So Many Times

Mirror, Mirror

I blame my bad temper for getting me into this predicament. But if you were in my place, wouldn’t you have a tantrum, too?

I suspected my boyfriend of sleeping around, so one night I followed him home. And he wasn’t alone. After the longest 10 minutes of my life, I rang the doorbell. “Pizza delivery!”

He flung open the door, dressed only in his boxer shorts, a half-naked woman holding onto his arm. “I didn’t order any--"

I slapped his face. Then I marched home, took off a shoe, and threw it.

The shoe cracked my floor mirror.

Now, I’m a modern woman who doesn’t believe in any silly superstitions. So, I did what any modern woman would do under the circumstances. I tossed down several rum and Cokes, and crawled into bed.

The next morning, my eyes half-closed from a zinger of a headache, I checked the mirror. It was indeed cracked, five large shards clinging to the mirror back. Five versions of me staring back at me.

My cell phone beeped. “Crap, I’m going to be late for work!”

“I’m on it,” one me said. Before my jaw could drop, she disappeared from the mirror shard. A moment later, the shower started. Ten minutes later, she returned to the shard, clean, dressed, and carrying my briefcase. “See you after work!” She waved goodbye. The other four of me waved back. The front door squeaked open, and then slammed shut.

“When are you going to oil that door?” one me asked.

“And when are you planning to clean up after yourself?” a second asked.

“You’d better start with the kitchen,” a third said. “Those dirty dishes have been in the sink so long, they’re cemented together. And your stove is so grimy, it’s brown instead of white. While you’re at it, take a look at the inside of your refrigerator.  Whatever’s growing in there is going to eat you while you’re asleep if you don’t get on the ball.”

 “I can’t believe any of this is going on. I must be dreaming.” I pinched myself. “Ouch!”

“Why the disbelief?” the fourth asked. “You talk to yourself all the time. The only difference is that now you can see who you’re talking to.”

I sighed loudly. “If you think this place is so nasty, clean it yourself. I have to get to work.”

“You’re already at work,” they all said.

“And you’re on time for once,” one said.

“I don’t believe you.” I threw on some wrinkled sweats I picked up from the floor, stuffed my dirty hair underneath a skull cap, and laced up my hiking boots, while the four versions of me in the mirror giggled.

I ran to the coffee house where I stopped every morning before work.

“Hi, Mona,” Joe, the barista, said. “Back so soon?”

“What?”

“You were here a couple of minutes ago, remember? In a business suit.” He looked me up and down. “But now…. Are you ok?”

“Whatever. Pour me another one, Joe.”

People in the crowded shop stepped back to let me by, some holding their noses. I forgot I hadn't washed those sweats for probably months. Pretty rank. Oh well.

I walked to work and looked in the front window. There I was, a cup of coffee on my desk and the phone to my ear. That me turned and saw me. She waved me away just before the boss walked over to my desk.

I had to jump over the vacuum cleaner when I walked in the door of my apartment. “This place should be condemned,” the vacuum-cleaning me muttered.

A second me stepped in my way, holding a laundry basket overflowing with dirty clothes. “Did you forget how to do laundry?” She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. You smell like something died.”

“Fine.” I stepped out of my clothes and threw them onto the floor.

“Thanks for nothing.” She dumped the laundry basket over, and sorted the clothes into different piles.

“What are you doing?”

“What your mother taught you to do.”

“That’s such old news. It’s easier and faster to wash everything together.”

“Get over yourself and give me a hand.”

“Nope, looks like you don’t need any help.” I went into my bedroom. The bed was stripped. “Hey, where’s my pajamas? And where are the clothes that were on the bed?”

The second me sniffed. “Your pajamas should be burned. But I’m washing them instead. And please tell me, why do you sleep on top of your clean clothes?”

“Because I’m too tired after laundry to put everything away. Besides, polyester, nylon, and rayon don’t wrinkle. Much.” I wiggled into a fresh set of pajamas and walked back to the kitchen.

