The reflection in the bathroom mirror isn’t his.
It’s not even a reflection.
He stares at it numbly while rubbing his thumb against the business end of his girlfriend’s disposable razor.
“Honey, are you ready? “
Startled, he breaks from the visage to the red droplets at the bottom of the sink and mumbles, “Blood and Porcelain. Good band name.” The man in the mirror nods and smirks approvingly. “Be down in a minute!”
“Reservations are for 8:30.”
“Yup, I’m coming.” He grabs the Windex from under the sink, runs the water, gives a few quick spritzes, and wipes away the evidence. Then, with a Band-aid on his thumb, he’s out the door and down the stairs.
“What happened?” his girlfriend gestures toward his thumb while applying lipstick.
“You know, man in the mirror.”
“Uh-huh – you all right – do you still want to go?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” He flashes an exaggerated smile and gives her a sarcastic, blood-stained thumbs-up.
Silence fills the car’s passenger cabin on the drive to the restaurant. She clears her throat before speaking.
“So, when did it start up again?“
“A few weeks ago,” he checks the rearview and sees himself sitting in the middle of the back seat, head down, aggressively working a hand-held gaming device – click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.
The sound reverberates with throbs of pain in his freshly wounded thumb.
“Do you see him now?“
“Yep. The little fucker hitched a ride with us.“
The vision, which never speaks, raises his head, and acknowledges the acknowledgment – giving a friendly “what’s up” nod before reengaging with the video game.
The girlfriend looks over her shoulder at the empty backseat and then back at her boyfriend. She’s still learning to balance her reality with his. “Here’s hoping he remains in the car,” she says earnestly.
“Here’s hoping.“
The dinner is a small gathering in an intimate setting. They purposely arrive fifteen minutes early to conduct restaurant reconnaissance, surveying for mirrors and other reflective surfaces. Weirdly, this type of collaborative exercise has strengthened their relationship, for now. Secretly, they both worry about the long-term effects and emotional fatigue from their uniquely strange threesome.
They sit at the reserved table with their backs to a mirrored wall and wait for others to arrive.
“You good?“
“Sane as salt,” he says with a jittery smile while flagging the waitress for a drink.
The evening goes well. There’s a lot of laughter and light conversation, with the boyfriend and girlfriend intermittently checking on one another through caring glances.
As the evening winds down, the boyfriend casually looks toward the swinging kitchen doors that allow the free flow of wait staff. As the door swings open, he briefly catches a glimpse of himself working the line with two other cooks – chopping vegetables and garlic – before the door swings shut.
He shoots a worried look at his girlfriend.
She knows “the look” and immediately starts surveilling the room for reflective surfaces, using her boyfriend as the epicenter, then fanning out from where they’re sitting.
The door swings open, and this time, he sees himself standing alone, smiling, holding a plucked chicken in one hand and a carving knife in the other.
He drops his wine glass and grabs his girlfriend’s arm.
The glass shatters on the floor, and everyone at their table (and surrounding tables) looks in their direction.
Without a hitch, the girlfriend says disarmingly, “Time to cut off Bill!”
Clearly, she’s rehearsed for this scenario. There’s a momentary lull before one of the guests chimes in, “Waitress, we need coffee, STAT!” and the table breaks into laughter, providing necessary cover for the girlfriend.
She rests her hand gently on his. “You’re hurting me.“
He loosens his grip.
“Look at me,” she whispers – his pupils dance in pools of panic. “Breathe, honey. breathe through it. We’re going to stand up in three seconds. Follow my lead. One, two, three. “
They stand, and she speaks, “Thanks so much for the lovely evening! We’ve got a sick cat at home that needs medication, so we’re heading out. It was so nice seeing everyone!“
“Just give the cat whatever Bill was drinking; that’ll do the trick.” More alcohol-fueled laughter. More cover for them.
“Good one, Jack!” She smiles and points at the table, and they head for the exit.
When they get to the car, she can see that he’s still visibly shaken.
‘What happened?” she says. “I didn’t see any mirrors. “
His voice shakes. “He wasn’t in a mirror. He was in the kitchen, holding a plucked chicken and a carving knife, smiling at me like a demented line cook.”
“Fuck,” she said.
“He’s broken through. Now he’s in our – or should I say my – world.” He was hyper-conscious not to drag his girlfriend into his nightmare.
He didn’t want to ruin her.
He looks at his girlfriend and rattles off a bunch of questions. “How long before he starts talking to me? How long before I start interacting with him? What does he want with me? I’m scared of where this is heading. I don’t want to end up like my father.“
The girlfriend turns her head sharply towards him. It’s the first time in years that he’s mentioned his father. “You’re not your father.“
The boyfriend responds immediately. “I’m not so sure about that.“
Her words were meant to stem the rising tide of fear in his voice – but they’re both aware of the dark footprint on the ladder of his family’s DNA. The fatalism of that biological history buries him in hopelessness.
When they enter their apartment, they immediately visage-proof the rooms—taking down mirrors, flipping framed pictures, and draping a dishcloth over the glass door on the microwave oven.
The boyfriend says, “Now that he’s broken through, I’m not sure what difference this is going to make.“
“Me neither. We’ll have to wait and see.” She smiles at him warmly as heading down the hallway to the bathroom.
A minute later, she returns with two Olanzapine tablets and a glass of water then hands them to her boyfriend.
“Thanks … for everything… for bearing with me… for seeing me through. I’d be gone without you.“
“Don’t say that. I love you. We’ll be OK —all three of us.“
He laughs, then starts to cry.
bendingtheneedle 