The Curious Case of Eleanor Rachel

The Girl in The Mirror

"You look a lot like her you know" said her teary eyed mother setting a shaking hand on her shoulder, "That's why we called you Rachel" Rachel tensed, hesitant to respond.

"Please mother, at least today, please call me Eleanor." she whispered, clasping her hands together rubbing her thumb against her knuckles. Numbly, she breezed past her mom, silently walking forward. Her mother reached out her hand to stop Eleanor, but then quickly drew it back letting her go.

As she grew closer to the pulpit of the chapel, her pace forcefully slow. Barely holding back the tears she desperately wanted to fall, she arrived at the front pew. Sitting down she held the cross on her beloved necklace close to her lips as she muttered an all too quick prayer. What the prayer was for she wasn't really sure; she also wasn't sure if she needed to fully know. The words just came from her mouth like an old nursery rhyme. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she reminisced on the snarky good hearted comments that her aunt would say whenever Eleanor prayed around her.

"I can't believe how similar they really are." She heard from behind.

"I know, I just hope that dear Eleanor doesn't endure the same fate as that mad old girl." Another voice hissed back, obviously trying to be discreet. "Although I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't concerned with how much that Rachel may have influenced Eleanor."

That was all that she could handle; standing up from the hard bench she was on she stood up. A false mask of calm on her face, though the tears in her eyes betrayed her meticulous illusion of composure. She made her way through the crowd of her relatives muttering 'sorry' whenever she'd accidentally brush a shoulder or arm. Finding her mom she leaned slightly down in order to speak directly into her ear.

"I'm not feeling very well, may I go home now?" she muttered trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. Giving a curt nod; her mom waved her off under the false pretense of sickness.

Leaving the warm safety of the church she hastily walked away, her vision blurred by tears that she finally allowed to fall. By the time she was halfway home she finally started to feel her mistake of not bringing a jacket; the cold wintery breeze numbed her fingers and nose. But still, she kept walking keeping up a brisk pace until she was at her front door. Slowly she let herself in, as if all of her strength had been sapped unwittingly from her. She walked into her house taking care to remove her shoes and put them properly away, for a small bit of order among the chaos of her week. She closed the front door double checking that it was locked before making her way up the steep narrow stairs that led to her bedroom. Her pace increasing at a startling rate. Her door flew open as she rushed toward her vanity table next to her small bed. You look a lot like her you know... That's why we called you Rachel, her mother. I can't believe how similar they really are a different relative. I know, I just hope that dear Eleanor doesn't endure the same fate as that mad old girl... concerned with how much that Rachel may have influenced Eleanor another one. Everyone thought they were similar; though, maybe they were.

Same honey blonde hair, check. Same heart shaped face, check. Same nose, check. Same everything check. Check, check, check. Everything the same, they were the same... They are the same. All of her room slowly blended together, she was dizzy. I'll bet aunt Rachel was dizzy as well. Tears were now streaming down her face. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see straight. She felt like passing out. Her breaths were shallow and quick. Her heart was racing. She could no longer recognize herself in the mirror all she could see was her aunt. Her kind, funny, doting, determined aunt Rachel; her namesake, her hero. Her aunt who got trampled by a mental illness diagnosis. Her aunt who fought so hard to win. To get better. To be there for her family. She lost. She got lost. She was let go of. I am not her. I am not my aunt. I am not Rachel. I am Eleanor. She looked up at herself again bracing herself to see her aunt and nothing else. No, all she saw was herself. Not her aunt, not her mom, her dad, or anyone else. Eleanor saw Eleanor in the mirror.

Scar near her lips from skating? Check. Green doe like eyes with dark lashes framing them. They were hers alone. Silver cross necklace with a small dent from constant rubbing. That was from her Grandmother; that was hers, and only hers. Maybe she wasn't going to end up like her aunt accidentally O.D ing on her medication. Perhaps she was going to die some other way. Later, much much later.

Hopefully...

Authors Note: This is my first story i'm putting up ever. I wrote it for school and was actually kinda fond of it. So, here it is.