Mirrors
I was facing a life-size mirror. I couldn’t see myself in it. The only reflection I saw was my aunt’s. She was folding towels of different sizes and colors she had probably just collected from the clothesline under the sun. A pile of folded clothes resting on the bed secluded the upper body of a child, probably sleeping. A great deal of still unfolded towels formed an obscene heap on the floor within the reach of my aunt who was seated on the corner of the bed. She looked happy. She was humming a hymn. The child snored. I was there standing, blithely unconcerned of my reflection that was invisible. When I turned my back against the mirror to face my aunt, she lifted her chin and looked at me. The humming stopped. Her frown lines suddenly became prominent, the loose skin under her chin sagged. Her eyes now reflected worry.
“I’m retiring next year,” she declared.
The child woke up, rose and toddled toward me. At this point I realized the child was a boy, not more than three. He was naked. I stooped forward to cuddle and lift him, and turned around to face the mirror again. This time I saw my reflection - our reflection. Shocked to see his own reflection, the child wailed. I hummed the same hymn my aunt had just hummed to pacify him. I succeeded. He was silent. The next time I searched for our reflection in the mirror, I saw that of the child’s, sleeping, head resting on my shoulder.
“I’m retiring next year,” she repeated. She was seated on the same corner of the bed. The clothes, folded and unfolded, were now nowhere in sight. She probably had piled the folded clothes inside the closet. I didn’t see any closet though. The only fixture in the commodious room was the bed. I wouldn’t consider the mirror as a fixture because it was fastened flat on the wall. It didn’t occupy considerable space.
I faced my aunt again. This time the child was sleeping again on the bed. I couldn’t recall laying the sleeping child on the bed.
I said, “So you’ll be 65 in March next year?”
My aunt’s real birthday is January 28 and she’ll only be 64 next year. It’s my mother who would be turning 65 in March next year had she not died 19 years ago.
“Who’s the child?” I asked her.
She replied, “He’s your nephew.” The child was her grandson. E, the child’s father, is her son, my cousin.
The next thing she did was lay on her side on the bed beside (and facing) the sleeping child. She hummed that hymn again while she softly caressed the child’s rising and falling tummy.
I don’t know how I got out from the episode with the sleeping child into this next episode of my dream. It looked like I was still in the same house. I entered a door-less room. Inside were two beds, wooden and bare. On one, my older brother slept on his back, his hands under his head. On the other, a former student sat. On him was a pair of knee-length board shorts with imprints of black flowers on a white background. He was naked from the waist up. I could tell even in the semi-darkness that he was sobbing. When he noticed my presence inside the room he rose at once and received me by extending his right hand. We shook hands. “Welcome,” he said.
“Let’s go the beach,” I suggested taking cue from his getup. We walked. My brother opened his eyes. I didn’t know or maybe I can’t recall now what had happened next that involved my brother.
The beach was indeed the next scene. Day trippers were sparse. In addition to us – I and my former student – there were only a few other people frolicking at the rocky end of the stretch of the beach which was not far from where we were at the moment. I learned from my former student that their going to the beach was a side trip. He and his co-workers had been on a three-day out-of-town planning and teambuilding activity. That day in the beach was their last day. They would go back to Manila the following day.
“Where are they?” I asked my former student.
He didn’t answer. Instead he pointed a finger to the group that frolicked on the rocky end of the stretch. I recognized the only girl in the group – another former student. She graduated at least 5 years ahead of former student number one.
“Why don’t you join the fun?” I asked him again.
Again, there was no answer. Instead he walked faster toward a cottage. He opened the door and signaled me to come inside. What did I find? Heap of old notes and pencils, a calculator, textbooks and Perry’s Chemical Engineers’ Handbook all scattered on the bed.
Finally he talked, “I’m reviewing for the licensure examination.”
“When will it be?” I inquired.
“Next year, in March…”
“You still have eight months. Why don’t you enjoy the beach for now?”
He didn’t answer again. He walked toward a life-size mirror. I followed him and I saw his reflection. What did I see? His upper body, naked, was riddled with, I suppose, measles.
