Looking Glass

He cringed at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had the shower steamy on purpose and the room dimly lit, because that’s the way he was most comfortable. If comfortable was even a word he could use to describe whatever this limbo between hate and love was. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable necessarily, but it was the closest he could get.  

He was happiest when he was just a mere shadow, because shadows can shapeshift. They can become anyone, without being attached to how people perceived them in the past. To be a shadow. To be a shadow is to escape. And that’s all he wanted right now.

But all in all, shadows aren’t in control of their reflection. The weather is. The sun decides when they can appear,  and the clouds decide when they disappear. He likes how much he can relate to a shadow though, he isn’t in control of his own reflection, or at least he feels like he isn't, I mean it’s nearly impossible to be between the way the government is treating people like him, and just the way his parents are trying to hang on to their daughter. Even if he keeps telling them that she wasn’t really ever there in the first place. 

So he’s come to the conclusion that being a human in this climate sucks but pretending to be just a shadow isn’t great either. He sighs, and lowers his head in frustration and desperation.

 All he kept thinking about as he finished brushing his hair, was that stupid song from Mulan.

Damn, when will my reflection show who I am?

 In the matter of seconds, his eyes blurred, and he could hear the glass shatter, could feel the broken shards piercing through his skin, but couldn’t see the bathroom mirror anymore. It was almost like staring in one of those 90’s-esque kaleidoscopes, but instead of vibrant colors, it kept spinning on only shades of black, white, gray and the occasional beige. 

His eyes are stagnant in the commotion around him and then,

flash.

He saw beige like the binder that’s on his chest.

flash.

beige like his old high school uniform.

flash.

beige like the walls in his apartment

flash.

And suddenly, he wasn’t in his apartment anymore. 

“Where am I?” His voice shook as he spoke. 

“We’ve been expecting you, Alex. We’re so glad you found us. Welcome to Wonderland.” an ominous voice said. “Let's begin.”

Alex looked down at his arm in shock. There were glass shards all through his skin, glowing red and green.

The person with the ominous voice emerged from the ceiling above. They lowered themself on a wired contraption, one that was glowing in the exact same way his arms were. The contraption grabbed Alex’s arm, careful to avoid the glowing glass shards. 

Maybe this should have been his sign that he needed to run. But he couldn’t. More like he didn’t want to. He was intrigued and mesmerized by the juxtaposition in front of his eyes. The blankness of the room, paired with the simultaneous vibrance of his arm, was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he couldn’t look away.

“Hatter, you may begin the madness.” The person in command said while they rubbed their hands together in a somewhat anticipatory manner.

He screamed in horror as pain rushed through his body, his mind no longer frozen, his consciousness deeper than ever before. The glow emitting from the red shards intensified.

flash.

He was transported back to the day when he got chased out of the bathroom in high school. The slurs, the hurtful words, the sounds of mockery are now playing on high definition speakers in his mind. He could feel his fist clenching,  tears forming,  but before he could do anything —

flash.

His heartbreak anniversary. when he came out to his ex as trans and fear became tangible for the first time. the vase on his desk, the one that just missed his head, flowers scattered on the floor, the sounds of closet doors opening and closing, stomping feet, and then  —

flash.

The day when he was outed. That video he left open on his phone on loop, in the midst of his parent’s sobs, screams and prayers, the way his dad screamed about hell, his mom cried about losing her daughter  —

flash.

The worst day of his life. His mom was surrounded by ambulances, the telephone pole down the street dented, heart monitors, surgeries, doctors about to deliver news, the way his dad broke down and blamed him, the way it's never been the same —

stage one complete. 

He stopped to take a breath, tears streaming down his face.

“Hatter, begin stage two.” The person said, an optimistic look on their face.

The glow of the red shards subsided, providing way for the glow of the green ones. A smile overtook any sign of pain that had been there just a second ago. And it was a real genuine smile. The first one in a long time.

flash.

He was transported to his first pride parade. The way he felt embraced, the way he and his best friend waved the flags high in the air, the way their laughs seemed to engulf the whole street. Yeah, that’s how hard they were laughing —

flash.

His eighteenth birthday. The way his sister brought a giant box, and the whole box was layered in tissue paper, the way he annoyingly laughed as he kept peeling back layers upon layers, all to reveal the chest binder at the bottom. The one he had on right on. The way his sister wrapped her arms around him in the tightest hug ever, the way she cried and messed up her makeup for him and then —

flash.

The day he started testosterone. The way he was finally confident enough to claim his identity, the way he started to feel aligned. The way he felt like himself.

flash.

He opened his eyes, and he was back in his apartment staring at the mirror.

He turned on the lights, and wiped the mirror clear of the fog.

He was himself, even if his reflection wasn’t showing it. He was a complicated person, but he was proud of it. Life is just a compiled flashing of moments, and the thing is even if you don’t have the power to control your reflection, you can control which flashes define you. 

Staring at the mirror, he suddenly didn’t see all the negative things that were magnified in the glass.  

He saw his heart, his smile, his passion, and his pride.

Maybe all he needed was a new way to look through the glass

About the Author

Ryland McGinniss is a first-year History and English major with a minor in Gender and Sexuality Studies. He loves to do advocacy work whenever he can, and honestly you'll probably see some of that reflected in his writing. When he's not busy with writing, he listens to music and one of his most prized possessions is his concert t-shirt collection.