“There, and there too.”
Farther on, more gravestones stood silently. Those had no names to begin with, only a disc inlaid in the stone. As I approached, I realized that they were mirrors. If I got closer, would they reflect my face? My footsteps faltered.
“It’s okay,” the faceless boy said behind me. “Don’t be afraid. That’s not your grave.”
“Whose is it?”
“Take a good look and you’ll understand.”
I peered into the mirror.
Light flickered in my eyes.
I put a hand up to block the dazzling light. Then slowly, I opened my eyes.
Daylight glimmered through a gap in the curtains.
I stretched, got up, and pulled back the curtains. The rising sun dyed the window pane with yellow light. A few puffer sparrows flitted energetically from tree to tree.
It was the same morning scenery as always. I wiped my eyes. Even as I was dreaming I knew I had been crying.
I went and washed my face to prevent my parents from noticing.
The clock on the wall showed that it was not yet seven.
I thought about all the dreams I had ever had. Who did the voice belong to? Why did it sound so familiar, and why did it fill me with such sadness?
Suddenly I realized that the mirror in the dream was one I had seen before. Not in another dream, but in reality.
My heart started pounding. I had seen it when I was very young. Where though? Considering my age then, it couldn’t have been too far away. Somewhere near the house… no, somewhere in the house. There had been a large box stuffed with all sorts of odds and ends that I thought of as a treasure chest. I would spend all day digging through it and not get bored.