Finally he said, “This is contagious. I don’t want to cause harm.”
Why didn’t I see those tiny red spots and rashes when we walked on the beach? Before I could even protest and say “But you didn’t worry about me!” I heard my phone alarm. It was right next to my ear. Then I woke up.
{June 12, 2009}
“I’m retiring next year,” she declared.
The child woke up, rose and toddled toward me. At this point I realized the child was a boy, not more than three. He was naked. I stooped forward to cuddle and lift him, and turned around to face the mirror again. This time I saw my reflection - our reflection. Shocked to see his own reflection, the child wailed. I hummed the same hymn my aunt had just hummed to pacify him. I succeeded. He was silent. The next time I searched for our reflection in the mirror, I saw that of the child’s, sleeping, head resting on my shoulder.
“I’m retiring next year,” she repeated. She was seated on the same corner of the bed. The clothes, folded and unfolded, were now nowhere in sight. She probably had piled the folded clothes inside the closet. I didn’t see any closet though. The only fixture in the commodious room was the bed. I wouldn’t consider the mirror as a fixture because it was fastened flat on the wall. It didn’t occupy considerable space.
I faced my aunt again. This time the child was sleeping again on the bed. I couldn’t recall laying the sleeping child on the bed.
I said, “So you’ll be 65 in March next year?”
My aunt’s real birthday is January 28 and she’ll only be 64 next year. It’s my mother who would be turning 65 in March next year had she not died 19 years ago.
“Who’s the child?” I asked her.
She replied, “He’s your nephew.” The child was her grandson. E, the child’s father, is her son, my cousin.
The next thing she did was lay on her side on the bed beside (and facing) the sleeping child. She hummed that hymn again while she softly caressed the child’s rising and falling tummy.
I don’t know how I got out from the episode with the sleeping child into this next episode of my dream. It looked like I was still in the same house. I entered a door-less room. Inside were two beds, wooden and bare. On one, my older brother slept on his back, his hands under his head. On the other, a former student sat. On him was a pair of knee-length board shorts with imprints of black flowers on a white background. He was naked from the waist up. I could tell even in the semi-darkness that he was sobbing. When he noticed my presence inside the room he rose at once and received me by extending his right hand. We shook hands. “Welcome,” he said.
“Let’s go the beach,” I suggested taking cue from his getup. We walked. My brother opened his eyes. I didn’t know or maybe I can’t recall now what had happened next that involved my brother.
The beach was indeed the next scene. Day trippers were sparse. In addition to us – I and my former student – there were only a few other people frolicking at the rocky end of the stretch of the beach which was not far from where we were at the moment. I learned from my former student that their going to the beach was a side trip. He and his co-workers had been on a three-day out-of-town planning and teambuilding activity. That day in the beach was their last day. They would go back to Manila the following day.
“Where are they?” I asked my former student.
He didn’t answer. Instead he pointed a finger to the group that frolicked on the rocky end of the stretch. I recognized the only girl in the group – another former student. She graduated at least 5 years ahead of former student number one.
“Why don’t you join the fun?” I asked him again.
Again, there was no answer. Instead he walked faster toward a cottage. He opened the door and signaled me to come inside. What did I find? Heap of old notes and pencils, a calculator, textbooks and Perry’s Chemical Engineers’ Handbook all scattered on the bed.
Finally he talked, “I’m reviewing for the licensure examination.”
“When will it be?” I inquired.
“Next year, in March…”
“You still have eight months. Why don’t you enjoy the beach for now?”
He didn’t answer again. He walked toward a life-size mirror. I followed him and I saw his reflection. What did I see? His upper body, naked, was riddled with, I suppose, measles.
Finally he said, “This is contagious. I don’t want to cause harm.”
Why didn’t I see those tiny red spots and rashes when we walked on the beach? Before I could even protest and say “But you didn’t worry about me!” I heard my phone alarm. It was right next to my ear. Then I woke up.
{June 12, 2009}
Comments