I just saw my reflection blink.

I stand before the mirror and look into the eyes that stare back. Some days I don’t recognize the girl that stares back. Some days she is my best friend. Other days she mimes my deepest darkest secrets and promises to keep the door shut. But today, as I stand before her she does something different.

She blinks.

So I blink back. 

She smiles.

I hesitantly smile back.

And then she just stares into my eyes reading my every thought. I watch her eyes as it goes through every memory – good and bad. I can tell which memory she sees within my eyes because I can see the change of her heart in hers. She smiles as she sees me crack an egg against my little brother as an Easter prank and mainly because I was scared of my sisters. She laughs heartily as my munchkin hat is blown away. She becomes grieved at the lost of a loved one. She becomes angry at the sight of abuse.

Whatever she sees in me I feel in her.

Now, she isn’t staring past me into my soul. She now stares at me, watching all that I do. What are her thoughts? Does she know that staring is rude? Does she know that not saying anything but standing there can be considered impolite? What is it exactly she wants from me as she stares into the uncomfortableness that is me?

She puts her hand out. So I put mine out as well. I smirk and tell her, “Like they do in prison.”

She looks at me first astonished by my remark.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I watch tv.” As if that should make anything she sees in my eyes better. As if saying that makes my remark suitable for my reflexive action.

She smiles a faint smile. The smile that says she understood my pretend act of gallantry. Her expression changes and she dips her head down. But, before she has the chance to hide her sadness in seeing what she sees in me I see what she sees.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I try to get her to look at me as my knuckle raps on the mirror. I saw something. I need her to look. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

She looks up then. The sadness schooled. And there it is, the something different. I step back. She steps forward.

“Why do you all think that?” I ask. But, like the rest of the interaction she doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me. “Why?” I ask again.

She places her hand on her heart. Mimics the beating of a heart. Then points to me. She places her hand on her heart again. Nods. And places her hand on the glass waiting for me to do the same.

“I don’t believe you. I never do. Ask them all.”

She shakes her head. Again I see sadness in her eyes. I look down this time because it isn’t sadness of seeing the past. But, sadness stemmed from disappointment. Disappointment that I caused. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

I look up. She nods. Mimics a beating heart again and points to me. And that’s when I hear it: Help is on the way.

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