Dazzle Story

Mirror

I gazed into the glimmering shard before me, wondering how such a small piece of something larger could end up so far separated from its whole self. It was like an apple that fell and rolled farther and farther from under its tree, or a flat tire that wound up miles and miles away from the other parts of the automobile. I was only eight years old and my mother had always told me, along with other various bits of advice, to avoid touching broken glass. This shard of a mirror was effectively the same as glass, but it tantalized me anyway.

            

I carefully ran my fingers over the jagged edges, making sure not to cut myself. After all, I was disobeying my mother, and she would definitely find out about my defiance if I returned to my room with crimson seeping from my hands. The shard was small, about the size of a strawberry, and I wondered again what separated it from its whole self. Was it from a grand, antique mirror with gold and silver swirled together on the edges? Was it from a contemporary mirror, framed in a simple black? Or was it a piece of something dingy, maybe stained, that someone threw out since it became obsolete? I could tell nothing of its past from the appearance of the sliver of a mirror in my hands.

            

It wasn’t quite nightfall, but the stars were peeking out from behind the clouds. I couldn’t see them in the sky, but they were reflected in the little mirror. It was like I could hold the very sky above me in my hands, and I contemplated if the sky would feel the same as this shard were it to collapse one day. It was beautiful. Tilting it to the side, its reflective surface revealed to me an image of the pine and oak trees surrounding our yard. Suddenly, however, I realized that the shard itself was just as beautiful as the things it could show me with its clear, sparkling surface. I was able to take in the intricate simplicity of the actual object in my hands.

            

It was so very smooth – smooth like the metal of a fork or spoon – but the humidity in the air caused my fingers to stick as I ran them across its delicate surface. My fingers left a trail behind them, blurring the images I was no longer paying attention to. I realized then that its origins were of no consequence to me; I couldn’t judge what I saw before me by what, or where, it came from. I understood that it was the same, no matter if it came from the extravagant mirror, the dingy, neglected mirror, or somewhere in between. Its origins weren’t what made it what it became on its own. Was it from a mirror carelessly thrown out by its owner? If so, I was lucky that I was able to find it so that it could escape that fate. Was it from a beloved golden and silver mirror, accidentally broken by some unfortunate event? I was still lucky that I found it, for that exact same reason.

             

The shard didn’t have a color, or one could say it held within it every color – if not the potential for every color. I knew it was capable of radiating light in all directions, just as it was equally capable of appearing blackened by pure darkness. It had the potential to be good or bad, the potential to hurt me or protect me, and the potential to break down or thrive. It didn’t matter where it came from. All of those potentials still rested within its shimmering surface. A flat tire was still flat and useless no matter what car it came from. A bruised apple is still bruised and unlikely to be eaten no matter what tree it fell from. In contrast, water can save a life no matter which river it came from, and lightning is still darkly captivating no matter which cloud creates it.

            

I took the mirror shard inside with me, wrapping it with a tissue to preserve it - as though I was mummifying it - and hid it inside my Disney Princess jewelry box. Though I rarely took it out after the day I found it, the memory of finding it was always somewhat present my mind. The shard reminded me that something – or someone – can be beautiful no matter who made it, who raised it, or what trials it has gone through. Something coming from the darkest path of life can be just as radiant as a similar entity from a clear path of life, where the best decision to make was always easy to see.