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I didn't talk to the girl in the mirror, at least not at first. Even though we looked alike, we were not the same. I didn't know where her world was, but what I did know was that her world wasn't mine.
The similarities were this. We both had short black hair, pale skin, and glasses like Peppermint Patty’s friend Marcie. But Mirror Girl wore pink barrettes in her hair and sometimes crimped it. Normally, I just curled mine under to straighten, it if I did anything at all.
Mirror Girl’s life seemed more glamorous than mine. She groomed herself for parties and dances.
I checked and rechecked my crappy credit score at Lending Tree, read spam emails from Jane Fonda about climate change, and tried to pretend like Jennifer Aniston’s Friends character was my bff. Mirror Girl’s life seemed so extra compared to mine, so, when she reached her hand through the mirror, I took it.
When I got through to the other side, I expected lights, drinks, and music. Instead, it was cold and dark and nothing like the glimpses I had seen. I stood in a forest encircled by trees. The trees tried to grab and hold me. I looked through the mirror at my old crappy life with longing. I could see my messy apartment. It now seemed like a castle compared to this prison. The mirror was still there, but the portal had closed. There was no way out.
Lori D'Angelo's work has appeared in literary journals including Drunken Boat, Gargoyle, Hawaii Pacific Review, the Potomac Review, and Word Riot. She is a fellow at Hambidge Center for Creative Arts, a grant recipient from the Elizabeth George Foundation, and an alumna of the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley.
Image credit: Vince Fleming
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