Clever Reflections

ONE- Cinna

The day I met my future started just as any other might. My new old alarm screamed at me, penetrating the soupy darkness that hung like a wet towel over my new old bed in my new old attic bedroom. I glanced at it tiredly. The alarm was superficial; I'd been awake for almost four hours now, trying to lay as still as possible while examining the hopelessly blurry swirling patterns in the faux wood paneling above my head. Thoughts had drifted lazily through my mind, in and out of my ears, and I imagined them stirring the air, dancing, twirling, and kicking up the dust motes that twirled about over my head. That was one reason I was so still: I was attempting futilely not to breath in, least I inhale all that dust and start sneezing like a banshee. The other reason was that, when I say attic bedroom what I really mean is attic-with-a-bed-and-a-cardboard-box-that-acted-as-a-bedside-table. The box was adorned with with an untouched glass of water and an extremely vocal clock-radio resting on three little irregular legs. Otherwise, the attic was a cluttered room filled with boxes and lamps and tables, all stacked and strewn about precariously. I feared that if I moved any more than a centimeter I would bring something sharp and/or deadly down upon myself, or break some antique relic of an ashtray, or something equally as catastrophic.
The clock shrieked at me again, shredding the silky half-conscious state I'd fabricated. I sighed and turned to it again, carefully reaching a hand out to locate and press the cancel button. The clock was ancient, like the majority of the items in the attic, and had a cherry red exterior with white-on-black numbers that actually flipped down as time passed. My gaze flicked to the numbers, my eyes went wide and I jumped up, banging my shoulder on something hard and metal. 7:14am. Shit. The object that I collided with made a soft clang and I bit my bottom lip, trying to distract from the aching pain emanating from the shoulder as unwanted moisture springing to my eyes. I blinked it away, scrambling out of my bed, and groped at the low ceiling for the single bare bulb which hung somewhere in the dark. I grasped it, screwed it in, and found myself rapidly blinking away tears again as the sudden illumination seared my hypersensitive eyes. Ouch. Nice start, I mused, to what will assuredly be a disaster of a day.
By the newfound light, I was able to locate my sagging satchel of personal items and tear through it. I might as well have been echolocating for all that I could see without my glasses. My glasses. Shit redoubled. I thought I'd brought them up here last night but they were probably still in the bathroom where I'd prepared for sleep. I had been pretty hazy last night, a bit shell-shocked. In the haste of the moment and my morning confusion, the reason for my misstep was the furthest thing from my mind. I decided, rather rashly but I had limited options, to attempt to get to them when I went down to dress. I seized yesterday's clothes, stuffed as they were in my bag, and tore the various pieces apart, salvaging everything that didn't smell too bad. I located my ADHD pills in a side pocket, grabbed what I assumed, based on texture, what was a shirt, added it to the mound in my arms and, armed with my bundle of cloth, braved the corridor which wound through the mounds of stuff and led to the attic steps.
Stumbling down the old, rickety Victorian stairway, I found myself a bit disoriented by the layout. This was, after all, a new house. This was my new house.
Then it all came crashing back, with clarity so sudden and intense that I stumbled, barely grasping it.
This was my house.
Those were not the flowers on the walls of another foster home.
This was not another foster home.
Last night, I had come into this house with fully, irreversibly legal guardians by the names of Jana and Kai.
After all these years being tossed from one place to another, two people had finally, inexplicably, wonderfully made the executive decision to adopt me. I didn't know if it was pity or a whim that drove them, but somehow, here I stood, someone's actual, legal daughter for the first time in 13 years, breathing the musty air, leaning on a wall in my very own home.
I numbly stumbled into the bathroom, which I had located after some trial-and-error escapades into random rooms, and sure enough, my glasses sat on the counter, undisturbed. After dumping my cargo in an unceremonious heap on the floor, I fumbled for them, sliding the things halfway across the counter before grabbing them in a fist and shoving them resolutely onto my face. My reflection followed suit and I thought, for a moment, that maybe it had a bit of a delay. I shook the feeling off, knowing it was ludicrous. Mirrors didn't have delays.
Fumbling despite my newly clear vision, I surveyed my blind selection of garb. Outlook not so good... I mused, quoting the magic eight ball that was one of my few prized possessions, but I can work with it. In my scramble I had grabbed a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, three socks, a bra (thank God) and a t-shirt so worn it looked sheer. The pants had holes in the knees, and grass stains which came from the same fall that coloured the fabric directly below them a mottled reddish/brownish color. The bottle of medication had fallen to the floor and rolled under the counter, half forgotten.
Given my usual luck of the draw, the apparel I had provided myself with was surprisingly wearable, if not in the finest fashion sense. I shrugged my night clothes off and quickly changed into those that had found their way to my contemporary need. I kept my eyes averted from the mirror. It wasn't that I was ashamed of myself or overly self-conscious, it just seemed, I-don't-know... indecent somehow, to let my reflection watch me undress.
Clothing passably (if not properly or perfectly) affixed, I ran my fingers uselessly through my long, dark, hopelessly tangled mass of hair. Managing to wrestle the beast into a semi-docile demeanor, I once again faced my doppleganger in the looking glass. We each simultaneously reached out and pressed our left fingertips to the protective glass surface. The expanse was as smooth as fresh printer paper and as cold as ice. I shivered. My twin grinned at me from the quicksilver depths. Taken off guard, I drew my hand from the glass to my mouth and felt there the curve of quirked lips. How peculiar- a sudden noise cut off my train of thought, shattering my lackadaisical mood and sending me rigid.