by Olivia R. Warkus

The mirror shows my blue eyes, small lips, and soft nose. When I grow old, I will see wrinkles and a thinner face and not the round gentle features of my Oma. It will be my nan’s face. I will see the reflection of a woman who gave me my looks as opposed to most of my memories.

It feels as though time wishes to accompany me, with all those who chose not to stay. There seems to be no escape from this destiny. I have my dad’s blue eyes but also carry his wish to run away at times. I have my nan’s small lips but also feel the deep emotions she voices too late. And I will never know which traits my grandad gifted me. Maybe I have his soft nose, maybe his chaotic mind. The similarities have expanded beyond the mirror.

As the years passed, I hoped my face would grow into my Mama’s. Hoped to look in the mirror and see the face of someone who stayed. What a gift it would be to carry her face within mine when she is gone. To just need a mirror to see her again. As a child I looked at my Oma and Mama and saw how similar they looked. One could always tell they were related. It was a weird sense of jealousy, an unnecessary kind, to boot, as I do mirror my Mama when I laugh so loud the walls seem to shake, when I talk about a topic with passion and confidence, or in the way I care for and love people.

The mirror shows my blue eyes, small lips, and soft nose. It does not show the shaking walls, does not hear my passion, and does not feel the love I have for people.