Reflections Are Over-Rated

The dark window glass made a good substitute mirror. Philla had fled to the grounds to get away from the crowds of the student hall and library. Now she glowered at her reflection. It didn't look out of the ordinary. A normal college student in a t-shirt and jeans and a hairstyle the humans had chosen to name ponytail. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was the same reflection that she'd had when she looked at the mirror back at the house. That was the problem. Even when she was home and away from the human masses she couldn't make the reflection show she had powers. There was no way she could make her reflection show she was a fey. The problem was simple: no wings.

She touched shoulder-blades, but nothing else. Knowing she couldn't produce colorful insect like appendages out of her back made her feel worse. Back home not having wings with an entire school of flying classmates had been torture. Coming to a human school should have solved her insecurities. However, she only felt more exposed. She fit in, but only on the outside. Inside she knew she was a fey, but the reflection challenged this fact.

In the glass behind her a figure appeared. The neon green shirt with orange smiley faces and the messy blond hair was hard to mistake. Phokus had his usual large grin, which showed his pointed teeth. She pretended not to notice. She should have expected him. He had a strange knack of finding people even when they tried to hide.

“Enjoying the view?” Phokus said.

Philla stayed silent. Talking about her problem wouldn't fix anything.

“You know, reflections always confused me.” He cocked his head at his image. “According to the humans, vampires aren't suppose to have a reflection.” He waved at himself, earning a wave in return.

“You're a solren.” Philla said. That didn't mean anything. Her race had a million different names and so do the other races, including the humans.

Phokus didn't respond. “My Ma'ma told me once I should dress like an assassin. All black, serious expression. You know, look the part.” He tilted his head the other way. “However, if I was suppose to fit the part, by all accounts I shouldn't be able to see my reflection, so how would I know I was doing it right?”

Philla shrugged. True, the human expectation was a person all in black who drank blood and was undead without being a rotting zombie often confused her. But that didn't mean the human expectation weren't real.

“So I got to thinking.” Phokus continued. “If I couldn't see my reflection, does that mean I didn't really exist? Or if I can see my reflection, am I any less here?”

She glanced at his face. He had twinkle in his eyes she recognized. Even his canines seemed to be shining with mischief.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Not at all.” He gave the window wink. “I'm just stating lack of reflections are overrated.”

Philla laughed. “Thanks, Phokus.”

“And you might want to choose a different window to mope in front of.” He waved again. “This is the one to the Dean's office.”

***

Next morning Philla disappeared into the bathroom between classes. Checking her hair at the sinks she spotted Nell, one of her human friends, standing in front of the long mirror beside the door. She was giving herself a critical look, hands on hips as if measuring her waist. Her expression was one Philla knew far too well.

Philla paused, then smiled. Her race wasn't called Fairy Godparent for nothing. Puling a index card out of her bag she wrote a message in pen. Shouldering her bag she walked passed Nell and posted the note on her back.

The girl jumped in shock. Philla turned at the door and waved back. Nell looked shocked, her back to the mirror. From here Philla could read the reflected inscription.

I'm beautiful

Second Worse Birthday

Amy fell out of bed around five, waking Molly who screamed there was a monster in the room. I did my best to calm the twins enough for one more hour of sleep before the alarm went off at seven. Between smoking eggs and remembering which twin didn't like orange juice I managed to keep the food off their school clothes. Lunch would be tuna sandwiches, and I hoped the girls would eat. Seven-year-olds were unpredictable. How Marie had managed . . . I pushed the memories away. I wouldn't let the memories get to me. Nothing was going to happen this birthday.

We started for the school with five minuets to spare. During the drive I kept reminding Amy to keep the seat belt on and Molly that she wasn't old enough for the front seat. The front of the school was clogged with kids and rushed parents. Amy run ahead while Molly remembered a quick wave back at me before she was swallowed by the masses. Smiling, I shifted gears with a shutter and pulled out. Fifteen minuets to get to work. Everything was going like it was every other day.

That's all I wanted this birthday. No fuss. No surprises. No news. It would be impossible not to be remind of Marie by everything. Even driving past her favorite Italian place we always went to for special occasions caused my heart to sink. I pushed the feelings away. As long as no one knew there was no way it could be spoiled. It was foolish, but worth trying. Something always went wrong on my birthday, but this year I wasn't going to let it. I hurt enough to know I wouldn't be spending the day with Marie, like it hurt every other day of the year.

No one on campus mentioned the date. I wasn’t one to share that information with my students and they were too worried about test scores to care. I avoided Mrs. Frank at the front desk, her being the only member of the staff who might remember. I doubted the other professors cared enough to remember, but I avoided them to make sure my presence didn't trigger anyone's memory. Phone calls from family and friends went to voice mail. They'd mainly be condolences or sympathy and I didn't need that.

Classes ended and office hours went by fast. In no time it was time to pick the girls up at school. Maybe I could swing by the store and get a small carton of ice cream. The girls wouldn't suspect the day. Marie used to have spontaneous surprises waiting for them. It might be good to have some of those back in our lives. The car went for a block before making a sudden clunk and dying in the middle of the road. I was surprised to be surprised. I should have guessed. I had to push the car to the side of the road so I wouldn't block traffic. My curses rivaled the honking in volume.

The tow service took it's sweet time. I waited on the back bumper. I hate birthdays. A year older, and this year I had car trouble. Marie died a year today. A call in the middle of the a class that she had collapsed at the bakery where she'd been getting my cake. She never regained consciousness and was gone a few hours later. Throat tight, I played with my wedding ring. She'd called it an endless circle. But it had ended. It would be a life time before I could see her again. It wasn't fair to the twins.

