Everyone has to have their thing, right? The thing they can do that no one else can do - the thing that makes them unique. So I've discovered mine. Or maybe I should say it discovered me. I know this will seem strange but my "thing" is that I can somehow see into mirrors - see the past like I'm watching a movie. It's not like I can control it either - it just happens to me.
I'm not sure if I should tell anyone - I'm afraid I'll be labeled a freak or something, but I see so many things... I need to talk about them, but I can't, so I guess this is the best I can do.
It started rather late in life for me, soon after after my 30th birthday. I was at my friend Joe's house for a barbeque. We'd both had a few too many beers. That and the combination of the strong summer sun out in his backyard made me rather tipsy - and I badly needed to use the facilities, so I went in to find the bathroom.
Joe's house - ok well his parent's house - was pretty nice. He'd grown up in that house and, now due to a bad break was living at home (temporarily he kept reminding me). As I came back from the bathroom, I passed each of the bedrooms down the old hallway. So many times I'd slept over in this house - I kinda felt like I'd grown up here myself. I was reminiscing about the trouble Joe and I used to get into when movement in one of the bedrooms caught my eye. I stopped, frozen in my tracks.
Through the slightly open door to Joe's parent's bedroom, I could see clearly through to the mirror over the dresser. There, in the mirror, I could see Joe's parents in the bed. Well, on the bed actually. I blinked trying to clear my eyes - and my head. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains playing lazy shadows across the bed, glinting through the cigarette smoke that floated around the room. I blinked again - wait - Joe's father quit smoking years ago. I sniffed quietly - but as smokey as the room was, I couldn't smell the stale tobacco smell that I remember so well from years ago.
And yet, there it was - dancing around in the sunlight like the fog that seemed to be gripping my overheated brain.
I took a step closer and peered into the mirror - careful not to make a noise to give myself away. There was Joe's father, Joe Sr. - looking very young I have to say - kneeling on the bed in front of Joe's mother, Claire. His father had on dress pants and a starched white shirt with a tie. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I wondered why he'd be wearing a tie.
"I don't think I've seen him wear a tie in years," I thought to myself.
But wait, Joe's father looked so young and, well, fit. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of the white shirt. Joe's father looked deeply into a much younger version of Joe's mother's eyes, kneeling there in front of him. She was a knockout - I had to acknowledge with more than a bit of embarrassment - I mean she was sort of like a second mother to me. She had on a beautiful, if dated, yellow sundress. Her curly dark hair fell down to her shoulders.
