The Mirror Lies

The light in the hospital bathroom is dim and the white walls are tinted yellow.  I wait eagerly for the next person to walk through the door, for it has been awhile since my last conversation.   As if on cue, in walks a young girl-seventeen is my guess.  She isn’t smiling, but she doesn’t look unhappy.  I watch as she rests against the door she has just come through and sighs deeply.  After a long moment, she slowly saunters over to the sink.  I can see her clearly now and she is beautiful.  The natural kind.  Delicate freckles dance over her nose and her hair feel effortlessly gorgeous around her face.  She washes her face at the sink, then dabs it dry with the paper towel and looks up at me.  “I look disgusting.”  She says, leaning in closer and running a finger over the red mark on her forehead and smoothing out her eyebrows.  “I really need to remind mom to bring me my make-up bag.”  She tells me, licking her lips.  I want to tell her she is far more beautiful than her eyes can see, but I can’t and so, once again I watch helplessly as she shuffles back out the door.

Not a minute later, the door is pushed open again and a dark figure appears.  A baggy, black hoodie is pulled over its head and dark brown bangs poke out over its brow.  I peer this way and that, trying to get a closer glimpse at this figure, but it isn’t until they come over to me and look up, that I finally can make out the masculine features of a twenty-something man, a deep scar along his jaw line.  He has a worried look in his eye.  He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “You can do it.  Come on, man, you can do this.  Tell them you deserve more.  Don’t settle.”  He seems to be overcome with confidence and determination.  He stares at me intently and I silently root for him, but all at once his shoulders stoop and the light in his eyes go out.  “Maybe they’re right.  Maybe I’m not worth it.”  He whispers.  I want to shake him, so maybe he could realize that he is worth it and no one should ever have the right to tell him he isn’t, but as much as I try, I can’t.  I just watch silently as he trails out the door, the exact same way he entered.

It doesn’t take long before another person comes bustling into the bathroom.  It is a nurse this time in her light blue scrubs with a black stethoscope around her neck.  She seems to be in a rush, using the stall quickly and then vigorously scrubs her hands at the sink.  She takes a quick peek at me and looks away quickly, but now she is moving much slower in a thoughtful manner.  She dries her hands and then leans against the sink, now taking me in fully.  She half smiles at first, but then smiles more openly as she turns to the left and right examining herself from each angle.  Then she smoothes out her scrubs and satisfied, rolls back her shoulders and heads back out to her duties.

It’s nice to finally see a contented person in this desolate place.  This is the place people come to see themselves, perhaps for the last.  But they only ever see the mistakes, never the forgiveness in the beautiful detailing of their appearance.  If only I could speak, think of all the people I could save.  But no, I am just the mirror on the bathroom wall, reflecting the person staring at me, who only chooses to see the imperfections.  If I could tell them anything, I would tell them that the mirror lies.