Tempus (3 page)

He was looking down, smoothing imagined wrinkles out of a dark cotton button-down shirt.  His black hair fell softly over his downturned eyes, brushing against long, dark eyelashes.  His skin was a deep olive tone, smooth over his slightly high cheekbones and angular jaw line.  His lips were pressed together as if he were thinking about something serious, and I noted he didn’t look much older than me.  He was
gorgeous
!  Then he looked up—and froze.

I was looking into the most beautiful, brilliant blue eyes I’d ever seen, and they looked surprised.  No, they looked
shocked
.  My breath caught in my chest and I stared, my mouth hanging open and my heart skipping beats.  Then I realized something, something that sent chills down my back, all the way to the soles of my feet—he wasn’t looking at himself in the mirror—he was looking at
me
. 

The further backward you look, the further forward you can see.

—Winston Churchill

For a moment I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t stop staring and I couldn’t let go of the mirror.  I couldn’t move and I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think.  We just stood there, the beautiful boy and me, looking at each other.  I noticed when the shock in his eyes turned to curiosity, even though he had not moved at all.  He had not so much as blinked since our eyes first met.

My heart was pounding in my ears and my face felt flush.  I couldn’t figure out if it was because I was afraid or excited, maybe a little of both.  As my thoughts became coherent again I wondered if I was only
imagining
he could see me.  I didn’t know how, exactly, to find out.  I also wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.

It was at that very moment in my thoughts that he leaned forward, and let his eyes move to look me over, top to bottom.  He slowly raised his hands, placing them on either side of the mirror, mimicking my stance precisely.  He looked back into my eyes, and then blinked.

That was
it
.  I released the mirror so fast I practically pushed it.  In my scramble to distance myself, I lost my footing and landed on my butt, scooting backwards across the floor with kicking feet, away from the mirror.  When I ran into the wall, or whatever I ran into, I stopped and just sat there, gasping like Mrs. Henderson.

I don’t know how long I sat there staring at the mirror, trying to calm myself.  My mind was racing, trying to make things make sense.  I had glimpsed people through mirrors before, even had them look right at me, but I knew they weren’t
seeing
me.  All the mirrors I had ever glimpsed through were two-way for me, not
them
.  Glimpses worked that way.  They always worked that way—until now.

What was I going to do?  I couldn’t just calmly go back to cleaning furniture, pretending nothing had happened.  Even as I stood up and brushed myself off, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the mirror.  Even though all I could see in it was me, myself and I, looking wild-eyed.  Even though it just stood there, mutely, looking perfectly normal and harmless.

I stood up slowly, wiping at the grime on my clothes.  I couldn’t get all the dust off my butt; I had ground it into the weave of my jeans.  I couldn’t wash my hands because I would have to turn my back on
that mirror
.  I really, seriously, didn’t know what to do.  I hardly
ever
didn’t know what to do.  I didn’t like that feeling.  Nope, not at all.

I wondered for a second if he was ‘glimpsing’
me
.  Could that dark-haired boy see me right now, looking half-crazy?  If he could, I wasn’t making a very good impression. 
What made me even think that?
  Like I wanted to
impress
anyone anyway. 

My hair looked like a rats nest now that I was thinking about it.  My clothes were dirty.  I turned my butt to the mirror and saw the dark smudges, and then I groaned—because
if
he could see me, I just stuck my butt out at him.

I could just imagine him right now, laughing at me hysterically.  The thought made me a little mad.  It made me madder the more I thought about it.  Who was
he
to judge me?  Who was he to be in
my
mirror?  I took a step closer to it and squinted my eyes, wondering if he was in there.  I stuck out my tongue, just in case he could see.  And
that’s
when my dad walked in. 
Grrreat
.

“What in the world are you doing, honey?”

I sucked in my tongue as fast as I could and rocked back on my feet.  How childish I must look.  Not a good way to convince your dad you’re ready for your own car.  Nope, not even close.  “I thought I felt a bump on my tongue, do you see anything?”  I stuck it out at him.

He leaned in and looked.  “Not a thing.”  He glanced at the mirror and back at me.    “I
wonder
about you sometimes.”  He shook his head, just a little, but he was smiling.

“Did this mirror come from Mr. Patel?”  I asked, giving it a quick glance.

“Yes, yes it did.  When I saw it I thought of you.”  He walked over and swiveled the mirror.  I tried not to wince as he touched it.  “I thought it would be perfect for your bedroom.  Just what you’ve been wanting for the corner.  Better than that flat thing on the bathroom door, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, Dad, but…”  Wow, what was I going to say?  I couldn’t hurt Dad’s feelings, and I had fallen in love with it at first sight. 
But still
.  “You don’t want to sell it?  You could get three, maybe four thousand dollars for it.  I don’t need anything that fancy.”

“Nothing’s too good for my little girl,” I cringed a little at those last two words, as I always did, but Dad just laughed.  “I know its cliché, but it’s true.  Besides, I paid less than that for the truckload; I’ll more than make my money back.  I feel like a thief after that deal!”

“Umm.  Wow, Dad.  Umm. 
Thank you
.  I love it, I do.”  I gave him the hug I knew he was waiting for, but glared at the mirror behind him.

“Great!”  He released me and stepped back.  “I already called Steve and asked him to pick it up after we close and take it to the house.  I can get it upstairs myself.”

I knew what he meant.  He meant ‘
don’t worry, Steve won’t come in and see what I’ve done to the house’.
 A hint of pain flickered in his eyes and then vanished as he patted the top of the mirror.  He seemed pleased with the acquisition.  I would have to figure out how to keep it covered without Dad finding out. 
Wow
.

“I thought you would have gotten more done by now.”  He waved his hand toward the other pieces.  “Are you feeling okay?”

