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Dust. All over, on everything. I take in the clutter of furniture in my great-uncle’s attic, sighing as I silently wonder what the hell I am going to do with it all. Nearly every inch of space is taken by sheet-covered antiques in all shapes and sizes.
I hear my mom climbing up the stairs; stepping up next to me, she makes a little amused snort as she stares at the mess.
“That man,” she says, shaking her head. “He knew antiques, and made some killer deals at times, but whenever he sold something with profit… guess what he did with the money?” She gestures with her hand towards the dusty objects. “Bought more antiques.”
“I don’t feel comfortable with this,” I say, turning to her. “Why did he leave it to me in the first place?”
“He always liked you. He probably wanted to make sure you have a little nest egg. And you could use it, you know. It’s always a good idea to have some money in the bank.”
“Yeah, but…” I chew my lip, thinking it over. “I don’t know jack about antiques. What am I supposed to do with it?”
“We’ll have to hire an expert,” mom says, lifting the sheet off the nearest item, an ornate bookcase. “I’ll find a reliable one for you. Some of these things could be worth a pretty penny.”
“Yeah, maybe. If you see anything you like, mom, go ahead and keep it.”
“Thanks, honey. What about you? Don’t you want any of this stuff?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
We push ourselves through the narrow gaps between the furniture, sneezing and brushing off dust from our clothes as we peek underneath the protective sheets. Uncle Bill has helpfully enough attached notes to most of the pieces with information about the age and origins of the items, so mom takes notes on all the things and photographs some of them with her cell.
I edge myself into a corner, pulling off the sheets on the things there: a dollhouse, a washstand and a mirror. I take a closer look at the mirror. It’s taller than me and quite wide, with a square, gilded frame. The guilding is dark and discolored and has a little bead-like patter on the inside of the frame, but otherwise it’s quite plain compared to the extravagant things it’s surrounded by.
I kind of like it.
Mom comes up to me to inspect it. She looks at the tag attached to the hanging device at the back.
“C. 1850, original glass,” she reads. “It seems to be in fairly good shape.”
“I think I’ll keep this for myself,” I tell her. She raises an eyebrow.
I look at it again.
“Yeah. I want to keep it.”
I take the mirror with me when mom drives me home. When she leaves, I wipe it clean and hang it on the wall in my bedroom, on the left hand side of my bed. I’m lying in bed now, trying to sleep but my eyes are continuously drawn towards the mirror. At the time, it felt like a good decision to bring it home, but now it just seems really odd. Why would I want a giant mirror in my apartment? What the hell was I thinking? Well, I guess it does give my tiny apartment “an illusion of space” as my mom put it.
Tired of tossing and turning, I get up to get myself a glass of water. As I walk back to the bed from the kitchen I see something in the corner of my eye.
Halting, I spin around and stare at the mirror.
For just a second it seemed as though what I saw in the mirror was not myself, nor my room. I saw someone with red hair, and a room with blue walls. It was only there for a second, but I saw it. Didn’t I?
Hesitantly, I move closer to the mirror. All I can see in it is myself – short and pale with mussed black hair and large, dark eyes that make me look sixteen instead of twenty. That’s what I see in the mirror – not someone with red hair or a room with blue walls. I shake my head, laughing tiredly. I must be sleepier than I thought. I return to the bed, and my head has barely hit the pillow before I fall asleep.
Tired as I am, I still manage to get to work on time the next morning. I hang up my coat in the back room and say hi to Alex, my boss and owner of the bookstore affectionately named ‘Alex’s Dungeon’. It’s a used bookstore specialized in sci-fi, horror and fantasy, graphic novels and manga. It also sells some memorabilia, goth toys and rare movies. Alex calls it the nerd paradise of his dreams.
I got a job here when I decided to hold off going to college for a year. I really enjoy the job. Alex and I have become good friends, and dealing with customers is helping me get over my natural shyness, at least at some level. When it comes to dating I’m as bad as ever. I’ve never been on a date, and I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never even kissed a guy. I saw glimpses of opportunities once or twice, but I didn’t dare pursue them.
I know. I’m such a chicken.
Alex, putting up Living Dead Dolls on a shelf turns to me with a smile.
“Hey, John, I’ve been meaning to ask you: you’re still single, right?”
