The Mirror

As a mirror, I’ve pretty much lived my life just leaning against one out of the four walls in a maturing 16-year-old girl's room whose name I suspect is Samantha. At least, the reason why I think this is because I usually hear her family calling her Sam, or Sammy, so I made the inference that her name is Samantha, or just maybe her father was hoping to have a boy, so he decided to name her Samuel.

Living a life leaned up against a wall is… not what you would expect it to be. I am constantly looked at by this Sam being for everything she does. I find it very uncomfortable in moments like these where she just sits right in front of me and combs her hair, or puts on her make up. It’s truly awkward having someone stare dead at me while they get ready for their day. It is even worse when she decides to cry about her body figure and impurities — crying about the gap in her tooth, or the size of her boobs.

I sometimes wonder if other people just sit and look at her while they get ready, causing her the exact feeling of discomfort I feel every day since the day I was purchased in a thrift shop along with a black pair of denim jeans, a black coffee mug that said “I’m the big dog!” with a Saint Bernard standing on his hind legs while wearing sunglasses, a pair of old, black and white Nike female running shoes, and a lamp that was eventually to be used every day on the side of someone’s bed. I remember that day as if it was just yesterday; which was really three-and-a-half years ago.

Sometimes, she points her phone in my direction causing a beam of light to temporarily blind me. I find it actually quite disturbing when she decides to undress herself and snap photos of her nude body. Like, what’s her problem? Why does she have to go and expose herself in such a way? It is morally wrong.

Being here, leaned up against this wall for this long, has really taught me a few things about this female. From some of the smallest things like how she makes her bed with a different type of fold, and then to the bigger things like how she loves a certain pop idol with her dear heart. I also see the type of people she brings over — her friends, I guess I could call them; although they really don’t treat her like one. I’ve seen the way they take her things while she is not looking, or the way they speak of her when she is not present. Gosh, the things they discuss about this poor girl when she is not around. They are truly horrible.

There are other times where she puts a few things up against her bedroom door, including myself, in attempts to keep her parents out while some tall, short-haired, white punk-rocker type of guy hops through the window, and they begin to touch and kiss each other in such a manner. What they do is almost like a piece of art to me. The love being exchanged, as well as lust and other passionate emotions, is just so beautiful in my opinion. The amount of energy being exchanged is a masterpiece. It saddens me to see all this love and energy being exchanged just for this boy to get up and leave right out the window he came through. The way this Sam looks after she does this is truly agonizing. She cries out asking what she did wrong, how she could be so foolish, and how she could allow such a person to continue to walk all over her after telling herself it would not be allowed not a single time more.

Then… that is when the self-hatred comes into place once again as it has many times before in the past. She then goes into into an angered rant slamming her fists into her pillows asking why. Why can’t she be good enough? Why can’t people appreciate her? Just simply why? That is when she decides to cry in front of me… staring right into me with tears in her deep blue eyes, asking, “When will it ever stop?” She then moved everything away from the door putting it all back into place including myself where i will probably remain at for another four years. I wonder if there will ever be another use for myself.

Perhaps someday there will...