My mind sprang at the opening.  “Actually, Dad, I’m not feeling the greatest.  I might be coming down with something.  I just didn’t want to leave you at the store alone.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.  Let me call Steve back.  He asked if I wanted him to come in when I called him about the mirror.  He said he was bored anyway.”  He gave me a wink.  “
Alecia’s
not back yet.”

“Thanks, Dad.  I’ll just sit down for a little while until he gets here.  Maybe I got a little hot or something.”  Since my butt was dirty anyway, I grabbed the nearest chair waiting to be cleaned and sat down, looking suspiciously at the mirror.  Dad noticed the direction of my gaze and grinned.

“You do love it, don’t you?”  He beamed.

“Absolutely, Dad.”

As soon as he left the room, I stuck my tongue out at the mirror again, just because.  So,
it
was going home with me. 
He
was going home with me.  Now what?

I stood up and walked slowly toward the mirror, never letting my eyes leave the shiny glass.  I could see myself, looking nervous, as I inspected it. 
Okay, Jessie, get a grip,
I commanded myself, and moved closer still.

It looked so very
normal
.  I was close enough to reach out my hand and touch it, but I didn’t.  My eyes searched the glass for any evidence of something otherworldly, a movement, a shadow, a creepy foggy mist or something.  There was nothing but me and my filthy clothes and messy hair and all the stuff in the dirty room behind me.

I noticed some fuzz on my shirt and looked down long enough to pick it off, then my eyes flashed back up, thinking I might catch
him
looking when he thought
I
wasn’t paying attention.  If my dad could see me now, he would be convinced I was sick.  Sick in the
head
, that is.  Maybe I really
was
sick in the head.  Normal people didn’t have glimpses.

It seemed like forever until I heard Steve’s noisy truck pull into the parking lot.  I sat back down in the dirty chair and waited.  I heard the bell on the front door, and then he and Dad were talking quietly.  They were discussing me, and
that mirror
.  I couldn’t hear every word of it, but I heard enough.  Steve was taking me, and the mirror, to my house.  He was to leave it sitting on the back porch so one of us could clean it up before taking it inside.  Dad was good at hiding the condition of our house, and this ‘plan’ made perfect sense.  Steve would have no time, and no reason, to offer to come in.

A few moments later, Steve appeared in the doorway to the back room.  “Hey, kiddo.  Not feeling so great today?”

“Nope.”  I gave him an annoyed look.  He knew I hated him calling me kiddo, which is exactly why he always did it.

“Go load up in the monster, then.  I’m taking you home.”  He walked over to the mirror, threw a soft tarp over it, and carefully picked it up.

I raced outside to the monster, maybe a little too fast for someone who was ‘sick,’ but I didn’t care.  I don’t even know why I was in such a hurry.  I forgot to say goodbye to Dad, but I knew he wouldn’t be upset, especially since I supposedly didn’t feel good.

I glared at the giant truck when I reached it.  The
monster
was a black Chevy Silverado.  It was ‘lifted,’ which means it was taller than a normal truck, and it had giant wheels.  The top of my head was just about even with the hood, and there was a bar running along the sides for short people like me to step on and climb in, but it still wasn’t easy. 

It may not make a good
getaway
vehicle, but it was a handy thing to have around if your car got stuck in the mud, as ours did last year.  Dad had this brilliant idea of driving us down to Clear Creek after a big rainstorm to see how high the water was where we liked to fish.  Getting down there was easy, but getting back up wasn’t going to happen.  Steve, and the
monster
, to the rescue.

I had managed to climb into the giant truck and strap myself in before Steve came out the door.  I wondered why he drove the monster instead of his Toyota.  The
little
truck would have been much easier to load the mirror, and much easier for me to get in, in my
sickly
state.  That’s probably why.  I sometimes believed Steve tortured me to make sure I never developed another crush on him.

That was awful, the
crush
.  I was almost thirteen, and Steve was in high school.  He had been working at the store for over a year, and we were friends.  He never treated me like a little kid, and almost seemed to like that I followed him around like a puppy.  I loved his spiky blonde hair and his green, green eyes, and I thought he was the most handsome boy I had ever seen. 

Steve did a lot of the restoration work on things that needed it.  He was good with his hands, and at the top of his shop class.  He even made me a beautiful carved wooden box for my birthday.  It was really a class assignment, but he said he made it just for me to have after he got his grade.  He showed it to me before he turned it in, and that was when I decided I loved him.

      We were sitting on the back porch swing after my little party when he gave it to me.  I had been thinking about it, thinking about
him
, ever since he showed me.  In my juvenile mind, I thought he was giving me a hint.  I thought he was trying to tell me he couldn’t be my boyfriend until I was a teenager, like him.  When I took off the paper and opened it up, there was a note inside.  It said,
‘To the best girl I’ve ever known, Happy Birthday, Love Steve.’

That was it.  He
loved
me.  The note all but said so.  And then I did the single most stupid thing I had ever done,
have
ever done, in my whole life.  I said ‘I love you, too,” and tried to kiss him.  He almost fell off the swing.

That was the moment everything changed,
forever
.  He laughed at me, thought I was trying to be funny.  I just sat there a few seconds blinking back tears, then said something like ‘Ha-ha, I got ya.’  I couldn’t look him in the eyes, but I tried to laugh and pretend I
was
being funny, just like he thought.  That’s when he ruffled my hair and said, “You’re such a trip, kiddo.  Let’s go in.”  I’ve been kiddo ever since, and he’s never been as good looking as he was before that night.

The driver door opened and he swung into his seat with a grin on his face, pulling me back from my memories.  He gave me a sympathetic smile.  “You don’t look so good, kiddo.  You gonna be okay at the house by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine,
thanks
.”  I said with my best sarcastic tone.