I’m out to Alex. He simply asked me one night while we were sharing a pizza. I admitted it and I blushed down to my toes when I accidentally let slip that my love life was non-existent. But Alex could have cared less. He’s a great guy, and really hot in a young Charlie Sheen-kind of way. Too bad he’s straight.
“Well, the reason I’m asking,” he continued, “is that I’m going to hang out with some friends later, and there’s one guy I’d really like to introduce you to. I have a feeling you two might hit it off.”
I’m annoyed now. So, just because he knows I’ve never had a boyfriend he suddenly sees it as his personal mission to find me one? Who died and made him Cupid?
“Thanks, but I already have plans,” I mutter. I consider telling him I already have a date, but I know he will see right through the lie, so I tell him I’m having dinner with my parents. It’s a pathetic lie, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me anyway, but he doesn’t press the issue. Instead he just shrugs and goes to the door to open for business.
Sighing as I sit up in bed, I rub my eyes. I was dozing for a few hours, but I woke up and now I can’t seem to get back to sleep. It’s that mirror. I’m not used to it yet, and it’s distracting. Even though I feel stupid, I decide to take it down and lean it against the wall in the bathroom for now. Otherwise, I’ll never get any sleep.
I toss back the covers and shiver. The air is cold. I grab a pair of sweatpants from the closet and move towards the mirror.
My reflection is gone. It’s just not there. I can’t see myself in the mirror, or my room. What I see is the room with blue walls that I thought I glimpsed for just a second the other night. And sitting by a desk, looking at me with wide eyes, a man with red hair. It’s as if my mirror has become a window into someone else’s world. What the hell is happening?
I close my eyes and shake my head. When I open them again, the man is still there. He looks as shocked as I feel. He gets up from his chair and takes a few hesitant steps towards me. I reach out and touch the mirror. The glass is still there, still solid. I withdraw my hand. I can see the man’s lips move, but I can’t hear him. I shake my head.
He stays still for a moment, then walks right up to the mirror. I half expect him to walk straight through the glass and I take a step back, but he stops right in front of the mirror. Leaning forward, he breathes on the glass and uses his fingers to write on it:
“Who R U?”
I step up to the mirror. Breathing on the mirror like he did, I write my reply, making sure to write backwards with inverted letters so that he will be able to read it.
“John. Who R U?”
“Darren. What’s going on?”
I shake my head.
He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment then holds up his palm and makes a writing motion against it with his fingers. I nod to indicate I understand, then go to grab a pad and pen from my desk. When I return to the mirror, Darren is sitting cross legged on the floor in front of it, holding a pad in his lap. I sit down on the floor also, and he writes something on the pad and holds it up.
“Are you real?”
Not really sure how to reply to that, I write down:
“Last time I checked.”
He smiles at that. He has a very nice smile. Taking his pad, he writes down:
“Maybe we’re both crazy.”
I laugh quietly to myself as I write my reply.
I hold the pad up for Darren to read. Suddenly, the image in the mirror seems to ripple like water. Darren’s face becomes distorted, fading away, until I can no longer see him at all. All I can see is myself.
I sit there on the floor, staring dumbfounded at the mirror.
The next day I almost arrive late for work, having stopped by every puddle of water, every store window, anything that showed my reflection, staring into it, trying to see if Darren would reappear. But I don’t see anything, not a single glimpse.
Arriving at the store, I let myself in with my key. Alex looks up when I come in.
“Man!” he exclaims. “You look exhausted. What were you up to last night? I would say you got laid, but people who’ve gotten laid usually look happier.”
“I was… stuck in a good book. Couldn’t put it down.”
“Oh, yeah? Which one?”
“Uhmm… ‘The Trial’,” I say, too nervous to think of anything else. Alex raises an eyebrow.
“Then I don’t blame you for looking so drained. All right, I’ll make us some coffee before we open, you look like you could use some.”
Alex hauls himself out of his chair and goes to the back room. I turn my attention to the manga section which is looking messy as usual and begin sorting out the books, trying to put my thoughts in order at the same time.
It must have been a dream. Everything that happened last night. Just a dream. How could it possibly be anything else? But… it seemed so real. So detailed. I almost never remember my dreams, and the few times I do the are just an incoherent scramble of images.
