Hall of Mirrors

“Roll-up! Roll-up!

 

See yourself as you’ve never done before!

 

Enter the hall of the grotesque!

 

Roll-up!”

 

 

“Step this way, gents?

 

Admire yourselves in our mirror on the soul.

 

Only one pound, sirs, for this amazing opportunity.

 

Look inside yourselves.”

 

 

“Shall we?  Can’t do any harm.”

 

“Two, please.”

 

 

You gave the man two pounds.

 

 

Inside, a small loutish group feigned horror and recoiled, cackling, in front of the assortment of distorted mirrors.

An old man carefully studied his reflection alone.

 

I smiled, half-amused, and watched an obscene leer spread across my face.

 

You stopped and checked yourself in the next frame, twisting your head for greater effect. 

 

We carried on the conversation.  Something had changed.  I had a feeling that I’d never experienced with you – a slight lifting of the spirit.  A mild flutter – a warming hitherto unnoticed in the years we spent at college and since.  I don’t know how we ever hit it off.

 

We moved along.  My legs disappeared – I was never blessed with height anyway – but now I was squat and round.

 

You stopped again and this time made a slight turn in front of the distorted surface, as if admiring yourself.

 

Never one to be knocked off course, you continued with your view of the world and life.  I was suddenly struck by the honesty and integrity of your words.  I began to like you in a way that was new.  There was a feeling of trust forming.  Just the green shoots.  But it was there.  I struggled to comprehend.

 

Again, we moved on.  My reflected-self gained a crookedness, with long, unflatteringly stretched features.  I watched you correct your tie slightly and smooth your hair.

I have to say that if I wore a hat I’d have taken it off.  Your words made extraordinary sense.  You seemed to hit the nail on the head and your reasoning was completely sound – supported in the most erudite fashion.  Where had all this been hiding for so long?

 

I reached the last mirror, where you loitered to get the most from your investment.

 

My reflection was ghastly: nose spread across a dinner-plate face - eyes like slits, pulled far apart.  I looked at yours behind me. 

 

You had film-star looks – perhaps a young Connery or Cary Grant.  Well proportioned, with a bold Roman nose and fine forehead.  Your shoulders were square and straight.  Not the usual desk-shaped stoop, bloated by after-office drinking every night.

 

You caught me staring and walked out into the cold evening air.  I took a last look at my grotesque self and followed you outside.

 

“Thank you, gentlemen!” hailed the owner. 

 

“Well that was two quid wasted.” your retort.

 

“Roll-up!

 

See your other side!

 

The Hall of Mirrors never lies! 

 

Enjoy your evening, gents!”

 

You launched into one of your tirades.  This time the usual bollocks.  A completely groundless, uninformed rant. 

 

Frankly, I don’t know why I bother with you.