Issue 10.2 Spring 2015

10.2 cover image

 

 

Sick Reflections

 

Katie Storter

 


She heard him come in. The unmistakable familiarity of their creaky door frame only reinforced that she would be much safer remaining where she was. Submerged in her fortress, as protective as it was dry, Hannah stared at the wall, vexed by the imaginative prosperity inspired by the droll appearance of their bathroom. The fullness of the door, ready and willing to conceal her were it to be pushed open reminded her of a knight. A suit of armor prepared to defend his lady at the slightest note of aggression. The doorknob, gold, faded, and worn did little to suggest the magnificence of the crown Hannah would wear if she were queen. But she isn't, and her noble sentinel waivers at the slightest touch with intent to open.

 

The hot water had long dismissed itself, and Hannah's candle was nearly out. She needn't bother make her husband mindful of her whereabouts. The moment when a distant "hello" may have felt welcoming and genuine had passed. Surely, he would see the subtle flicker through the crack in the door standing slightly ajar. Whether to make conversation or not was a ball that found itself in his court, though Hannah considered it to have been deflated for quite some time now.
           

For some indeterminable amount of time Hannah listened to the nearly inaudible footsteps as her husband filled a glass of water in the kitchen, and probably after only a few sips poured it out into the sink. Followed by the muted clink of glass on the counter, Hannah's husband started down the hall. He must have known that his wife was in the bathroom, or he would have turned the light on as he slipped into the dark little room. Stopping at the sink closest to the door, he loosened his tie and released a visible sigh of exhaustion. He gently returned the door to its slightly open position with the heel of his foot and carefully rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands.
           

Hannah took full stock of the scene before her. His defeated shoulders and slight bend in the knees blended right into the dilapidated bathroom scenery. She hadn't moved a single muscle since long before her husband walked in. Hannah, without closing her eyes, reinvented the moment within the confines of her head, which were after all much more alive and welcoming than those of the physical walls around her.
           

In a past life her husband's homecoming would have sparked a much different interest than it did today. Interest at all would have been a difference worth noting for that matter. Hannah imagined herself calculating her silence as the creaky doorframe suggested his arrival. She would have counted the footsteps and seconds it would take him to determine that his beautiful wife was taking a bath. Nothing would have pleased her more than to see the tips of his fingers curl around the bathroom door as he walked in, lessening the distance between them with every foot fall. Neither of them, even on their best day, a couple of many words, Hannah would have smiled a devilish grin as he quietly greeted her. Making himself busy so as not to stare, he would have washed his hands without looking in the mirror. Hearing the waterfall of small splashes run off his wife as she rose, he would have hesitated only slightly, but quickly hidden his attention in the water pouring over his hands. Hannah longed to silently approach him and wrap her glistening arms around his waist, untucking his shirt, but she couldn't today.
           

Thinking that the only affective response yielded by such actions presently would probably be a gauche distaste for damp clothes, Hannah's eyes focused. She hadn't realized the faucet was off and the reflection in the mirror was that of her husband's eyes, full of sudden alarm and locked on her own. Dismissing his appearance of shock for one generated by genuinely not knowing that she was behind him until now, Hannah studied his face and tried to remember the last time she saw his reflection. It seemed like so long ago. His mirrored image suddenly looked so much different than his face that Hannah had a very difficult time maintaining the placid expression she had been wearing before he walked in. Without warning, the mirrors, for the first time, hung on the wall with purpose.
           

The moment, however fleeting, was one to hold on to Hannah decided. No ill will between them mattered if they could meet in the mirror and make peace. Their relationship could be one of silent appreciation and understanding. This was the sign Hannah needed to set aside all adversities. She immediately felt a pressing desire to hang mirrors all over their home. A mirror on every door, front, bedroom, fridge, closets, would allow every corner of their home to be reflected in a new light at any measure of open or closed hinges. The sweeping range of different angles would display a fluid illustration of their once stagnant life together. The excitement Hannah would feel as she opened her eyes every morning to take in the new perspective would trade the emptiness in their relationship for intrigue and a sense of constant renewal. The only reflection that would never change would be that of the bathroom. The constant likeness in the mirrors hung steadfast on the wall would remind them every day of the once undesirable nature of the intangible and unconquerable space between them.
           

Willing the candle to go out so Hannah would have a reason to get up and set into motion her mirrored transformation, she could not help but feel for just one moment that her husband was looking behind her rather than at her. The look on his face suggested that the flame from the candle was suddenly dancing on the wall behind her in a threatening and hostile manner, creating and quickly distorting images of revulsion.
 
Then the flame went out.

Luke gasped and immediately spun around, flicking on the light switch to illuminate the ferocity of the horror behind him. Hoping the reflection of his wife in the mirror was playing a terrible trick on him, his eyes froze as they revealed reality. His beautiful wife was gone. Her body remained in the bathtub, filled with the stale red hue of self destruction. What remained of the back of her perfectly shaped head rested on the ledge of their tub while her final gaze fixed upon the mirror he had moments ago looked into to relax his tie. Luke did everything he could to make her happy while she tirelessly battled evasive and ever changing inner demons.
           

Before he went to work this morning Hannah had mentioned something of which he gave little thought to at the time. She had made many conclusive resolutions before, none of which ever remained relevant for longer than a day. Luke thought this comment lacked the usual amount of potential as he walked out the door, but he also would never have married his wife if she weren't capable of surprising him at any moment.
           

As he grabbed his keys to leave he heard Hannah turn on the faucet to draw a bath. When he went to tell her he would see her later their reflections met. She lit up with satisfaction and noted her desireto make permanent the happiness she felt when looking into the mirror and meeting his gaze. She had a poetic look about her that morning. He was pressed for time and not presented with the appropriate moment to ask her what she meant. She had not spoken that many words in a row since she fell ill. But now she was gone, and his memory of her voice was already fading in the mirror, sinking to the bottom of the tub, guarded by the bathroom door.   
           

 

 

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