She stood in the field watching the horizon with wide eyes, mouth agape. The umbrella she had been holding overhead just moments before falls to the ground at her feet. Without a second thought, she grabs a fistful of her skirt and runs toward the plume of purple smoke rising in the sky. Her heart pounds in her chest as she wills her legs to move faster. The smoke looks like it’s coming from the village.

“How did this happen?” she thinks as she runs, “I was so careful.”

The smoke burns her throat and tears sting her eyes as she approaches the edge of the village. She dashes past the sentry shack and turns down the first road. The air is thick with pungent smoke and stains her rain soaked cheeks gray. She passes people without really seeing them, her thoughts focused on only one thing. She hasn’t prayed in years, not since joining the Warren, but she finds her old prayers running through her mind and tumbling off her tongue just the same.

“Rox!” Someone calls her name, breaking her focus momentarily, but she doesn’t stop. She runs past the smithy, past the tanner, toward the school.

“Surely the teachers have gotten everyone to safety,” she thinks to herself as the outline of the old gray building begins to reveal itself through the heavy haze. She can’t tell if the smoke is coming from the building itself or somewhere behind it, but it definitely seems thicker here. When she reaches the old front door she grabs the iron ring and pulls it open. A huge cloud of smoke billows out and fills her lungs, choking her.

“What have I done?” She sputters between coughs. Pulling her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose, she puts her other hand forward desperately seeking anything solid. The smoke is too thick to see but a few inches all around. She knows these halls well, having only been out of school for two years, but somehow the thick smoke has stolen her sense of direction. Clambering down the hall she makes for the year one classroom.

“Ama!” She tries to shout though it sounds muffled through the fabric covering her mouth. “Ama!” Her sisters name seems lost as soon as it hits the smoke, curling up to the ceiling, seeking a way out. Hurling herself through what she thinks is the door to the year one classroom, she finds herself in a room with less smoke, but no people. Her eyes dart around the room as she takes a moment to lean against the closed door and catch her breath.

It’s not the year one classroom, it looks like year three from the encantations she can make out on the wall: the spells are a bit too complex for year ones. “I must have missed a door,” Rox thinks as she pulls her shirt back up over her nose and prepares to go back out into the smoke filled hallway. She stands there for a moment with her hand on the door knob, deciding which way to go. Her eyes fall upon a parchment on the desk in the corner. On it is a picture of a silver ring with a long trailing line.

“Yes!” I hiss as the idea takes root in my mind. “I’ll use an incantation.”

Technically this incantation is meant for lost things, like a toy or bracelet or book, but perhaps it could work for this too. I move toward the window where the air is clearer and try to still my pounding heart and focus my wandering mind. I take a few deep breaths focusing on my sharp, alert inhale and the release of my heavy, relaxing exhale. Within a moment I notice the color behind my eyes is turning a deep indigo and feel ready to start.

I envision in my minds eye a silver circle, made of thick cord, with a long line connected to the center of my chest. I see my sister Ama in the center of the circle and the cord tightening around her, pinning her arms to her side. I then begin to pull the cord toward me, slowly at first to see if it’s working. I can feel resistance pulling against my chest and a flutter of excitement fills my stomach, “I think this will work!”

I continue to slowly pull my sister toward me in my minds eye and begin to repeat out loud, “as the silver circle binds, what was lost my heart now finds.” The resistance in my chest increases as I continue to slowly pull her towards me. I’m trying to focus on the vision and the incantation, but the smoke is getting thicker in the classroom and it’s getting harder to breathe. It’s breaking my concentration and I watch as the silver cord starts to slip farther away, and my sister with it. The tension in my chest is releasing too, and I know I’m losing it. Spellbinding only works with singular focus, concentrated vision, and consistent chanting (some even require a specific pitch or lilt when repeated.) If any of those things are out of balance, the consequences could be terrible.

I’m frustrated because at this point, I can do some spells in my sleep. I mean that quite literally, as I had been woken up more than once to the wind bursting through my windows and tearing through the room like a tornado, because I had summoned it in my sleep. It seems I could do more damage without even thinking than I had realized. This fire was my fault; I was the reason Ama was in danger. All because I had snuck out of the village to try and burn that memory from my mind.

