The sun had ceased to bring a warm welcome into his house. It was persistent, nonetheless, in slipping past the two billowy curtains hanging from his bedroom window that just barely swept the wooden floor. Apart from the antique chiffonier supporting a large mirror decorated with draping cobwebs and an aging yellow around the frame, the room was mostly bare except for his small bed and a simple dresser that kept his clothes. His worn down slippers lay beside the bed with flattened heels. As the room drank in the morning sunlight, a weak groan issued from beneath the lumpy blankets on the left side of the bed. Creaking under the weight of an eighty-four year old body, the bed shook as the man slowly, unhurriedly, and most painfully, sat up. One foot, then the other found the cold floor. They didn't budge despite the awful winter chill drifting in from the window.
Every morning proved to be miserable. It took at least an hour just to get the blood circulating vigorously enough through his body, then the stretching process would begin by first extending one knee, the other, one arm, the other, his neck, and a massaging of his hands, legs, and lower back. It had become a routine that was necessary for daily mobility, but he didn't complain much. He flat out refused a wheelchair from his children, half considered a walker, and at the moment, was wishing he had the latter nearby. Setting his hands on either side of him on the bed, he tried to heave himself up, and after five tries, he managed to push himself on his feet and bend over with hands on knees.
Cautiously, he straightened his back until he was standing almost as full height, then he stared blankly into the mirror on top of the chiffonier that stared back at him. This, without any doubt, was the worst torture in his life. Yes, his body was showing obvious signs of dysfunction that would become more intense every time the sun sneaked passed his curtains. Of course his good looks had withered, his hair was hanging on for dear life, and his skin looked as if it might slide off any second, but his eyes were the same, and the same look possessed them every day. Although his heart was sick with longing for her and her mirror projected a pitiful image of him rather than the angelic face of his wife, and although this part of the day twisted his stomach into the worst feeling of his entire life, he braved the brutally honest mirror.
It was a sort of tribute to her. It may spring his heart into his throat, but the memories of her beautiful face smiling back at him through the mirror were worth every single strike at his livelihood. There were multitudes of memories that flashed back to him when he looked in the mirror. The time she squealed with delight when he removed his hands from her eyes to show her the first present he had gotten his her as man and wife. A couple short years after she was covering her mouth with her hands as he walked in the door. In seconds he would find out he would be a father. There was a touching moment when she revealed a tear-stained face because their youngest daughter left for college moments before. He even remembered how she was hot with him for not telling her a large green vegetable was lodged between her teeth while they hosted a party. He stood behind her in fits of laughter as she scrubbed her teeth with her nail. Perhaps more fondly than the rest, he recalled her face as she stood behind their daughter, playing with her hair, discussing wedding plans; one giddy with love the other beaming with pure joy.
All the times. All the faces, emotions, scenes, and memories swirling within this framed mirror, looking back at him, mercilessly reflected his sullen face. He hadn't touched it and he never would. Finally he found the courage to tear his eyes away from the mirror and walk, hand on back, over to the window. He threw the curtains aside and bathed in the sunlight. Then he shoved his feet into his slippers, felt her side of the bed with his shaking hand, and then purposely avoiding the mirror, he walked out of the room thinking of nothing but filling that empty feeling with a cup of hot tea and toast.
© Mikal Minarich
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