An elderly woman ponders the past in reuniting with an old mirror.
|Anne dragged her withered fingers over the dusty, dingy pane of the old mirror that had sat in the attic of the aged home once owned by her nana. She hadn't been up here in years. The mirror brought back cherished memories from when she was a little girl. It seemed like only yesterday, but then again it didn't. If only she could go back.|
The stuck-on gook, coarse to the touch, did not clear as she lifted her fingers from the pane. Perhaps her elderly limbs no longer had the strength for such menials. Had the old mirror itself fallen prey to the sands of time, or was its dusty appearance a reflection of her tired face in the hear-and-now? The glamour and beauty which once graced her had been stripped by the passing years. It pained her to dwell on it.
She could recall the old-fashioned oak finish it used to have that would glow when the overhanging drapes were open and the sun peered through the picture window. The gleam literally jumped from the veneer brightening the attic and everything in it in a redwood tinge.
Her nana would have Anne sit on a matching chair in front of the mirror to brush her lengthy golden hair that sprawled across her back. She could remember how gently nana took her hair in hand and lightly stroked the brush through the layers until each strand was in tune. They wouldn't say a word to each other. With affection they would look at one another in the reflection and smile. However, those memories, like the picture window, were now shattered.
In pondering her own predicament, Anne wondered if this was how nana felt in her later years. Maybe brushing her hair as a girl served as a distraction to take her mind off life. Anne didn't have any granddaughters. Even if she had, the old mirror's time had well passed.
Tears strew down Anne's cheeks as she stood before the antique. She questioned how much longer she had left in this life. Most of her friends were either gone or too sick. Like a friend, the old mirror in a way was ill and fading. This would be the last time she would set her eyes upon it.
Word Count: 379