I really had only been trying to burn the memory away, nothing more. I hadn’t realized when my focus slipped and my vision shifted, even for just a moment, that I could cause something like this to happen. Instead of burning the memory, I seem to have burned my village. Blinking away these thoughts, I immediately realize that I have to get to a place where I can focus on the spell and on finding Ama. I quickly resolve to head back outside toward the surrounding woods.

Hitching my shirt back over my nose, I open the door and run out into the hallway and head back the way I came. It would be the shortest way out. Once out the front door, I immediately make for the woods just a few rounds over. My breath is ragged and I’m coughing through the still thick smoke. Passing houses, carts, and horses hitched to fence posts, I quickly find myself at the edge of the rounds and at the foot of the forest.

I dive head first down the path and make for one my favorite spots. My true favorite is much deeper within the trees, but I don’t have time to waste so I make for a closer haunt. It take me a moment to realize the smoke hasn’t breached the trees and I am breathing fresh air again. It’s a relief to my ash sodden lungs and raw throat. My eyes are blurry with tears, but I don’t dare wipe them for fear of rubbing ash into my eyes. Blinking them away, I see the tell tale spruce tree with the darkest green needles I’ve ever seen and know I’m close.

Dashing into the hollow of a nearby tree, I quickly fold my legs, straighten my back and take a deep breath. My mind is racing, but I’m able to quickly push all the noise to the background and ground myself in the smell of the spruce and pine trees around me, the loamy earthiness of the forest floor, and the symphony of sounds in and around the trees. It’s familiar, comforting, and easy to settle down in.

The indigo swirls behind my eyes and I bring the silver cord back into mind. Reaching out from the center of my chest, it encircles my sister and I mentally tighten the cord around her arms. I give the cord a gentle tug and feel the tightness in my chest. **“As the silver circle binds, what was lost my heart now finds… as the silver circle binds, what was lost my heart now finds…” **

**I’m chanting, I’m focused, the vision is clear. Ama is moving closer and closer. When she gets close enough, I reach out my hand to touch her and watch as the vision fades away. Still as can be, I wait for the flash. When it comes, a bright white light bursts behind my eyelids. As the fireball clears, I see Ana again, this time she is curled up in her bed, covered in soot, crying with her head in hands. **

It worked! The spell had worked! It had shown me where Ama was and she was safe at home. I jumped up and raced out of the forest, relief flooding down my body like the rain with each step. I’m smiling and crying and still coughing up ash as I reach the forest edge and head into the rounds.

Our little house is toward the back of the village and there is a well worn short cut that my feet automatically follow. The roiling sick in my stomach won’t subside until I see her face and feel her in my arms. She’s all I have and even the thought of losing her has my dry heaving as I weave through the village. The smoke is still thick, but I’m nearing the house.

**As I run up the path I see the door is slightly ajar and burst in. “Ama!” I shout as I take the final steps into the room we both share. She bolts upright, covered in soot with tears streaking down her cheeks. She is sobbing as I gather her small body into my arms and pull her into my chest. **

**“Are you ok? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry, Ama. I don’t even know what happened.” I’m blubbering and the words are tumbling out of my mouth too fast to catch. I push her out to arms length to better take in her face and look for injuries. **

Her whole body is shaking as she continues to cry, but she looks ok in the surface. I stroke her face and hair and try to soothe her enough to speak.

**“Are you ok?” I ask again when the shaking subsides to less frequent twinges. **

“Yes, I’m ok. I’m not hurt. I was just so scared when I couldn’t find you. I thought you were dead,” she says with hitched breath.

**“I’m not dead. I’m ok too and I’m right here,” I console her. “Do we know what caught fire?” **

The sobs wrack her tiny body again so I pull her close and hold her tight. I’m rocking her slightly when she finally grips my arm, looks me straight in the eye and breathes, “the church, Rox. The church burned.”

**I go still as a statue, my mouth drops, and my arms go slack. I immediately turn away from Ama and wretch on the floor. I had burned the church. My fathers church. The last place I had seen him alive. **

I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I had to figure it out… I had made it this far. I had endured months of planning, I had rendered a million opinions, I had smiled and laughed and was there at every turn. I mean, that’s what a maid of honor is for, isn’t it?

