Smile, for it’s a brand new day

I am the mirror in the bathroom. She greets me with a smile like she does every morning. Except today is special. I know because of the time she takes primping herself. Washing and styling her hair, shaping her eyebrows, painting her nails. She doesn’t wear makeup because her skin breaks out if she does. Truth is she doesn’t need any, she is pretty as is. Me admiring her admiring herself.

I am the leather bag on her arm, usually doubling up as her purse and her backpack, but right now acting as a shopping cart for a birthday gift. Her idea of a birthday gift for herself is probably a silk ribbon tied around a penis. She dropped me in class once and everyone saw the magazine that slid out. Truth is she did it on purpose, for the cool girls to notice. Here’s a conundrum. Were the cool girls mean because they were cool? Or were they cool because they were mean?

I am the red dress she’s trying on in the fitting room of her favorite department store. My curves fit perfectly over her curves, accentuating them. She turns around, looking at us from all directions, taking pictures on her phone, sending them to her bff for approval. Truth is it doesn’t really matter what her bff has to say because she is already in love with me and knows what she will be wearing for the birthday party tonight.

I am a comfortable, though slightly overused, vinyl upholstered barstool. She sits over me at the bar, where she’d rather be than on the dance floor where her friends are, her feet dangling beneath her like a child’s on a swing, her fingers tracing the edge of the martini glass in front of her.  I have seen her before and I know she doesn’t sleep around, even if she has no qualms getting hapless strangers to buy her drinks. Truth is I hope she won’t sleep around, even if the cool girls do or claim to do.

I could have been the back door of the bar pushed open, the puddle of water and piss in the back alley stepped in, the ejaculate of a drunken stranger sprayed, a drop of tear fallen because of two bold pink lines, a dull hospital gown thrown on. Instead I am her bff’s bracelet tinkling in an ear, a glass of water downed before a hasty goodbye, the window in the back of a cab rolled down to let in fresh air, the comforting pillow at home sunk in, the loud and annoying yet oddly welcoming alarm.

Most importantly I am the mirror in the bathroom she greets with a smile when she wakes up the next morning.

About fictionfuture

An experiment in minimalist fiction View all posts by fictionfuture

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