever made her cry would pass. But I couldn’t, and no one else ever did.
On most other days, the man came with the woman. He was the only one who ever came with her, though occasionally a stranger would stop and say hello. One day, the man didn’t come for fifteen days in a row, and then the woman stopped coming as well. She stayed away for five days. On those days when the woman was gone, I watched all day and all night for her to return. She returned, but the man never did.
Thinking about those days, I was reminded of the darkness. A long time ago I’d stopped watching the mirror when the sun set and instead turned away every night.
I remembered all those nightmares of the dark.
Once, a man in ragged clothing lurched out of the dark and collapsed on the dirt near the woman’s bench. I watched as he died in the night, choking on bile through red lips. The next morning, people in uniforms appeared and took the dead man away. His corpse seared itself in my memory.
I’d witnessed murders in the dark, men and women stabbed with knives or riddled with holes. One man dragged himself directly in front of my mirror before succumbing to the pool of blood around him. I’d stared out at his cold dead eyes for hours until someone arrived and took the body away. Some days I can still feel his gaze, begging me for any help I had to offer. I could do nothing but watch.
I’d stopped watching the darkness after seeing a man assault a woman. He chased her through my view, violently pinning her down on the border of my vision. I had to imagine the sounds emanating from the woman’s silent cries. I watched, unable to interrupt her silent torment and too afraid to break the mirror. I was terrified that breaking the glass would sever my only connection to the world. There was nothing I could do.
So I stopped watching the night.
I made myself stop thinking about the things that happened in the dark. They only got worse over time, their aftermath a mental weapon of the event.
The woman eventually left after spending longer on her bench than ever before. I almost didn’t notice that she’d exchanged her cane for a shiny metal walker.
When she left, I felt more alone than ever before.
I turned from the mirror long before dusk arrived.
— —
I touched the glass, palm pressed against the smooth surface.
It was chilly out, the seasons changing to winter.
The air was clear enough for me to see the clock.
Eight o’clock.
Nine o’clock.
Ten o’clock.
I turned away from the mirror.
The woman never returned.
WARREN SNELL 