I have been debating with myself for nearly a week now on whether I should post a short vignette I've been working on here on my blog. I don't know why showing you my writing makes me so nervous, because you're essentially reading my writing every day just by being subscribed to my blog. But there is a huge difference in reading a self-narrative and reading something fictional and creative, and the idea of showing you something I've been working on makes me want to hide under a blanket.
But there was a really positive response to the short story I posted on here a few months ago that I wrote for school, so I am going to take my chances right now and post something I wrote entirely for fun. Here goes.
It's called, "The Mirror Girl". Please let me know what you think in the comments, and be honest! I really appreciate your feedback.
I always wondered what was on the other side of the mirror. I mean, I know it's probably just some sort of plastic or wood or a combination plastic-wood type material with whatever mirror stuff is made of glued to it, but that's not what I mean. I mean that I wonder what's REALLY on the other side.
I used to think it was just a mirror girl. Like, a perfect opposite of me, living a perfectly opposite life on the other side of the mirror. When I wave my left hand, she waves her right, when I get a pimple on my right cheek she gets it on her left, when I get dumped by a boy at school she gets asked out on a date. Figures, her life WOULD be better than mine. I'm left handed. Life is always harder for lefties. I don't know how SHE got so lucky, Miss Right-Handed over there.
But this isn't the point. I know now that mirror girls probably don't exist. Not even my mirror girl, even though I can see her. I'm looking at her right now. She's looking right back at me, all quizzically-like, as if she's just as sure I'm not real as I'm sure she's not.
But it she was real, I bet she'd love watching the news. On account of how I hate watching the news. It's just upsetting story upsetting story, so-and-so was shot at the corner market, traffic on I-5 at rush hour, hurricane watch in the tropics. I understand being informed, but I hate how watching the news also means being depressed. But mirror girl loves that kind of stuff. Not being depressed, but crime-fighting and all that. Really gets swept up in the action of it.
And I bet the mirror girl can touch her toes. It's like my joints are stuck or something; when I bend over my hands just flop around in the air and they dangle there all limp, still a good six inches from any hope of ever reaching my toes. I mean, yeah, I look at her while I bend over in front of the mirror, and her fingers are just as far from her toes as my fingers are from mine, but she's probably just humoring me. Maybe she's even trying to make me feel better.
The second she walks away from the mirror, though, I'm convinced she starts doing backflips. Walks all around her house on her hands instead of her feet. What a show off.
But flexibility isn't everything. It's barely a thing at all, if you don't want to be a gymnast or some sort of Olympic athlete. Which I don't. I am perfectly happy being an ice cream server. I work at this little kiosk on a touristy boardwalk, serving ice cream all day. 11-5. We do fun things there too, like mixing different kinds together or inventing our own flavors. We have silly outfits too; they're bright yellow. A lot of people complain that they look like a hi-lighter, but I don't mind it. I think it's kind of fun.
Speaking of ice cream, I bet mirror girl only likes hot foods. I bet she can really get into a cup of hot cocoa. Hot soup. Hot wings.
And when I said I was perfectly happy being an ice cream server, by the way, don't get the wrong impression. I don't mean I want to do this for the rest of my life. When I was a kid and all the other kids were saying "I want to be an Astronaut! I want to be a Firefighter! I want to be a teacher, a ballerina, the tooth fairy!" I wasn't back there dreaming about serving ice cream. I just meant it's fun right now. For the time being. As a summer job. And that it's better than being able to touch my toes, because who's going to pay me to do that anyway?
Plus I work with this cute boy. He has freckles.
I did want to be a doctor though. I always thought it sounded so fancy. I knew the doctor was always the hero, the one saving lives and stuff. I don't know what I thought doctors actually did though. When I found out it meant stuff like cutting people open and looking at their insides, I changed my mind real quick. Maybe a teacher would be better. Or a ballerina. Or an astronaut. I have a weak stomach.
I was never even good at Operation. I bet mirror girl was a pro, though. I bet she won Operation championships, if they have those on the other side of the mirror. I don't have a steady enough hand to be a doctor. I always set off the buzzer getting the charlie horse.
But, I'm sure her life isn't perfect either. I got an A on my history exam last week. The would make mirror girl terrible at history. I bet she can't even remember what happened last week. Or what she had for breakfast (though I know she probably had oatmeal since she loves hot food so much). I'm also really good at hula hooping. You might laugh, but I've won hula hooping contests. It's kind of a thing of mine. At the mall one time, I got a gift card for one hundred dollars just because I rock so much at moving my hips. You'd think I'd have a boyfriend because of that, but no. Just a certificate saying I'm the "2010 Tri-Regional Hula Champ" stuck up on the fridge with a tropical fish magnet. And the one hundred dollars. Which I spent on clothes. But the point is, mirror girl has never won any hula hooping contests, I'm sure.
I'm going to count this as a win in my favor, though I think you might still be laughing.
I'll be honest. Sometimes if I'm feeling kind of crummy, I think about switching places with 'ol mirror girl over there. I bet she wouldn't mind trying out the life of a Lefty for the day while I borrow her flexibility and confidence to talk to boys over here on my side. I'd even let her look at my hula certificate. Heck, I'd even let her pretend it was hers!
It would be nice being her for a day. I mean the backflips and everything would be great, but I'm talking more about the little things. Enjoying the news. Not burning my tongue on my hot cocoa. Working next to the freckled boy all day and engaging him in hilarious and witty banter, rather than blushing and stammering when our elbows bump near the dishwasher.
It's exciting when our elbows bump, definitely. But I never know what to say. It's not exactly the best conversation starter. "Sorry about the elbow bumpage," is just lame. "Hey I like your elbows," what am I, some king of fetish creep? "Do you moisturize, your elbows are so smooth," they might as well just lock me up and take away my social privileges, honestly.
Mirror girl would know just what to say. She wouldn't even have to worry about stimulating elbow-bump conversation because Freckles would have probably asked her out by now. I bet they already would have made it to second base. She'd be wearing his ring. Do boys even do that anymore; give girls their rings?
I might give it a try today. The switching places thing. You know, hypothetically.
I'm pretty sure I saw Freckles' name on the schedule. I'd never be able to talk to him by myself, but if I just borrow a bit of mirror girl's talents, I think we could do it together.
Still standing in front of my full length mirror, I put my work hat on in one swift movement. I look directly into her eyes, exactly the same as the ones on my face. Somehow, the required work uniform looks way better on her than it does on me. I'm not sure how to do the switch exactly, so I make it up as I go. I spin around three times, hop on one foot, say some combination of words in my mind that I think sound tantric or chanty or something, and shut my eyes real tight.
When I open them, I almost think I feel some sort of essence of confidence flood into my body. I stare at the mirror girl. She stares back. It is time to leave for work, so I finally break eye contact with her to grab my purse that's hanging on the end of my bed. When I turn back, we wink at each other knowingly. Today is going to be a great day, I know it.
Last google search: "bmi calculator" (I've been reading Hayley's blog again xD)
Chipotle burritos: 16
average stomach size
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