My best friend Kelly is getting married today and I should be full of joy, but instead my heart is breaking. I’m standing here in my emerald green satin bridesmaids dress and uncomfortable shoes watching my best friend get ready for her big day. I’m not thinking about how special this day is, how lucky she is, or how happy she’ll be. I’m only thinking about myself and how miserable I feel keeping this secret. I’ve been keeping it for over a year, ever since she met Jake.

Jake is basically perfect. He’s got an all American look about him, with his sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s tall and athletic and has the muscles to prove it. He’s smart, like graduated Summa Cum Laude from Columbia smart, and funny. His family has a lot of money, but they don’t act like it. He’s friendly, kind, and volunteers at a food pantry. His laugh is infectious, his smile is genuine, and he gives the best hugs. Like I said, he’s perfect.

I should know, Jake and I met a couple of months before I introduced him to Kelly. Yes, I am the reason these two are getting married today. If only I’d kept my big mouth shut about how great he was, maybe I wouldn’t be in this predicament. To be honest, he didn’t come up in conversation right away, but then his name dropped a few times and Kelly asked, “Who’s Jake?”

I told her that Jake and I had met at a Journalism lecture at the Forum. I had scrambled in at the last possible minute and slid into the seat next to him as quietly as I could. I then proceeded to drop my metal water bottle on the floor with a deafening clang. I guess the whole of the Forum turning in unison to look at us and the equally mortified looks on both our faces must have formed some kind of immediate bond between us. We went for coffee after the lecture to laugh about it and became fast friends.

“When do I get to meet him?” She had asked with a twinkle in her eye after hearing our meet cute.

“Oh please,” I said, rolling my eyes, “we’re just friends. You can meet him whenever you want.”

Ugh, I wish I had said something different. That very weekend, Jake met us at a bar and that was that. They hit it off immediately and the rest is history. And now here I am watching my best friend get into her wedding dress and feeling nauseous. I just keep wondering if I should tell her.

“Kate, are you ok?” Kelly’s question startles me out of my thoughts. She’s looking right at me with a look of concern on her face.

“Oh, yeah, I’m ok, I just can’t shake this feeling that I’m forgetting something. It’s making me a little sick to my stomach.” I reply quickly, hoping it covers for both my silence and the horrible look on my face.

Her face changes from a look of concern to one of sadness as she rustles closer to me. “I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach too,” she confides to me under her breath.

I’m studying her face now, using our ten years of friendship to try and see what it is she isn’t saying. I reach for her hand and quietly ask, “What is it Kel, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, it’s probably just cold feet,” she trails off as she looks down at our clasped hands. I don’t say anything and just wait until she looks up. Her eyes are brimming with tears when she does.

“Oh no,” I say, reaching for the box of tissues and grabbing one. I hand it to her and watch as she folds it and dabs at her eyes, trying to catch the tears and preserve the makeup that’s already been done. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, of course not. Jake is perfect. You know that,” she says through the tissue. “I just, I don’t know, I guess maybe I’m panicking a little about the forever part.”

**I’m trying to say the thing I think she needs to hear, but my thoughts are racing and I feel like I’m grasping. “**But the forever is the best part, isn’t it? The whole, ‘getting to spend forever with your favorite person in the world’ is the best part” I finally manage to say.

“You’re my favorite person in the world, Kate. Maybe we should get married instead.” She says with a laugh and a smile.

“Ok.” I reply, a bit too quickly.

“Oh stop, I’m just being dramatic and you’re just being a good friend. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m just nervous.”

“No really Kel,” I’m panicking now and trying to quickly think of what to say. I’m fumbling terribly trying to recover and take this opportunity she’s handed me. She’s still smiling and laughing lightly as she starts to turn away, but I tighten my grip on her hand, forcing her to turn back to me. As she looks into my eyes, I can see her expression has gone from amused to confused.

“I know it’s crazy. It’s crazy to say this to you right now, on this day, in this room, but I want to say it. I have to say it.” I pause for a moment and consider the weight of this moment and what I’m about to say. I know it will change everything and that scares the shit out of me. My eyes are tearing up and my voice is shaking.

