When the Mirrors Speak

The bargain came with a price.

When the Mirrors Speak

Ye have seen what I did unto the Egyptians, and how I bare you on eagles’ wings, and brought you unto myself. Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people: for all the earth is mine.
Exodus 19:4-5

Elias found the mirror in the back of the thrift store.

Perfect. Just the size he wanted. Sure, it was dirty and covered with cobwebs, but he could clean it. The owner wanted five dollars for it. That settled it. A mirror this size in the furniture store around the corner would easily be 20 times the price.

With a spring in his steps and a smile on his face he walked home. This was a good deal.

He was so pleased with himself and so lost in his daydream he almost stumbled into the dog of a homeless man who held out his hand, hoping for a coin. It almost made him drop his prized mirror.

“A coin, Sir?” the man asked.

Elias shook his head. That homeless fellow shouldn’t push his luck. Because of him, he had almost dropped his mirror.

“Sorry,” he said. “No coins.”

It was a lie, for Elias had coins but he needed these for … eggs perhaps? He wasn’t sure. In any case, they were his coins and they stayed his coins.

And so, he walked on, leaving the man behind, but his good mood was gone. All the way home he kept murmuring about the state of the world and how he had almost fallen onto the pavement.

But, at least, he still had his mirror. Cleaning it proved not too difficult and hanging it up was even easier. He already had a hook at the right spot.

He heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction as he beheld his new jewel. Then he placed himself before it and straightened his hair. He put on a warm smile and looked.

What? He looked horrible.

He squinted. Did he really look like that?

This morning, while staring in his bathroom mirror, he had not looked this desolate, sad and forlorn. True, he was sort of lonely, all by himself in his big, empty house. Ever since Martha had left, loneliness had become his new companion, but he’d learned to fill the silence with wine and small victories like finding cheap mirrors.

But surely, he looked better than that. That reflection wasn’t true. That mirror was faulty. No wonder it had only cost him five dollars. He’d bring it back, first thing in the morning.

Still looking lost in the mirror the next day, he grabbed it, shrugged on his coat and headed to the thrift store

Two blocks further, he saw that homeless fellow again. His dog sat again right beside him.

Come to think of it, that fellow was truly sad. What a life. He wondered where that guy had spent the night. A cardboard box? Under a bridge? Perhaps he should he give him a coin.

“Nah,” a voice told him. “He will spend it on booze. A waste. You worked hard for your coins. Nobody gives you anything for free either.”

That was true.

As he passed, he tried to avoid looking, but found himself glancing anyway. The man was just sitting there with his hand resting on his dog’s head, staring at a chunk of bread in his other hand.

The beggar looked up and, for a moment, their eyes locked. The man’s gaze startled Elias. What was it he saw there? Judgment? Disdain… or even pity? How could that be? His grip on the mirror tightened. No, he wasn’t giving him anything today either.

The homeless fellow averted his gaze, broke his chunk of bread in two and gave one of the pieces to his dog. The animal furiously wagged its tail and gently took the food, as the homeless man affectionately patted its head.

It stirred a deep longing in Elias’ heart. That man, homeless and poor, dirty and bedraggled, had something. He had a friend. Elias had no one.

For a moment, Elias felt as if he stood at the edge of a fog-shrouded cliff, surrounded by emptiness.

Most unpleasant. He pushed the feeling aside and strode on.

A shout from the homeless man stopped him. “Sir, watch out. There’s a pothole right there.”

Elias froze, ready to snap back, until he saw it. He really had been about to step into a pothole. Not a foggy cliff, but deep enough to send him flying.

“T-Thank you,” he muttered, barely getting the words out, and he trudged on toward the thrift store, confusion rattling around his heart. Perhaps he needed to take a long holiday. A bit of sun, a day at the beach, and far away from faulty mirrors and beggars that worked on your nerves. But first he needed to get his money back.

When he arrived at the thrift store again, the owner cast him an unwelcome glance. “What is it?”

“Your mirror,” Elias said. “It doesn’t work.”

The owner scratched his head. “Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Elias fired back. “It does not represent me in the right way.”

“Show me,” the owner said.

Elias placed the mirror before the owner on the counter so they could both look into it.

Both men looked lost, confused … even unpleasant.

“See,” the owner said. “There’s nothing wrong. Perfect image.”

“I don’t look like that,” Elias protested. “I am better than that.”

The owner shrugged. “That mirror is fine. But no problem.” He opened the cash-register and handed Elias five dollars.

That was a weight of Elias’ shoulders. At least, that stupid mirror was gone from his life.

When he passed the homeless man with his dog again, the man greeted him as if he were an old friend. Even the dog wagged its tail and seemed happy. Elias was not. He quickly walked by, but the man’s friendly wave stayed with him all the way home.

That night however, when he brushed his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, an unpleasant surprise stared back at him. Now even this mirror had joined the conspiracy to make him look sick, lost and utterly alone. His reflection seemed more haggard, more drained, more lost than even in the thrift store mirror.