The twins! My insides felt dropped off a cliff. Molly would be panicking, and Amy would accuse me of abandonment. I'd forgotten them on that day as well. The principal's call had been the only thing to shake me out of shock. They might think I was gone like mommy. The phone battery died when I pushed the call key. I almost threw it. I should have enrolled them in the University school. At least they would have known I was alright.

The tow man wouldn't let me use his phone or take me to the school. The man at the garage let me use the phone to call the principal. He reassured me that the girls were alright and he'd keep them inside the school until I got there. However, the garaged didn't have any rental cars for me to use. I managed to convince the tow man the school was on the way back home and he'd get back in time for the ball game. Once at the school, I practically leaped out of the truck, and almost got run over by it as he pulled away.

The girls were following the janitor as he vacuumed. Amy seemed to be self-designated vacuum cord mover while Molly stood at one side with their school bags. I leaned against the door frame, relieved they were safe. Molly saw me first and nearly knocked the air out of me when she crashed into me with a hug, closely followed by Amy who demanded an explanation. The janitor waved away my thanks, saying he wished his boys were as well behaved.

The overcast sky made the walk home less hot. Molly held tight to my hand while Amy recounted how she'd beaten the boys in a burping contest. I was too drained to make dinner so we picked up cheep burgers at the local fast food joint. I got the girls shakes, and the girls had insisted I get one, and it helped. Marie had been right about chocolate, like she had been about everything. Everything except her illness hadn't been a big deal.

The girls disappeared to their room while I did the breakfast dishes. I sat at my desk and checked my Facebook. The postings were vast. “Hope it's a great one” “Happy Birthday Leo, be happy.” “She wouldn't want you to mope” I logged out. It was easy to type a message on a site which reminded people it was your birthday.

I turned and found the girls in front of me. Amy handed me a card. I recognized the green card-stalk from Marie's craft box. Stunned I looked down at the marker inscription. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY LOVE YOU. Under the words were stick figures of a man with two little kids in triangle skirts with names identifying them as me with them. It was hard to read with the stinging in my eyes. Seeing my tears the girls started making excuses. Molly said sorry for bad spelling and Amy insisted it was Molly's idea. Both were cut off when I pulled them to me. Second worse birthday or not. These were the two best gifts I'll ever have.

Awkward Beginnings

Being efficient had disadvantages. Miles had finished passing out the afternoon mail, finished his little stack of projects, and now was trying to fill the rest of the work day. He had added several new paper airplanes to his already large collection. He'd been at it for almost half an hour. He didn't know how he'd survive when they hired a new person to take over mail duty.

That day had been particularly dull. Meetings consisted of him doodling on his note pad, only paying attention when Nory Wilson gave her opinion about the projects. He tossed a paper airplane at the pin up target across from him. It missed, and fell into the waist basket along with the others. Reflected his life. He wasn't like Nory. She always had projects handed to her, and she could make them work. All he could do was pass out mail and fix the water cooler. And make paper airplanes. He could do those projects, but everyone seemed happy to keep him doing the odd job, which left lots of free time. Someone like Nory would never be demoted to mail carrier. She'd probably be amazing at that, as she was with everything else.

Miles absently ripped a page out of his note book. Nory had been hired about the same time he had, but was already getting the big name design deals. His fingers folded the paper instinctively into a triangle. Nory was a no nonsenses type of girl and got things done. He creased a wing, folding the wing perfectly along a lone sketch he'd made during the meeting. Behind her intimidating expression and behavior was a fair person who managed to get along well with most people in the business. Miles stared blankly at the new paper-plane he held. It was a side profile doodle of Nory, in one of her thoughtful stares. She'd probably make director of the agency one day. If he wasn't in love with her, he'd probably be jealous.

Frustrated, he tossed the paper plane into the air. Soon as it was airborne he realized his mistake. Making planes at work was one thing. Flying them in the work place was another. If he was caught, he might get worse than mail duty.

The yellow note paper looped twice before diapering over the cubicle wall. His heart jumped to his throat.

That was Nory's cubicle.

He raced to the doorway. Maybe she wasn't in. Maybe she . . .

He rounded the corner and froze. Not only was she sitting there but his airplane was sitting on top of her head, next to the rose ordainment she always had were her ponytail. She sat ridged in her chair, apparently stunned. Slowly her hand went to her head and lifted the small projectile down. To his horror, Miles remembered the small sketch on the wing was a doodle of her. She stared down at the paper, then turned in her chair to face him.

Of all the situations he'd imagined of for a first encounter with her this wasn't one of them. Her dark brown eyes seemed menacing as she looked him over.

He needed to say something. Anything. “Uh, that's mine.”

She pointed at the image of her face. “This too?”

“Yes, I mean, No! you're not mine, though I’d like it. I mean yes, that's drawing of you. Not that I’m a creeper.” he stopped, face burning. “Yes that's my work.”

She nodded. “you're good, Conners. Though I don't appreciate ideas dive bombing my hair while I’m working.”

“I'm really sorry about that.” he held out his hand. “I'll get that out of your way.”

“Mind if I keep it?”

He must has misheard her. First she knew his name and now she wanted his art. This had be a side affect of boredom. He must be hallucinating.

She suddenly turned red. “I mean, I should confiscate it, but it would be a waist. Not that I’m saying it's a waist.”

They both stared at each other, faces equally red. Then he smiled. “Sure, It's your anyway, finders keepers and all.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Thanks, Conners.”

He waved and walked back to his cubicle. Not the beginning he'd expected, but not too bad either. Picking one of the older planes out of the pile, he straightened the nose and tossed it at the target. It barely hit the bulls-eye. Being bored was not so bad after all.