Tempus

by Tyra Lynn

  She was married to Gregg Henderson, a local attorney, so she fancied herself one of the more well to do people in town. She had a tendency to talk down to anyone she spoke to, even those she considered friends, so I didn’t like her much.

  Besides the gasping and the down talking, I had no other reason to dislike her. However, I did have a good reason to avoid her whenever possible. It was very hard to keep a straight face when I had seen a glimpse of her ‘oh-so-propah’ husband in pink women’s underwear. There were few glimpses I’d ever regretted seeing, but that one was at the top of my list.

  I finished the cabinet and was trying to decide what was next when I noticed the mirror. It was a 19th Century French Louis XVI Cheval Mirror. How had I missed that? I admired it from a distance at first—sometimes glimpses could ruin the beauty. Take Mr. Henderson’s pink panties, for instance.

  It had a beautiful green patina with various gold highlights. Fluted columns rising from the arched feet held the full-length oval mirror in place. The glass had delicate beadwork trim and a bouquet crown.

  I’d always wanted a full-length mirror, but Mom would never let me have one. Dad said he thought she was paranoid that I might fall through it and get hurt. I thought that idea was ridiculous, but Mom was boss. Last year, Dad bought me one of those cheap kinds that you stick on a bathroom door, but it was ugly, and not exactly what I’d had in mind.

  This, however, was exactly the mirror I’d been wanting for my room. Well, it wasn’t this exact one before I saw it, but now it was. All I had to do was figure out how to talk Dad into letting me take it—it wouldn’t fit in my purse after all. Might as well take my chance now and get the glimpse out of the way, if there even was one.

  It was tilted slightly backward, so I walked over to it with the intention of swiveling the mirror slightly forward instead. I wasn’t sure how easily it would move, so I placed a hand on either side of the beaded trim and pulled. I saw him immediately and thought, this one’s going to be nice.

  He was looking down, smoothing imagined wrinkles out of a dark cotton button-down shirt. His black hair fell softly over his downturned eyes, brushing against long, dark eyelashes. His skin was a deep olive tone, smooth over his slightly high cheekbones and angular jaw line. His lips were pressed together as if he were thinking about something serious, and I noted he didn’t look much older than me. He was gorgeous! Then he looked up—and froze.

  I was looking into the most beautiful, brilliant blue eyes I’d ever seen, and they looked surprised. No, they looked shocked. My breath caught in my chest and I stared, my mouth hanging open and my heart skipping beats. Then I realized something, something that sent chills down my back, all the way to the soles of my feet—he wasn’t looking at himself in the mirror—he was looking at me.

  CHAPTER II

  The further backward you look, the further forward you can see.

  —Winston Churchill

  For a moment I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stop staring and I couldn’t let go of the mirror. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think. We just stood there, the beautiful boy and me, looking at each other. I noticed when the shock in his eyes turned to curiosity, even though he had not moved at all. He had not so much as blinked since our eyes first met.

  My heart was pounding in my ears and my face felt flush. I couldn’t figure out if it was because I was afraid or excited, maybe a little of both. As my thoughts became coherent again I wondered if I was only imagining he could see me. I didn’t know how, exactly, to find out. I also wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.

  It was at that very moment in my thoughts that he leaned forward, and let his eyes move to look me over, top to bottom. He slowly raised his hands, placing them on either side of the mirror, mimicking my stance precisely. He looked back into my eyes, and then blinked.

  That was it. I released the mirror so fast I practically pushed it. In my scramble to distance myself, I lost my footing and landed on my butt, scooting backwards across the floor with kicking feet, away from the mirror. When I ran into the wall, or whatever I ran into, I stopped and just sat there, gasping like Mrs. Henderson.

  I don’t know how long I sat there staring at the mirror, trying to calm myself. My mind was racing, trying to make things make sense. I had glimpsed people through mirrors before, even had them look right at me, but I knew they weren’t seeing me. All the mirrors I had ever glimpsed through were two-way for me, not them. Glimpses worked that way. They always worked that way—until now.