So how could I suddenly remember everything about last night? Darren’s room. The blue walls. A futon in the corner. Art supplies everywhere. A cluttered desk with a laptop on it. A framed “Nosferatu” poster on the wall.
And Darren himself. His hair. The vivid red color that was obviously dyed, but it really suited him. Some faint freckles on his nose. A little taller than me, but like me he has a slender build. Probably my age, or a year or two older. Now that I think about it, he was kind of cute. Really cute. Gorgeous.
A thought strikes me, and I start laughing. Oh my god! Maybe I’m so sexually deprived that I start imagining cute guys that appear in my mirror. How pathetic. I need a date. Maybe I should take Alex up on that offer to meet his friend. Anyway, that thing that happened last night will probably never happen again, so it doesn’t do any good to think about it. Probably.
But… what if I want it to happen again?
I groan. Oh god, someone slap me in the face!
“Java’s done!” Alex calls from the back room.
Alex’s coffee. That’ll work too.
It’s night. Sitting on the bed with a book in my lap, I do my best trying to read, but my eyes are continuously drawn towards the mirror.
It’s like it’s mocking me.
All day long I tried to convince myself that I was just dreaming last night, but still I keep looking towards the mirror, because… because I don’t want it to be a dream. Because I want to see him again. Why I want that so badly is not something that I want to think about right now, though. I’m confused enough as it is.
My legs start to ache, so I get up and stretch them with a groan. Looking at the clock, I see it’s nearing one a.m.
I walk right up to the mirror and put my hand on the glass. I peer into it so closely that my nose almost touches the surface.
“What the hell am I doing?”
I close my eyes and sigh. When I open them again I’m staring right at Darren. I step back, gasping in surprise, and then my mouth cracks open in a huge smile. He’s smiling too, giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling all over. Without taking my eyes off him I sit down and grab my pad and pen which I left lying on the floor last night. He does the same, scribbles down a few words on his pad and holds it up:
“Guess it wasn’t temporary insanity.”
Laughing, I write my answer:
I am sitting almost as close to the mirror as I can get. Some part of my brain is still trying to point out that this can’t possibly be happening, but I don’t really care right now. I can’t take my eyes off that smile, and those eyes. I notice now they’re green, and in this dimmed light they almost have the shade of absinthe.
A little shiver runs through my body. He must have noticed, because his smile widens and he writes down another message:
“So you feel it too?”
“What do you mean?” I ask him
“You know what I mean.”
I almost melt when I see the way he’s looking at me. I know that look, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of it.
It’s radiating from his eyes, so intense it’s almost like a physical touch. Unconsciously, I reach out my hand and press it flat against the mirror glass. He places his hand over mine. I hardly dare to breathe.
Leaning forward, I put my lips against the mirror glass. I only meant to kiss it briefly, but I freeze when Darren leans forward and presses his lips against the glass by mine. I half close my eyes, trying to imagine what the soft flesh of his lips would feel like, his arms around me, his tongue sliding into my mouth…
I lean back. At the same time, the image in the mirror begins to swirl, become distorted, and then, just like that, Darren is gone and I can only see myself again. I lie down on the floor with a disappointed sigh. For a while there, I almost thought I could feel him. Almost.
“Listen, John…” Alex looks concerned when I look up. “I’m going out with a few of my friends on Friday after work for a few drinks. That guy I mentioned before will be there. Why don’t you come with us?”
I sigh. I should agree to go, I really should. But I just don’t want to. All I want is to see Darren again. I just can’t stop thinking about him.
“Look,” Alex says before I can answer. “At least think about it. I think it would do you good to get out, meet some people.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
But in the end, I know I’ll end up saying no, anyway.
Later in the evening, falling asleep on the couch, I dream. I am lost in the house of mirrors at the carnival I used to visit as a kid. I walk and walk, but I run into dead ends everywhere. I hear footsteps, and as I turn I see the brief reflections in the mirrors of someone else, moving away from me, and I know it’s Darren. I run, but he is always just out of reach. I try to call out, but I have no voice. And suddenly, somehow, the mirrors have closed me in, blocked off the way I came. I am trapped. I pound my fists against the mirrors, try to break them but I can’t. And I can hear Darren’s footsteps becoming fainter and fainter.