“I love you Kelly.”

Relief softens her face and her mouth twists back up into a smile. “I love you too Kate,” she says, “you know that. I wouldn’t be here without you. Literally. You’re the reason Jake and I met. And you’re my best friend. I’d be lost without you.”

The moment is gone. It’s too late. I should just drop it. I should just let it go and let her go walk down the aisle and marry Jake. I should protect our friendship and never speak of this again. She’s turned away from me and is walking toward the mirror.

“No Kel, that’s not what I mean. I don’t just love you. I’m in love with you.”

“Leroy, have you seen my easel, that rickety old standing one I used to have?” My wife’s question floated down over the sounds of the program I am watching on tv. Technically I had heard her, but I didn’t register a word she had said. The television judge was about to hand down her ruling, after all, and I was listening intently to that.

“Leroy, did you hear me?” She insists on asking again when I don’t reply.

“Dolores,” I answer gruffly while hitting the pause button on the remote, “you know I’m watching my program, of course I didn’t hear you.”

She is standing beside my old recliner now, looking down her nose at me through her thick glasses with her hands on her hips. “I asked if you know where my old easel is, the standing one I used to paint on. I’d like to give it to Amelia if it’s still in one piece. You know she just started taking a new art class at school.”

“No, I do not know where that old thing is and you’d be better off buying her a new one anyway. Kids don’t like hand me downs these days. Everything has to be new.”

I move to hit the pause button and get back to my program, but Dolores speaks again, “Can you please go look in the attic and see if it’s up there?”

I turn my eyes to the tv and look at the judge on the frozen screen, stern of face with a harsh gaze and ready to mete out judgment. I knew that harsh gaze well, my wife’s would have made this judge shake in her shoes. Thirty years of marriage told me that it was smarter to just get up and look now rather than face that look or the judgment that came with it.

I slap my hands on my knees as a sign of my agreement and slowly get up from my recliner. Nodding at my wife as I walk around her, I make my way down the hall to the back of the house. The attic was a walk up and only one flight of stairs, but I didn’t relish going up there. I only went up a few times a year for the Christmas decorations or to switch out Dolores’ bins of warm or cold weather clothes. Otherwise, it was full of stuff we hadn’t touched in years.

Grabbing the knob and opening the door, I flip the light switch at the bottom of the stairs and make my way up. At the top, I am confronted with stacks of plastic containers and moving boxes, old pieces of furniture and lamps, piles of books and magazines, and dusty clothes hanging and draped about carelessly. The Christmas decorations are in the front so I push them forward and to the side to make a path leading into this mess.

Soon I’m pushing Dolores’ clothes bins to the side, moving end tables, and nudging books aside with my foot, but still don’t see the easel. Wiping a little sweat from my brow and looking around, I see a pile of curtain rods and other things in the back right corner that looks promising. I start shifting things over to make my way to that corner and finally get to the back wall. Rifling through the pile of curtain rods, leftover shoe molding, yard sticks and other assorted items, I find the old metal three legged easel Dolores was asking for. In my attempt to fish it out of the tangle, the whole lot crashes over onto the nearby boxes and floor.

“Everything ok up there?”

Dolores’ question is faint and sounds far away so I give only a grunt I know she can’t hear in reply. Cursing and tossing the easel to the floor in frustration, I begin gathering everything back up and leaning it all back into the corner. The last few curtain rods are still rolling back and forth on the floor to my right and as I bend over to pick them up, I notice an old trunk under the moving boxes. Not just any old trunk, but the trunk I used when I was in the circus.

That’s where I had met Dolores, in the circus, when we were both performing. I was the lion tamer and she was the acrobat that performed with the elephants. I remember the first day she walked into the practice tent, all confidence and smiles. My god, she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I couldn’t help but watch her working with the elephants, I could barely take my eyes off her. She strode around the mammoths confidently, rubbing her hands along their sides and patting their faces affectionately. She looked into their eyes and talked to them like they were her children, but she was also loud and clear with her commands. And those gentle giants willingly returned her affection by obeying her every word. She never had to ask twice. The love she shared with those elephants was palpable.