He stepped closer, heart hammering. He beheld unpleasant, hollow eyes. A nervous, tight mouth. A dreadful thought welled up. Perhaps mirrors weren’t broken, but he was.

In the days that followed, Elias tried to avoid mirrors, which was harder than expected. He had to shave, brush his teeth and comb his hair. And then there were the reflections of himself in the shop windows and the polished bodies of parked cars. Even in the park, when he tried to find relaxation near the lake, the water reflected the same haggard, lost face. Was it getting worse?

He passed the homeless man daily now. He tried to avoid him, but the man always seemed to appear on the very streets he happened to walk on. Then it hit him with an unpleasant jolt: the disheveled man’s appearance was a mirror of his own. True, he lived in a nice house instead of under a bridge. But when he really looked at the tired eyes and worn-down posture, he did not look all that different.

At least not if he had to believe what the mirrors showed him.

Something made him reach into his pocket one day and drop a dollar into the hat.

“Thank you,” the homeless man said. His smile was genuinely warm and the dog wagged its tail again. A bit of warmth coursed through Elias’ heart too. Strange. When had that last happened?

As he was about to move on, a young woman passed by with two children. They were crying and making things difficult for her, but she pressed on, whispering words of comfort in hopes of calming them. Just then, unnoticed, her wallet slipped from her coat and landed right in front of the homeless man. It was thick with bills.

Instantly, the homeless man rose and called after her, “Mrs. … Madame … You dropped your wallet. Please stop. You need your money for your family.”

The woman halted and turned, her face weary. But when she saw the wallet in the grimy hands of the homeless man, her eyes widened in surprise. Then she let out a sigh of relief and a radiant smile spread across her face. “Thank you,” she said. “I would not have known what to do if I had lost it.”

“It’s nothing, Madame,” the homeless man replied. “We all need a bit of grace once in a while.”

Elias blinked. For just a moment, in the late afternoon light, the homeless man’s face had looked… different. Not tired. Not beaten down. Almost luminous with simple goodness.

Then the man sat back down beside his dog and he was just a tired, weathered person again. But Elias couldn’t unsee what he’d glimpsed.

That night, Elias stood before his bathroom mirror for a long time.

He still looked lost and lonely. But for the first time, he understood why.

True happiness sprang from an entirely different source; one he had been scarcely drinking from.

That night, Elias barely slept. He kept seeing the homeless man’s face as he’d handed back the wallet; that moment of simple, radiant goodness. His face had been so bright. That was the face he, Elias, wanted to have too. But how did one get that? Just dropping a dollar in the hat wasn’t doing the trick.

Maybe he needed to talk to the man with his dog. Get to know him a bit. Did he have a name and where did he stay at night? It was cold out there. Elias pulled the covers closer. Even in his own bed it was a bit chilly. Perhaps he needed to turn the heat up.

Tomorrow he’d talk to him. Just a little.

The next day, an extra dollar in his pocket, he walked up to the man, dropped his bill into the hat and said, “A-Are you alright?”

The homeless man looked up, surprise in his eyes. “I am fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s … cold out here at night. Are you sleeping in a shelter?”

A sad look crossed the homeless man’s face. “No dogs are allowed. But Duke and I are friends.” He patted the dog who turned his snout and licked the unshaven face of the man. “Where I go, Duke goes, so we just sleep under a bridge. We keep each other warm.”

“I-I have a spare room,” Elias blurted out. He had not wanted to say the words, but they just came out before he could stop himself.

The man blinked. “Are you serious? You mean, Duke and I can stay there?”

“Well-uh,” Elias stammered, “that’s what spare rooms are for, right?”

A slight shadow flashed over the homeless man’s face. “Just for one night? You don’t even know anything about me.”

Elias pressed his lips together and shrugged. “True, but to be honest…” he confessed, “I’m afraid I’m becoming someone I don’t like.” He sighed and glanced at the man, uncertain. “And … well, I suppose I can use a bit of company too. We can take it one day at a time. What do you think? My name is Elias.”

The homeless man studied him for a long moment. Then slowly, a genuine smile spread across his weathered face. “Michael,” he said quietly. “My name’s Michael.” He looked down at his dog. “And this is Duke.”

He stood, brushing some dirt off his coat. “One day at a time sounds good to me.”

That night Elias was afraid to go to bed. Not because Michael was in the house and he feared the man might steal his silverware. No, it was because of his trip to the bathroom, when he would have to look at his own face again.

He was so tired of that sad, lonely, self-centered expression. He had come to hate it.

But that night when he switched on the light in the bathroom and looked, a weight lifted from his shoulders. The ugly sadness, the lost, empty stare… it was gone.

He looked fresh. Alive.

No longer so lost and forlorn.

He knew what he had to do. For the first time in a very long time, he knelt beside his bed and prayed.

“Dear God, I’ve been away from You for so long, but You never left me. You carried me through my own stubbornness. Here I am, Lord. I want to walk with You again.”

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