  What was I going to do? I couldn’t just calmly go back to cleaning furniture, pretending nothing had happened. Even as I stood up and brushed myself off, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the mirror. Even though all I could see in it was me, myself and I, looking wild-eyed. Even though it just stood there, mutely, looking perfectly normal and harmless.

  I stood up slowly, wiping at the grime on my clothes. I couldn’t get all the dust off my butt; I had ground it into the weave of my jeans. I couldn’t wash my hands because I would have to turn my back on that mirror. I really, seriously, didn’t know what to do. I hardly ever didn’t know what to do. I didn’t like that feeling. Nope, not at all.

  I wondered for a second if he was ‘glimpsing’ me. Could that dark-haired boy see me right now, looking half-crazy? If he could, I wasn’t making a very good impression. What made me even think that? Like I wanted to impress anyone anyway.

  My hair looked like a rats nest now that I was thinking about it. My clothes were dirty. I turned my butt to the mirror and saw the dark smudges, and then I groaned—because if he could see me, I just stuck my butt out at him.

  I could just imagine him right now, laughing at me hysterically. The thought made me a little mad. It made me madder the more I thought about it. Who was he to judge me? Who was he to be in my mirror? I took a step closer to it and squinted my eyes, wondering if he was in there. I stuck out my tongue, just in case he could see. And that’s when my dad walked in. Grrreat.

  “What in the world are you doing, honey?”

  I sucked in my tongue as fast as I could and rocked back on my feet. How childish I must look. Not a good way to convince your dad you’re ready for your own car. Nope, not even close. “I thought I felt a bump on my tongue, do you see anything?” I stuck it out at him.

  He leaned in and looked. “Not a thing.” He glanced at the mirror and back at me. “I wonder about you sometimes.” He shook his head, just a little, but he was smiling.

  “Did this mirror come from Mr. Patel?” I asked, giving it a quick glance.

  “Yes, yes it did. When I saw it I thought of you.” He walked over and swiveled the mirror. I tried not to wince as he touched it. “I thought it would be perfect for your bedroom. Just what you’ve been wanting for the corner. Better than that flat thing on the bathroom door, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, Dad, but…” Wow, what was I going to say? I couldn’t hurt Dad’s feelings, and I had fallen in love with it at first sight. But still. “You don’t want to sell it? You could get three, maybe four thousand dollars for it. I don’t need anything that fancy.”

  “Nothing’s too good for my little girl,” I cringed a little at those last two words, as I always did, but Dad just laughed. “I know its cliché, but it’s true. Besides, I paid less than that for the truckload; I’ll more than make my money back. I feel like a thief after that deal!”

  “Umm. Wow, Dad. Umm. Thank you. I love it, I do.” I gave him the hug I knew he was waiting for, but glared at the mirror behind him.

  “Great!” He released me and stepped back. “I already called Steve and asked him to pick it up after we close and take it to the house. I can get it upstairs myself.”

  I knew what he meant. He meant ‘don’t worry, Steve won’t come in and see what I’ve done to the house’. A hint of pain flickered in his eyes and then vanished as he patted the top of the mirror. He seemed pleased with the acquisition. I would have to figure out how to keep it covered without D
ad finding out. Wow.

  “I thought you would have gotten more done by now.” He waved his hand toward the other pieces. “Are you feeling okay?”

  My mind sprang at the opening. “Actually, Dad, I’m not feeling the greatest. I might be coming down with something. I just didn’t want to leave you at the store alone.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Let me call Steve back. He asked if I wanted him to come in when I called him about the mirror. He said he was bored anyway.” He gave me a wink. “Alecia’s not back yet.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll just sit down for a little while until he gets here. Maybe I got a little hot or something.” Since my butt was dirty anyway, I grabbed the nearest chair waiting to be cleaned and sat down, looking suspiciously at the mirror. Dad noticed the direction of my gaze and grinned.

  “You do love it, don’t you?” He beamed.

  “Absolutely, Dad.”

  As soon as he left the room, I stuck my tongue out at the mirror again, just because. So, it was going home with me. He was going home with me. Now what?