That’s what made me fall in love with her. Yes, she was gorgeous, with her long dark hair, light brown eyes, and her big beautiful smile. And yes, she looked amazing in her pink and silver sequined leotard walking up long trunks, balancing on bent knees, and riding on backs. But it was her love of those animals and the way she communicated with them that did it to me. Dolores could understand what an elephant needed just by looking into its eyes.

I stood there in the dusty old attic remembering our circus days fondly as I stared at the old trunk. “Maybe Dolores would like to see some of our old things again,” I said to myself with a smile as I began moving the boxes off the trunk. Kneeling down and unbuckling the latches, the old trunk opened with a creak. My breath catches with delight as I see my red jacket right on top.

I run my fingers over the black lapel and gold embroidery as memories flood my mind. Having my old jacket in my hand is a thrill I can hardly explain and I struggle to take in all the details, the black and gold cuffs that match the lapel, the gilded gold buttons down the front, and the beautiful black satin lining. It’s a bit ragged from age and wear, but it’s still as beautiful a site as these old eyes have seen in quite some time.

Under the jacket I find my pants, black with a tuxedo stripe of gold running down both legs, and my vest, ivory with gold embroidery and buttons to match the jacket. My old boots are uncovered next, black knee high leather, worn and creased. I imagine there’s sawdust from the tent still in the treads and breath deeply recalling the unforgettable smell inside the big top.

It’s all such a wonderful surprise, seeing my old things and remembering our old circus life. Pulling my boots out of the trunk reveals the pink and silver sequin masterpiece that Dolores used to wear. She had four different leotards that she wore for performances, but this one was my favorite. I pick it up gently, sure that the sequins will be brittle with age, and hold it up in front me. My eyes wet with tears as I turn it around to look at the back too. Admiring the way the pink flows into the silver and the silver into the white and envisioning Dolores atop Tillie, her favorite pachyderm. Still smiling, I carefully fold it back up to place on top of the pile of things by my side, when I notice something strange sticking up from the side. I fold the shoulder strap down and notice what appears to be paper inside the leotard.

Carefully folding the top down I can see that it is an envelope that has been tucked inside a small pocket sown inside the leotard. Pulling the yellowed envelope out, I see the name “Dolores” written in messy slanted print on the front. Opening the brittle old envelope, I pull out the paper inside and unfold it. The first page is filled with the same messy slanted print and dated November 1970. I quickly flip to the last page to see how the letter is signed and my heart drops just as the pages drop from my hand.

It is signed, “with all my love and devotion, I am forever yours, Jack.”

**My breath catches in my throat as I try to make sense of what I’ve just read. Dolores and I were married in December of 1970 and Jack could only be referring to the handsome young ringer that I worked with for two years teaching him how to work with the lions. I’m dumbfounded and momentarily torn between wanting to read more and being too afraid of what those pages might reveal. **

**Had my wife been in love with my ringer when we got married? **

The door opened and the room filled with noise and activity. The tabby, who was curled up on the blanket draped over the couch cushion, turned her head and narrowed her eyes at the sun that stole it’s way into the room with the open door. Bothered by all the clamoring that now surrounded her, she stood up and arched her back in a deep stretch. She splayed her paws and dug her nails into the blanket as she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of her back muscles pulling taut. Eying the room carefully to gauge how quickly all this ruckus would die down, she jumps down to the floor. Her people are bustling about so she walks under the dining room table to get out from under foot. Having her tail stepped on is not a pleasant feeling and one she’d like to avoid if possible. Observing from the safety of table and chair legs, she watches her people carry in bags and drop them on the table. She hears noisy laughter from the tall, giggly one, lots of talking from the smallest one, and calm request from her favorite person. With all her people in the kitchen, and none of them reaching for her food, the tabby decides to walk away and find a quiet spot in her favorite persons bedroom. She walks slowly and carefully down the hall, taking in the tv sounds from the other bedroom, the sunlight coming in from the bathroom window, and the clicking sound that happens when the heat turns on. When she makes it to her bedroom, she jumps up on the bench at the foot of the bed and walks to the end closest to the big window. The sunlight is coming in and she closes her eyes and enjoys the warmth as it soaks through her fur. A shadow glides past her and she opens her eyes, quickly on high alert. She jumps down from the bench and moves closer to the big window to better see. Squirrels are nervously flitting around on the deck outside and leaves are falling from the big oak tree as the wind shakes them loose. The tabby watches them all with suspicion and a hint of delight, mesmerized by the dance of nature taking place before her eyes. A bird flies past breaking her out of her reverie and she’s stung by a sudden pang of longing. How she’d love to be outside in the middle of the dance instead of inside merely watching it. Yes, this house is warm and comfortable and familiar, but out there is different and unknown and exciting. If only she could have both. She drops her head in acknowledgment of the impossibility of this thought. She loves her home and her people and this is enough: more than enough really. With that satisfying thought to comfort her, she jumps up on the bed and curls up against the pillow with the soft satin cover. She lets out a little sigh and closes her eyes as contentment lulls her to sleep.

