#yeahwrite 459

Every day on the way to work, I walk the exact same route. I grab the subway, take it three stops, walk another 4 through the center of the city, a single speck in a dust storm. 

Every day I walk by this building with mirror finished windows. They reflect the street perfectly, and there is nearly always someone checking out their reflection, or maybe someone else’s. I’m no exception. I always glance over, smile, and move on.

Every day, my reflection turns, smiles, and moves on. 

Except when it doesn’t.

Last week when I looked at the building, she didn’t turn. Her head was down, hiding from the rain, just like mine. Half a second later she looks up.

The fear in her eyes matches mine, probably. We have the same face at least, and probably the same reaction to our reflections no longer reflecting. 

I jog off, still watching the wall, watching my reflection catch up and begin mirroring me again, even as I stop in place to try and catch her out.

“That’s a bank, nothing special about it.”

“Reflections aren’t ghosts.”

“Parallel worlds are not proven, and we have no way of connecting with them.”

No one believes me. I don’t believe me. She hasn’t done anything weird since last week, matching me exactly in every move. Any attempt at being different results in a perfect mirror, as always.

I go to libraries every day for a week. When the public library doesn’t give results, I go to the university. When that’s a bust, I take the subway all the way out of town to a bookstore that has a large collection labeled ‘Sprituality and Religion’ in the hopes of an answer. Still nothing.

So instead, I go to the source.

“What’s your name?” I write on the glass, hoping for an answer.

“Maria” I write, not knowing the letters before they are formed. 

“Why?” I write, my hand now trembling

She shrugs, and so do I, a perfect mirror as always. 

Our hands reach up and touch the glass. It’s warm, practically hot against the winter cold. Maybe she is warming it, maybe I am. 

We both turn, and walk away. As soon as I clear the building, I stumble, my body suddenly heavy. With the weight of the truth, or maybe with the weight of free will.

Every day, I walk by the mirror finished building, that reflects the street perfectly. I always glance over, smile and move on.

So does Maria.