I ran to the bathroom, closed the door behind and threw my head above the toilet. After I tossed up what used to be my breakfast, I tried to flush, no water. I went to wash my hands; I turned the knob, no water. “Crap,” I said under my breath. I had forgotten to pay the water bill, not like I had the money to pay it anyways. I pulled a moist towel from the package under the sink.
As I wiped my mouth, I looked up and saw the face looking back at me in the mirror. The face that had smudged make-up left on because she forgot to take it off before she went to bed the night before. A face that has a scar in the upper right hand corner of the forehead from a crazy night that went wrong just a few years ago. A face that was framed by brunette colored curls flowing in various directions around it. A face that has changed too many times for me to count.
I didn’t like to look at her now, but at the same time she was the only one there for me over the years. When I was six, I’d see her and wonder if she was real. I’d let my mind run wild and pretend that she was my friend from another world, and the only entrance was through the mirror. Too many times, my mother caught me up of the counter trying to climb through. I was always so disappointed that she never helped me through, but she taught me to never give up. My mother must have thought me as mental. And that fantasy soon faded away.
When I was 12, I saw her and thought she was fat, so I gave up eating. She told me it wasn’t real. Every day, I’d cover her up. But I couldn’t escape her, every reflecting surface revealed her ugly body to me, making me sick. She never gave up on me. It wasn’t until I was sitting in a hospital room, two years down the road, that I saw her and she finally made me realize I was beautiful.
When I was 17, I’d look at her and think she was so lonely, no boy will ever love her. She told me that I was wrong. She encouraged me, and helped her with stupid small talk. Read Cosmo’s How to’s with me. And said that I looked fine to about 15 different outfits I would try on when I finally got that date.
Age 21, I’d look at her through a drunken haze, wishing that she didn’t look like a complete idiot on the other side. I would pass her by in sever dorm buildings, wonder why I was there. Showing that I shouldn’t be at this party, and I should be back in my room studying for exams. I wish I would have listen to her.
I look at her now, and wish that only she knew back then, what I knew now.
She was my only true friend, when everyone else left my side. She could keep secretes, tell you that your looked beautiful, and keep you leveled when you rise, and keep you up though all your falls.
“Please, help me through this,” I whispered to her. Tears came running down my cheeks. But I saw her smile as the door open behind me.
“Babe, You ok?” He walked in holding a tissue. I turned from her for only a second. He wiped away the tears and kissed my forehead. “Who were you talking to?” he asked with his thick Irish brogue.
I smiled and pointed to the mirror without turning, “An old friend. When I’m alone, she’s always there.” I thought he would laugh and think that I was crazy.
Instead, He smiled back and placed his hands on my hips, “You’re not alone anymore.” My heart jumped at his love for me, something I had been trying to find for a long time.
“And Guess what?” he whispered.
“What?” I said.
He turned me back to her, and wrapped his arms around my waist, “Neither is she.” He kissed my cheek from behind as I watched her smile at me with her own love. After all these years of her helping me, I finely was able to help her. He was right, she wasn’t alone anymore, as long as he stayed by my side.
She mouthed, “Thank you.” She put her hand on our belly and rubbed the bump that would soon be the newest member to this mirror on the wall.