  I stood up and walked slowly toward the mirror, never letting my eyes leave the shiny glass. I could see myself, looking nervous, as I inspected it. Okay, Jessie, get a grip, I commanded myself, and moved closer still.

  It looked so very normal. I was close enough to reach out my hand and touch it, but I didn’t. My eyes searched the glass for any evidence of something otherworldly, a movement, a shadow, a creepy foggy mist or something. There was nothing but me and my filthy clothes and messy hair and all the stuff in the dirty room behind me.

  I noticed some fuzz on my shirt and looked down long enough to pick it off, then my eyes flashed back up, thinking I might catch him looking when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. If my dad could see me now, he would be convinced I was sick. Sick in the head, that is. Maybe I really was sick in the head. Normal people didn’t have glimpses.

  It seemed like forever until I heard Steve’s noisy truck pull into the parking lot. I sat back down in the dirty chair and waited. I heard the bell on the front door, and then he and Dad were talking quietly. They were discussing me, and that mirror. I couldn’t hear every word of it, but I heard enough. Steve was taking me, and the mirror, to my house. He was to leave it sitting on the back porch so one of us could clean it up before taking it inside. Dad was good at hiding the condition of our house, and this ‘plan’ made perfect sense. Steve would have no time, and no reason, to offer to come in.

  A few moments later, Steve appeared in the doorway to the back room. “Hey, kiddo. Not feeling so great today?”

  “Nope.” I gave him an annoyed look. He knew I hated him calling me kiddo, which is exactly why he always did it.

  “Go load up in the monster, then. I’m taking you home.” He walked over to the mirror, threw a soft tarp over it, and carefully picked it up.

  I raced outside to the monster, maybe a little too fast for someone who was ‘sick,’ but I didn’t care. I don’t even know why I was in such a hurry. I forgot to say goodbye to Dad, but I knew he wouldn’t be upset, especially since I supposedly didn’t feel good.

  I glared at the giant truck when I reached it. The monster was a black Chevy Silverado. It was ‘lifted,’ which means it was taller than a normal truck, and it had giant wheels. The top of my head was just about even with the hood, and there was a bar running along the sides for short people like me to step on and climb in, but it still wasn’t easy.

  It may not make a good getaway vehicle, but it was a handy thing to have around if your car got stuck in the mud, as ours did last year. Dad had this brilliant idea of driving us down to Clear Creek after a big rainstorm to see how high the water was where we liked to fish. Getting down there was easy, but getting back up wasn’t going to happen. Steve, and the monster, to the rescue.

  I had managed to climb into the giant truck and strap myself in before Steve came out the door. I wondered why he drove the monster instead of his Toyota. The little truck would have been much easier to load the mirror, and much easier for me to get in, in my sickly state. That’s probably why. I sometimes believed Steve tortured me to make sure I never developed another crush on him.

  That was awful, the crush. I was almost thirteen, and Steve was in high school. He had been working at the store for over a year, and we were friends. He never treated me like a little kid, and almost seemed to like that I followed him around like a puppy. I loved his spiky blonde hair and his green, green eyes, and I thought he was the most handsome boy I had ever seen.

  Steve did a lot of the restoration work on things that needed it. He was good with his hands, and at the top of his shop class. He even made me a beautiful carved wooden box for my birthday. It was really a class assignment, but he said he made it just for me to have after he got his grade. He showed it to me before he turned it in, and that was when I decided I loved him.

  We were sitting on the back porch swing after my little party when he gave it to me. I had been thinking about it, thinking about him, ever since he showed me. In my juvenile mind, I thought he was giving me a hint. I thought he was trying to tell me he couldn’t be my boyfriend until I was a teenager, like him. When I took off the paper and opened it up, there was a note inside. It said, ‘To the best girl I’ve ever known, Happy Birthday, Love Steve.’

  That was it. He loved me. The note all but said so. And then I did the single most stupid thing I had ever done, have ever done, in my whole life. I said ‘I love you, too,” and tried to kiss him. He almost fell off the swing.