When I wake up I feel sad and frustrated. And not a little bit confused. Why is this happening? Why do I keep seeing Darren in the mirror? It can’t be a dream, it feels too real. Which means that either I’ve gone completely off my rocker, or my mirror is some weird kind of magical object. But how am I supposed to know which it is? How do I find out if I still have all my marbles? The thought of asking anyone for help really scares me.
“Mom, dad… I’ve been having visions of this guy in my mirror. His name is Darren and he’s really hot. Do you think I might be nuts, or is it just the mirror?”
I cringe as I think about it. I can’t tell anyone about this. I can’t.
Then I realize how stupid I’m being and I blush deeply. If it’s just the mirror, then all I have to do is try to find Darren – ask him for an address, a phone number, anything. If he really exists then it can’t be too hard to find him. And meet him in real life… If he’s close by then maybe I can meet him soon. Tomorrow, or maybe even tonight.
I shiver at the thought of being able to touch Darren, kiss him… take him inside my body. Oh god, I want that. So much.
The room is dark. Instead of switching on the lamps, I light the candles in my iron candleholders. I throw some pillows on the floor and put out pad and pencil. Then I begin pacing the floor, throwing expectant glances at the mirror, sometimes stopping to polish off imaginary smudges on it with the sleeve of my shirt. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen tonight, and every time I try to push it from my mind it bounces back, making me feel sick with nerves.
I stop pacing when I catch a movement in the corner of my eye. I turn, and there he is, smiling and raising his hand in greeting. Instantly drunk on his smile, I clumsily sit down and he kneels, picking up his pad which already has words on it. Or, one word:
He stands, his eyes never looking away from my face. His hands go to the collar of his button-down shirt and begin undoing the buttons, slowly. My mouth unconsciously opens and my eyes widen when it hits me what he’s about to do, and I feel my cock reacting as the shirt is spread open before me and slips off his shoulders, falling to the floor. He has lit candles too, several of them, and their light is making his glorious skin shine.
His hands go to the belt in his dark, torn jeans, unbuckling it. The smile on his face is not teasing or seductive, but warm and tender, and somehow I understand that what’s happening right now means just as much to the both of us. He has opened the button fly on his jeans, and as he slides them down his long legs, I can see the outline of his cock, straining to be free of the black boxer briefs he’s wearing. And then, when jeans and socks have been removed, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and takes them off too.
He’s beautiful. So beautiful I could cry, as I stare at the perfect, elegantly defined body. I can’t take my eyes off him. He puts one hand around the large, rosy pink shaft and starts stroking himself.
I rise. I want him to see me too, but I’m nervous, and when I begin to slip my shirt over my head my hands shake. Somehow, I manage to pull the shirt off without looking too awkward. I force myself to meet his eyes as I shyly run my fingers through my hair. He doesn’t seem disappointed, as I expected. In fact, he seems to be devouring me with his eyes as he slowly strokes his cock.
Blushing, I put my hands on the waistband of my sweats. I’m glad I’m not wearing jeans, because my hands are trembling so bad now that I would have looked really stupid trying to unbutton them. Not wanting to prolong the process, I pull down my underwear along with my sweatpants and hurriedly step out of them, kicking them away.
For the first time, I fully understand what it means to be naked, I mean really naked: to stand in nothing but your skin in front of a person you’re attracted to, feeling his gaze on you as if he could see right down to your bones. I’m so aware of myself: my pale skin, my feminine-looking feet, my blushing face, the hardon between my legs… I’m afraid to look at him, and I’m afraid not to look… so I do.
He thinks I’m beautiful. I can see it on his face. No one has ever looked at me like that. And all of a sudden, I don’t feel uncomfortable anymore. I never want him to stop looking at me like that, with that expression, stroking himself.
My hands start to move over my body. I run them up over my belly to my chest, rolling my nipples between my fingers pinching them to make them harden. Darren licks his lips as he watches me, and I wonder what those lips could do to my nipples in real life…
Keeping my left hand at my chest, I let my right hand wander down again, down past my hip to lightly stroke my thigh, then up to close around my penis. I start stroking, breathing faster as the pleasure starts building. Darren is jacking himself fast now, his mouth open, his face flushed.