(Originally an oral story told on a camping trip. This is not a transcript but rather a retelling in written form. This is where my journey as a writer really began. Most of the text is from 2009. The end was not done, so I added a couple of short paragraphs in 2014 to round it out, but avoided revising the old text.)
A Gypsy woman walked down the dusty streets of an old west town. As she walked past the single row of buildings that lined each side of the street, it seemed that the light wind was the only thing that filled the desolation of the place. She was more or less middle-aged, but she looked old beyond her years. She had lived a hard life, making her living in difficult ways: sometimes hawking wares, sometimes playing the fortune teller, and sometimes resorting to lower forms of employment. However, it had been a while since she needed to do any of these things, for her luck had turned in an unexpected way.
She approached the jailhouse, which presently contained a single bandit and not much in the way of a guard detail. The bandit was of interest to her, because he had recently done quite a bit of robbing, and no-one knew where he had hidden the valuables. She entered the jail house, pulled up a stool, and sat down next to the cage. She looked at the bandit, studying him with her eyes. She had a piercing gaze, developed from years of figuring out people and how to manipulate them. However, she said nothing to the bandit. He stared uncomfortably back at her, but also said nothing. Mainly, he was annoyed at someone disturbing his rare moment of privacy.
She pulled a mirror out of her carpet bag. The mirror body appeared to be made of a soft, dull metal like pewter. The frame was lightly decorated with something that looked like jewels. However, none of them were particularly sparkly. The reflective surface of the mirror made no perceptible seem with the body. In fact, there was no glass at all, just a flat surface of highly polished metal.
She held the mirror up in such a way that she could view the face of the man in the cell. She saw many things in the mirror, terrifying things, for the mirror showed what was inside people. Those things didn’t move her at all. What she really sought was the location of the valuables. She studied the swirl of images and focused in on the man’s memories. Gradually, it became clear to her where the loot was hidden. She then stood up and walked out of the jailhouse, leaving the man bewildered about what just happened.
A psycho-therapist entered her office to prepare for the day’s work. She had an exhausting job, spending the day talking with deeply troubled people. She would see about 6 people per day, because beyond that the emotional drain would become too great. She cared about people, and truly wanted to help them make changes for the better. It was because she cared that she spent so many years in training for her profession. Even though she had been focused on becoming a therapist since she graduated from high school, her youth was already gradually slipping into middle-age.
The first appointment of the day was a recently started patient. She had spent a number of sessions listening to him talk about the issues that had brought him in. Many of these were the usual kinds of things: difficulty communicating with his wife, trouble getting along with people at his work, etc. Today, she felt like it was time to begin more active therapy. After a few warm-up formalities, she told him, “Would you like to go the heart of the issue? I offer you an opportunity to see things the way they really are.”
The patient sat silently for a few minutes, trying to absorb what the therapist had just said. Finally, he spoke: “I’m not sure exactly what you mean.” In response, the therapist pointed to a mirror laying on the coffee table between them. “I inherited this from my grandmother. It’s not like any mirror you’ve ever seen before. When you look into this one, it shows you what you look like on the inside.” The patient, now skeptical, could not resist picking up the mirror and looking into. Instantly he let out a yelp of terror and threw the mirror across the room.
The therapist had seen this reaction many times before. Some of her patients would never come back, and others would make a point of avoiding the mirror from then on. A few would dare to keep looking, and over time, those that did would make deep and permanent changes for the better.
The therapist never looked into the mirror herself. In fact, she was careful to keep it face-down whenever it was out. A small part of her feared what she would see, but mostly she believed that she didn’t need to look into it. She was, by most measures, a well adjusted person. And, after all, she was helping others make improvements in their lives. She was basically a good person that cared for others, so why would there be much that needs fixing?
The therapist generally kept the mirror at home on her dresser when she wasn’t using it in the office, face-down of course. One day, her 6-year old daughter was playing around with the things on the dresser and accidentally knocked the mirror to the floor. Her mother had sternly warned her never to touch the mirror, so anxiously she dove to the floor to retrieve it. As she reached down for it, she saw in it an arching cat, growling and spitting. She let out a screech of surprise and looked behind her to find the animal. The creature was nowhere to be found. Curiously, she turned back to the mirror on the floor, and saw a grossly deformed version of herself with several extra arms flailing and grasping for nearby objects. Almost queasy with repulsion, she pulled back, and the image disappeared. Slowly it began to dawn on her that in some strange way the image in the mirror was her own reflection. It was a bit disconcerting because it didn’t act like an image in a regular mirror. It was almost like having your reflection talk back to you and have a mind of its own.
She carefully placed the mirror back on the dresser, trying to arrange it to look like it hadn’t been moved. However, her curiosity would not allow her to leave it alone. From time to time, when her mother wasn’t around, she would go play with it. The visions in the mirror were sometimes disturbing, but also sometimes beautiful, and more often than not a mixture of the two. There was a monster with a black mouth surrounded by many eyes, all looking inward. There was a kitten gently purring, with its soft gaze looking outward.
The images changed with time. Storms raged there as she changed from a little girl into a young woman. Lightning flashed to and from her face. Then she saw princess dancing in a field of flowers. Sometimes that princess turned into a vicious dragon, snapping and slathering. But always it was her. When there was a problem at school, she ran home, looked in the mirror, and often saw the real cause.
The mirror was never pleasant, but the pain lessened with time. She came to value what it did to her. She became a kind and gentle person, with deep understanding for others. She was quiet but had many friends. People were drawn to her because they sensed something special.