“You’re going to wear pajamas while you help clean the place?” a me asked.

I pulled a bag of potato chips out of the kitchen cupboard. “I have to do something much more important than cleaning house. I have to think.” I turned on the TV, fell into an easy chair, and put my feet up on the ottoman.

“Really? That’s how you think?”

I smiled and closed my eyes. Next thing I knew, I was asleep.

When I woke up, the floors were clean and shiny, the dust was gone from all horizontal surfaces, and newspapers and magazines were neatly stacked in a box next to the easy chair.

In the kitchen, there were no dirty dishes in the sink, the stove was scrubbed clean, and trash was no longer sitting on the counter. The refrigerator shelves were clean, and filled with storage containers that were neatly arranged and labelled.

In the bedroom, clean clothes were neatly folded in the dresser, instead of thrown on the bed. No dirty clothes littered the floor. Fresh bedding covered the bed. A vase of fresh-cut flowers sat on the desk.

I clapped my hands. “I don’t remember my apartment ever looking like this!”

“That’s a sad statement.”

I turned around to see the work me, briefcase in one hand, and a pair of high heels in the other hand.

“We have to go shopping for a more comfortable pair of shoes. I have blisters on my heels and toes.” She walked past me and threw the heels into the trash.

I pulled the heels out of the trash. “No way am I going to toss these shoes. They’re the sexiest pair I have.”

“You’re a masochist.” She put the briefcase down on the floor next to the dressing table, then undressed and put on some clean gym clothes. “I want to try that Zumba class.”

I made a face. “Zumba? Ugh.”

“It’s time to get rid of this extra belly fat.” She pinched the skin around her middle. “Get into your gym clothes. You’re going with me.” She laced up her gym shoes. “And tomorrow, we go to a Weight Watchers meeting.”

“In your dreams. I’m not going to embarrass myself at the gym or at meetings with a bunch of fat people. I’d rather use the time to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

“We’re already doing that for you.”

“What?”

“Your boss is a jerk, and your job sucks. So, I found us a better-paying job. We start in two weeks.” She filled a water bottle. “Meanwhile, we’re enrolling ourselves for night classes at the local college, learning how to make a soufflé, taking a ballet class, and learning how to meditate.” She looked at her watch. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the gym with me?”

I shook my head and collapsed onto the easy chair. “Too much activity. It’s giving me a headache.”

“You wouldn’t get as many headaches if you didn’t drink like a fish.”

“Good idea.” I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine.

She shook her head and walked out the front door.

“Have a great time getting sweaty,” I call after her, I mean, me. “And don’t tell me how it went.”

It was noon when I woke up. I stood in front of the mirror, four versions of me staring back at me.

“We had a long talk while you were sleeping,” one said.

“We came to a decision about how we’re going to run things going forward,” Another said.

 “Are you crazy?” I pointed at my chest. “I’m the one who runs things around here.”

“Don’t get pissy. Just hear us out,” a third said.

 “We talked so long that our voices are a little hoarse,” a fourth said. “Why don’t you come a little closer so that we don’t have to shout?”

I took a step nearer. “So, what did you decide?”

They grabbed me and pulled me into the mirror. For a brief moment, we all merged. Then there was a loud pop, and they stood in front of the mirror while I was trapped inside. I pounded on the glass. They watched me and giggled.

The four of me picked up the mirror, and walked out back to the garden. The fifth me, shovel in hand, stood by a large hole.

“Let me out!” I yelled. They all ignored me. Instead, they continued to talk.

“You’re a lazy drunk with no self-control and no discipline.”

“So, we decided to get rid of you.”

“And reverse seven years of bad luck at the same time.”

They threw the cracked mirror and me into the hole. Then they took turns with the shovel to fill the hole with dirt.

As the dirt clods obscured the stars and moon, I screamed. And cursed myself for throwing that shoe.

If I ever figure out how to free myself, ladies, you’d better run.