To learn and not forget To live without regret To love and never lose **To have it all, but never choose **

Eyes that see beauty all around Ears that hear every joyous sound Mouths that speak words that heal Hands that help guide and feel A home that you can share A friend who is always there A love that will never fade A creation that can’t be unmade Money that always grows on trees Faith that won’t hurt the knees Hope that covers every doubt Time that never runs out Running and not growing faint Eating and not gaining weight Crying but not feeling pain Losing but still finding gain Always happy and carefree Always being just to be Always clear with what is said Never behind, never ahead Never too cool or too warm If wishes fell like rain, then certainly I am a storm.

“I know you’re watching me,” I whisper as I gaze deeply into the mirror, desperately hoping to see something other than my own reflection and the room behind me. After a moment of intense study, I turn away, frustrated. It had been over a week since I’d seen her staring back at me.

Don’t ask me who “she” is because I don’t know. I’d spent far too many hours sitting in front of that mirror since it happened with not even the briefest second glimpse to reward me. I was beginning to think I had imagined it.

And to be fair, a hallucination of my overactive imagination was a very real possibility. I had been in the study for hours that evening, poring over ancient Greek texts, translating and retranslating passages. Homer, Aeschylus, Herodotus… my mind was swirling with thoughts, ideas, possibilities. After feverishly working on my thesis all day, I was starting to feel the weight of my exhaustion settling on me more and more heavily. I had hit a roadblock in the texts that I wasn’t sure how to tackle. I grabbed the nearest notebook and carelessly slung it across the room in frustration.

“Ow!” I said, sucking air in through my teeth and watching as a red line of blood began welling up on my index finger. “A paper cut? Seriously?” I muttered under my breath. A quick survey of the chaos around me indicated that there was nothing nearby to help. So I did what anyone would do and I stuck my finger in my mouth as the blood began to pool.

I sat there for a moment and looked at myself in the mirror on the wall in front of me. It was a huge old mirror, one of my dads most treasured and favorite things in the house, and I too had come to love it since I had moved in. It was enormous, hanging just above the floor molding and reaching nearly up to the ceiling. It had a gorgeous gold frame that was scuffed and worn with age. And the glass was scratched and spotted, particularly in the corners and around the rounded top.

The reflection I saw in the huge, old mirror was a little unsettling, but nothing new for this time in my life. The study was a mess, books and notebooks strewn across the floor and piled up all around. Loose sheets of paper with printed articles or scribbled translations and random thoughts littered the floor and desk behind me. There were half a dozen empty cups of water in random places and three different sweaters balled up on the floor. This room is the very picture of a Greek and Latin language Classics student working on their thesis.

My cat Peggy was laying on a pile of papers on the desk, gazing down at me in a decidedly uninterested way. And there I sat in the middle of it all, dark hair piled up in a messy bun, baggy sweatshirt with an ice cream stain from gods know when on the front, oversized tortoise shell glasses sliding slightly down my nose, and currently sucking on my finger like a child.

