Poor Reflections

The faintest sound of plucked guitar strings disturbed the silence of the opulent bedroom. Deep within a pile of plush white comforters Rebecca slumbered, unperturbed by the noise.

The guitar slowly got louder. A voice, soft and low, sang the words to an ancient and arcane story, and Rebecca smiled faintly in her sleep. She shifted as she dreamed, then lay still once more.

The voice sang a second verse, louder than the first, and Rebecca stirred in earnest. She slowly crawled out from under the covers of her ornate bed and stretched luxuriously as the song reached its bridge. She hummed along with the tune as she grabbed her fluffy white dressing gown from its hanging place on the wall.

Rebecca silenced her alarm as the song finished and removed her sleep mask. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the muted light of her bedroom, then reached over to her art deco nightstand and grabbed her tablet to review her orders for the month of August. She was ahead of schedule, a deliberate move on her part in case school proved to be more of a hindrance to production than she expected.

A slow smile crept across her face as she saw the single task she set for herself this afternoon: a custom order for a special pendant. It would challenge her abilities, and it involved no small expenditure on her part for the semi-precious stones that would make up the majority of the piece, but it would certainly be worth it if – no, when, she corrected herself – she pulled it off. Still smiling, she climbed out from under the covers and headed down the hall to the bathroom.

She grabbed her hairbrush and considered her reflection in the large bathroom mirror. Her hair, which she had dyed a deep indigo the week before, swooped down past her shoulders. She ran a hand through it a few times as she admired the hue, then proceeded to brush it straight.

Satisfied, she checked the rest of her reflection – her sculpted eyebrows, her deep blue eyes, her flawless skin, her dazzling white teeth. She took her usual reassurance from this, and strode confident and determined from the bathroom and downstairs to the kitchen.

She busied herself assembling a bowl of greek yogurt and granola while humming the refrain of the song she woke to again. She idly scrolled through her Twitter feed as she ate. Another handful of positive reviews, a slew of people begging her to expand her commissions slots – a standard night’s feedback.

The sound of her younger sister Shireen as she banged an elbow against the entrance to the kitchen – and her subsequent hiss of pain – brought Rebecca’s attention back to the real world. She smiled at the haphazard tangle of soft pink and lavender locks that tumbled off her sister’s shoulders – it had been fun dyeing their hair together last week – and her smile widened at the memory. “Good morning, sister-dear,” she sang.

“Mmm,” Shireen grunted as she moved to the pantry and grabbed a random box of cereal, eyes tightly shut.

Rebecca quirked an eyebrow. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmm,” came the same reply as the twelve-year-old opened a cabinet and fumbled for a bowl.

Rebecca’s pleasant smile reversed into a moderate scowl. Her sister wasn’t usually this non-responsive, unless… “Did you stay up all night playing that silly game again?”

At this, Shireen cracked open a bloodshot eye to meet Rebecca’s accusatory glare. “Still doing the Transatlantic thing, I see,” she croaked.

“Don’t you change the subject, young lady,” Rebecca rebuked. “Your health is important, and maintaining a routine sleep schedule is crucial to that end!”

Shireen managed a half-shrug as she poured out a bowl of corn flakes. “I’m in promos for Diamond.” She opened the fridge and traded the box of cereal for a jug of milk. “Was on a roll. Didn’t lose a game until… late.”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “How late?”

Shireen mumbled an unintelligible response.

“What was that?”

“‘Till like, two or three, okay? Jeez, get off my back.” She poured a generous splash of milk onto her cereal, then fished for a spoon in the silverware drawer.

“Shireen! It is imperative that–”

Shireen slammed the drawer shut, hands clawing at the air in front of her face. “Okay! Look, the only reason I’m even awake at this ungodly hour is so that I can get to bed at a decent time tonight! I am fully aware that I will be in school in–” she looked at the clock on the microwave and sighed – “less than twenty-five hours.”

“‘Fewer’,” Rebecca automatically corrected.

“Oh my god, you’re not even listening!” Shireen shoved the milk jug into the cupboard next to the bowls. “Look, I’m trying to fix my mistake, okay? I’m not crazy, and I’m not stupid, and I would appreciate it if you would remember that from time to time!”

