I woke up yesterday after an afternoon nap. Going outside my room, I tripped on our mirror’s stand which I almost always do. But this time the mirror teetered and tottered and fell on its side against a cabinet, fell flat on its back on the floor and then flipped front-side-up. It all happened so fast I wasn’t able to react and could only whisper an apology at the very end. Immediately, I brought the mirror inside my room to check for any damage because even after the racket it made I’m sure I didn’t hear it shatter and there were no broken pieces on the floor.
The good news is the mirror is still intact save a single crack that ran across the middle almost horizontally. I trace my pointing finger across the jag from right to left and realize the uneven surface. I check my finger for a wound and indeed there was one, but only a little scraped skin. Mesmerized, I run my finger again as lightly as I can across the crack with the same motion and then checked my finger once more; no visible injury came from it. Satisfied, I take a step back and look at myself across the broken mirror. The crack ran across my reflection’s chest and heart. I resolve to never let anyone use it ever again and I hide the mirror behind the closet.