“What a mess you are,” I think to myself as I check my pulsing index finger, which seems to have stopped bleeding. The paper cut was only a brief distraction because my eyes drift to the difficult passage I had just been working on and I drop my shoulders with a resigned sigh. I take my glasses off and squeeze the bridge of my nose, secretly hoping the pressure might squeeze some new answer into my mind. It’s then, when I toss my head back in surrender to the gods, that I notice it: movement in the mirror in front of me.

It was very blurry, but it had looked too big and too dark to be Peggy so I quickly put my glasses back on. And there it was, just on the edge of the mirror, hiding behind the fiddle leaf tree, clothes blending a bit with the dark curtains, but otherwise clear as day: a woman was staring back at me. My head immediately spun to the right where she would be standing, but there was nothing there, just the tree and the curtains. And, of course, when I turned back to the mirror, she was gone.

And so I’ve come back to the mirror every day since for varying amounts of time. It was longer at first, just after it happened, and has gradually tapered off as the week went on and as I spent more and more fruitless hours waiting and watching. You’d think I would be nervous or apprehensive, maybe even a little scared to possibly have a ghost living in my house, wouldn’t you? Nope, not me. I was just… I don’t know, curious?

I grew up in this house so I definitely feel like I would have known if it was haunted. My mom died when I was four from a very aggressive brain tumor. My dad raised me. He was a professor, published author, and absolutely the best story teller. I grew up hearing the most fantastic tales of far away places and never before seen creatures woven in complex, beautiful detail by my father. And he never shied away from the topic of death in his stories. Having dealt with it at such a young age, I suppose he didn’t feel he needed to. He would have had a hell of a story to tell about a ghost living in the mirror in his study and I definitely would have already heard it.

It doesn’t hurt that I am also currently researching the subject of ghosts and how they are presented in Ancient Greek texts. So yeah, I’m definitely curious about what I saw. The question that keeps eating away at me is why that day? Why did she show up that day and no other? I’m pacing the floor of the study pondering this question, my thesis all but forgotten in the piles of books and papers around me.

What was it about that day that was different? What was it that summoned her? I’d been in that room hundreds of times: alone, with friends, with my dad. I’d been in there at all times of day and night, all different seasons and weather. I’ve fallen asleep in there, I’ve gotten completely hammered in there, I’ve turned on music and sung at the top of my lungs in there, I’ve broken down and sobbed uncontrollably in there.

I don’t realize it, but I’m picking at my cuticles as I pace the floor. I go through phases with these anxious ticks, but this one is fairly new. “I wish I could go back to twirling my hair,” I think to myself as I finally become aware of what I’m doing. I stuff my hands in my pockets and stare into the mirror. “What am I missing?” I wonder out loud.

Peggy, my all white Angora cat, winds herself through my legs as I stand there. I walk to the desk and flop into the chair. Peggy jumps up, settling in front of me and I begin scratching behind her ear absentmindedly. My thoughts are still swirling over the mysterious arrival and sudden departure of the supposed ghost. A quick sharp pain shoots down my ring finger and I realize I’ve started picking at my cuticles again. I’ve gone too far and now it’s starting to bleed. “Great,” I say to myself as I scan the room for the box of tissues.

I get up and do a quick sweep of the room, but don’t see it. Back behind my desk, I move a few piles of books, lift up a few papers, and still find nothing. Staring into the mirror, I watch my reflection as I stick the bleeding finger in my mouth. I’m looking at my mouth, turned down a bit from both the weight of my finger and my disappointment, when I see it. She’s back. She’s faint and behind the fiddle leaf tree again, but only just. My finger falls from my mouth and she’s gone. Again.

“Ugh, why do you keep leaving?” I shout at the mirror. My finger is throbbing and I can see more blood is pooling around the nail so I stick it back in my mouth. And there she is again, still off to the right and still rather faint, but less hidden by the tree this time. That’s when it hits me. It’s like in the Odyssey, when in the underworld Anticlea has to drink blood to recognize Odysseus and speak to him. Maybe it’s like that only it’s me. I’m the one that needs to recognize, I’m the one that needs to see. And that’s the only thing that lets me do it. The blood.

She’s standing directly in front of me in the mirror now, still faint but I can she’s clearly smiling. “That’s it, isn’t it?” I ask with difficulty trying to keep my finger in my mouth. **She inclines her head as if to signal me and then she’s gone again. I take my finger out of my mouth and notice that it has stopped bleeding. **

“I’m going to need more blood.”