  That was the moment everything changed, forever. He laughed at me, thought I was trying to be funny. I just sat there a few seconds blinking back tears, then said something like ‘Ha-ha, I got ya.’ I couldn’t look him in the eyes, but I tried to laugh and pretend I was being funny, just like he thought. That’s when he ruffled my hair and said, “You’re such a trip, kiddo. Let’s go in.” I’ve been kiddo ever since, and he’s never been as good looking as he was before that night.

  The driver door opened and he swung into his seat with a grin on his face, pulling me back from my memories. He gave me a sympathetic smile. “You don’t look so good, kiddo. You gonna be okay at the house by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks.” I said with my best sarcastic tone.

  As we backed out, he turned on the radio and started singing along with it, tapping on the steering wheel with his fingers. I tapped my fingers on my knees, pretending to listen to the song, but watching him out of the corner of my eye. Nope, not nearly as handsome as he used to be, not nearly as handsome as he thought he was, not half as handsome as the boy in the mirror. So there!

  I already had myself unbuckled by the time we pulled into my driveway. As soon as he put the monster in park, I was flying out the door, throwing a half-hearted ‘Thanks’ back over my shoulder. I almost ran to the back door, jamming the key into the old lock and twisting it all in one move. As I swung the door open, I heard Steve call out.

  “Are you really okay? I can stay a little while if you need me to. I can call your dad…”

  I cut him off. “Nope, I’ll be fine. . I just need a bath and a nap.”

  He started to walk toward me, concern on his face, “Are you sure, you look like…”

  “I look like I need a bathroom!” I gave him a duh look.

  “Oh, umm. Sorry.” He said sheepishly. “I’ll unload, then take off. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Bye. Thanks. Bye.” I slammed the door and locked it.

  By the time I made it to the top floor, I almost did feel sick. I hurried to my bathroom and started running water in the claw-foot tub. That thing was so heavy I just knew one day the tub, the water, and I were going to go crashing down straight to the bottom floor. No, straight to the ground below the bottom floor.

  While I waited for it to fill, I looked at myself in the flat mirror on the door. My brown hair hung in general disarray over and around my shoulders. My clothes were nasty. I had dirty smudges on my face where I had scra
tched my nose, wiped my forehead, and brushed my hair out of my eyes with my filthy hands. In short, I was repulsive. This was definitely two-bath dirt, so I hopped in the partially filled tub. More like slid into it, slowly, because of the whole falling through the floor fear.

  I decided to drain and scrub at the same time since it only took about forty five seconds to turn my bath water into a murky swamp. I soaped, I scrubbed, I shampooed, I rinsed, and I repeated. While I let the conditioner soak into my hair, I tried to pick the dirt from under my fingernails. I had never noticed before just how ugly my nails were. They were short and stained from constantly using finish restorers or scrubbing dirty things. I got whatever I could from under them, rinsed my hair, and got out.

  After drying my hair, and myself, I went to my chiffarobe to find some clothes. I didn’t own that many clothes, mostly jeans and tee shirts, but I did have a couple of things I thought were cute. I found my pretty lace camisole, my sleeveless white eyelet top, and a pair of faded cut-offs that I liked because they somehow made my legs look longer. I brushed my hair up into a ponytail, secured it in place, and went back to the flat mirror in the bathroom.

  “Not too bad,” I said to myself, but not exactly what I wanted to see. I grabbed my little makeup bag off the shelf near the sink and took out the mascara. My eyes were my best feature, big, dark brown, with little flecks of gold. I swiped the brush fast along my top lashes, and then gave myself an alluring look in the flat mirror. That’s the look I wanted, natural, only better. Then I realized what I was doing.

  “Ohmigod, I’m insane!”

  I went back to my room and sat down hard on my bed. “What am I doing? What am I freaking doing? I have lost my mind. I knew it. I knew I would lose my mind one day.” The fact that I was saying all this, out loud, to myself, only confirmed my suspicions. I wished I could talk to Julie. I couldn’t talk to Julie. Not about this. Not ever.