Rebecca was taken aback by her sister’s outburst as she raised a hand to her chest. “I’m only trying to look out for what’s best for you, sweetie.”

“Whatever,” Shireen grumbled. She stomped out of the room with her cereal and back up the stairs to her room.

Rebecca sighed as she stood to put her dishes in the sink. I wish she would understand where I’m coming from, she thought as she removed the milk from the cupboard and returned it to the fridge. It’s not as though I, too, haven’t burned the midnight oil a few times too many in my youth. She tisked as she pulled the box of corn flakes out of the fridge and returned it to the pantry. “Honestly,” she said out loud to no one.

“Honestly what, ‘Becca?”

Startled, Rebecca whirled to see her mother sashay into the room.

“Oh, nothing, mother,” she replied as she leaned over to hug her and kiss her lightly on the cheek. “Just Shireen and I exchanging words.”

“You mean poisoned barbs? I could hear you all the way upstairs,” her mother chastised, although with a smile on her face.

Rebecca dismissed her claim with a wave. “It was nothing, really.”

Her mother laughed at the obvious lie. “Well, I’d hate to see it when it becomes something, then.” She opened the freezer and grabbed a pair of frozen waffles.

Despite Rebecca’s feigned nonchalance, the indignation of being spurned by her younger sister was eating away at her calm. “She’s just so insolent sometimes!”

Her mother just smirked at her. “Honey, if there’s one thing that I learned growing up with five sisters, it’s that it’s a miracle we all made it out of that house without killing each other. You know my rule – if you haven’t drawn blood, I don’t wanna get involved.” She shoved the yellow discs into the toaster. “You’re both strong, independent young women – she’ll figure things out, and so will you.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back as she listened to the same tired refrain. Perhaps if you had less of a laissez-faire attitude towards raising her, I wouldn’t have to keep harping on her about these things. She kept her mouth tightly shut, however, and was able to force a pleasant smile by the time her mother turned back to her.

“Well, to change the subject, I wanted to let you know I’ll be in my workshop for the rest of the day after school today – I’ve got a special order that I’m just dying to make!” She clapped her hands together, beaming.

“Oh, about that, hon – I got a text from Cheryl saying she’s calling in sick. Something about the stomach flu? Anyways, can you run and pick up Sam from the orphanage when you get out of school? I’m gonna have to pull a double shift at the salon to cover for her, and your father won’t be back until late again.” She busied herself over buttering her waffles as though this was no big deal – although they both knew it wasn’t. “She, your sister and Alexis were gonna hang out and dye their hair today, or something like that.”

Rebecca’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “Mother, no. I can’t, I have to work on the pendant–”

“Look, I’m not asking you to babysit them or anything – they’re all twelve years old, for god’s sake – just pick Sam up is all.” She fixed Rebecca with The Look.

Rebecca inhaled deeply through her nose and, once again, forced a smile. “Of course, mother. I’d be happy to.” All three of them at once, god help me.

“Good.” Her mother returned her attention to slathering syrup onto her waffles–

–when at that moment, a loud explosion rattled the entire house, startling them both. The syrup bottle pinwheeled into the air, landing on the floor with a dull clatter.

To Rebecca's horror, a familiar pain manifested in her chest, an ache that grew worse with every heartbeat.

Her mother, oblivious, stared out the window as she said, "My god, what was that?"

Don't panic, Rebecca. Remember the exercise. Slow and easy. In and out. She inhaled deeply, then softly let her breath back out, once, then again.

Her mother, not hearing a response, turned to her daughter, to find her much paler than she had been a moment ago. "'Becca?"

Ignore her. Soft and even. In and out. Rebecca closed her eyes and continued to breathe.

"Hey. Rebecca. Are you okay?" Her mother reached out to her.

"I'm fine, mother," she snapped, sparing as little breath as possible on her words, as slowly, steadily, the ache in her chest lessened.

At length, Rebecca opened her eyes, crisis averted. She saw her mother, concern etched on her features. "I thought you said you were getting better."

"I am. I have been. I was just startled, is all. Nothing to worry about." Another forced smile. "I'm afraid I've got to run; I don't want to be late for my first day of school, and I still need to do my hair."

Her mother slowly nodded. "Alright, 'Becca. Have it your way."

Yes, Rebecca thought as she made her way up the stairs, my way.