I floated under the water for a moment and let the smile widen on my face. It was almost too good to be true. I almost couldn’t believe it. I kick my feet and ease my way back up, turning my face to the warm sun as my face breaks the surface, the smile still lingering on my lips. As I open my eyes, a splash of water hits my face and a cackle of laughter hits my ears. I turn toward the sound and immediately start swimming, chasing the trailing sound and the splashes ahead of me, just out of reach. As we reach the shallows, I hear clammering in the water ahead and dig my feet into the soft sand trying to gain purchase. I reach forward, groping and loose my balance, falling face first back into the water. Wild laughter fills my ears and a wild joy fills my heart. I look up and see you in front of me: hair wild, mouth open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed. I am consumed by a feeling I can’t explain, but it fills me with warmth and drives me to my feet. Chasing you towards the house, wanting only to catch you, to draw you close to me and feel the laughter echoing in your chest. I follow you inside, through the sliding doors of the breakfast room and finally make contact. Electricity spikes through my hand as I grasp your arm and spin you around. I pull your body to mine and bury my face in your neck as I wrap my arms around you. Breathing in the lingering hint of soap mixed with the loamy smell of the lake, I feel your body tense. I pulll back and look into your eyes and decide right then to kiss you for the first time, right there in your aunts kitchen.

The sun grew weary of seeing men squandering its light And preferring instead the harsh glare of the false suns they find inside. Choosing to bask in the lifeless artificial illumination they created Or seeking dark, dusty corners in which they can hide.

The moon grew weary of men neglecting its quiet power And turning a blind eye to its gentle guidance of the changing seasons. Never seeing the majesty of the rising and falling ocean tide Always looking instead for other answers, other reasons.

The wind grew weary of men denying its gentle touch Oblivious to its guiding hand warming him up and cooling him down. All but ignoring the delightful scents it carries to his nose Feeling instead only inconvenience and things that make him frown.

The rain grew weary of men avoiding its every tender touch Covering their heads and hearts and faces against the falling drops.

Dashing from doorframe to doorframe in a vain attempt to stay dry Forgetting its ability to balance and clean and grow crops.

The world grew weary of men diminishing her great value Denying their actions that contribute to her slow, inevitable death. Not truly stopping to understand that the day is fast approaching When they will take their last drink, their last step, their last breath.

In these empty halls I dwell Looking at pictures on the wall Thinking about the stories I was told And conversations I can’t clearly recall

I run my hands along the wallpaper And consider all I’ve held in my hand Things I was told to let go of For reasons I’ll never understand

As I approach the door, I hesitate Leaving makes me feel insecure These halls are so familiar I feel safe and somewhat sure

I turn the knob hesitantly And open the door with dread Looking behind me is comforting Do I dare to look ahead?

I slowly step through the doorway And take in the unfamiliar view Everything feels so distant So uncertain and so new

What lies beyond the hills Where the road seems to have no end? Is that trouble on the road Or danger up ahead?

The trees obscure my view To my left and to my right Clouds fill the sky above Obscuring so much of the light

I’m nervous and I’m scared My eyes filling with tears Not knowing what is out there Has uncovered countless fears

I reach back for the doorframe And fill my lungs with air I ground my feet beneath me And stand as tall as I dare

One hand goes to my heart And the beating steadies inside I already know what to do I just need the strength to decide

Nothing behind me to go back for Nothing ahead to run and find All I need is right in front of me, In my heart and in my mind

Don’t worry about what’s coming Or waste time dwelling on the past Just be present in this moment And blink your eyes open at last.

A flip of cards A roll of dice Moving spaces Trapping mice Answer questions Take a guess Is it more Or is it less Build a city Defend a tower Defeat an army Rise to power Shuffle fast Deal the hand Look ahead To where you’ll land Spin the dial Pop the bubble Go to jail On the double Make some money And spend it too Was that a lie Or was it true Play a card Reverse or skip Have a kid Or take a trip Go all in Stay or fold No one knows The cards you hold Make your move Or stay the same Either way Enjoy the game