Mirror
She noticed a big house reflected in the pond: an exact upside down replica with windows, a front door, and faded red paint. She could even see the half-closed curtains. It was as if the house were built inside the water.
She sat on the pond’s edge and took off her shoes and socks. She let her feet plop right between the curtains. She slid down further over the edge and then down into the watery window.
Inside the reflection were rooms and hallways. She wandered through the whole house. Its floors creaked under her bare feet. Its stairs had worn spots where feet had traveled over and over.
She opened one door and found herself inside the most familiar room. She knew its quilt, its rocking chair, its drawers that stuck when she tried to open them. She stood by the dresser and looked into the mirror. Inside the mirror, she saw a pond, and in the pond she saw a house. The house had windows, and she saw herself looking out one of them.
She could keep going like that, she thought—jumping in and out of reflections. She contemplated stepping through the mirror. But she knew it would land her right back in the same room with the same bed and the same view.
It was, after all, exactly where she was.
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