The Mirror of the Soul

:

It's really not that I'm AFRAID of looking in the mirror. I really am. It's a completely different feeling than fear. Fear is a very empty and stupid feeling. It stifles logic and brings up the worst images. It paralyzes, or quite the opposite – it forces you to do "something."

Meanwhile, I simply don't want to look in the mirror. Because you see... It's like this... You can't look in the mirror and not meet your own gaze, right? Exactly. And that's what I don't want to do – look myself in the eye. Why?

I just... I just don't want to... Because you see...

***

The charms of living in these "new and luxurious apartments" beguiled us for about a month after we moved in. Then the fog cleared, and we could see the full consequences of my father's sudden decision.

The apartments, located on the outskirts of town, although very pleasant to look at, were practically cut off from the outside world. The entire housing estate was surrounded by a high fence, accessible only through gates with a code. Outside, there was a forest and a single, freshly paved street that ended at the entrance to the forest and then turned into a plain, well-trodden path. The apartment buildings looked like a cat among pigeons in this familiar landscape – simply like unwanted intruders. Beyond the fence, however, everything was "civilized" – new sidewalks, lanes for car maneuvers, shopping pavilions (not just regular groceries, but bakeries and boutiques as well). The housing estate created a small world within a larger world. It gathered people in one place, theoretically providing them with everything they needed.

The apartments were spacious, divided into sections – there was the "everyday" section – the kitchen and living room – and another, located on a raised platform, containing bedrooms and bathrooms.

In theory, everything in this future development was good. Fresh deliveries of produce for the store, courtyards for children to play, spacious apartments… But the nightmare began when it was time to leave. There was no bus stop within a 2-kilometer radius, and our only paved road snaked through the forest like a snake, and it was incredibly narrow. Cars were stuck in massive traffic jams, and it was impossible to exceed 60 km/h. Commuting to work, or later school, became a true nightmare. And if we needed to—God forbid—drive into town for something, we'd postpone it until the right time.

So we quickly decided it was better to spend time at home, or perhaps even in the woods, than to go to the cinema or theater, as we used to. Our neighborhood, in a way, cut us off from the outside world, and I didn't blame my brother, who once called it a "prison." It was.

We moved just in time for the summer I was about to start high school. I got into a regular school, like many others, with mediocre teachers, mediocre students, where the New Year's disco was the biggest event. In short, it wasn't the right place for me.

My problem was always that I wanted to be someone different, and at the same time, I wanted society to accept me. Perhaps if I'd had the courage to go to a different school, where girls weren't just interested in having pretty nails and going out on Saturday nights, everything would have been different.

Maybe.

But maybe not – in reality, I think the whole problem, and what I'm experiencing now, is entirely my fault. The fault of my insecurities and lack of self-confidence.

In any case, I wanted to be immediately recognized at this new school as the one everyone liked, the one who was cool and easy to talk to anytime, the one you could go out and do something crazy with, the one with whom...

You understand? I simply wanted to be accepted.

I spent hours looking in the mirror, trying on my old clothes, arranging them into outfits—what, how, where, and when to wear them. You know, in the first 20 seconds, you form opinions about others based on your first impression—and then it's hard to shake that first impression.

That's why I wanted to look my best. Back then, I wasn't hiding from the mirror—quite the opposite. I made silly faces, looked deep into my eyes, picturing a handsome brunette, smiled broadly, extended my hand, laughed... I developed "myself" in every detail. I had to be open, but not too open, so that a certain mystery could be felt. Exceptionally bright and intelligent, cheerful and optimistic.

And then, in front of that mirror—I was truly confident. When I want to remember a time when I was truly happy, I think back to that day and that mirror.

***

You're impatient. You pretend to want to know why I don't want to look in the mirror, but when I try to explain it, you interrupt me. Do you want to know the name of this feeling? I've already told you... There's no way to name it. If I call it "anxiety," you'll immediately associate it with "fear." And as I've already told you, it's not fear. But it's not anxiety either... It's something you'll only understand when you let me finish telling you... Okay? Great...

So September 1st arrived...

***

I'd been very excited since morning. I got up almost an hour before my alarm went off and immediately ran to the bathroom to get ready. My face was that unhealthy flush I always get when I'm sick. I felt hot and shivering slightly.

Thinking about it now, I want to laugh – my reaction reminded me more of a child going to school for the first time than the grown-up girl I wanted to think I was.

Of course, Mom was slow, like she always was in the morning, driving me crazy. She didn't rush to the garage either, though I kept glancing pointedly at my watch, clearing my throat, and making comments like, "Oh my God, they could widen our road, it's such a long drive to town." My problem with Mom was that I could never say anything directly to her. I'd go back and forth, until she finally figured it out herself. We simply didn't have a common language. If I'd told her then, "Mom! Hurry up, you know how long it takes to town! We'll be late!" – I'm sure I could have gotten a hard time for my impudence.

Luckily, I wasn't late. At the last minute, I rushed into the auditorium and sat down in the first available chair. I looked around and wondered which faces I would soon be seeing every day, which people would become part of my life.

The ceremony was, of course, boring, long, and completely unnecessary. Practically no one listened to the plump, mousy-haired woman who was the principal. I struck up a conversation with a black-haired girl with a very dark tan. She said her name was Krystyna, but I wasn't even supposed to call her that—everyone called her Krista. Krista, it turned out, knew practically everyone here. She kept pointing to a student or teacher and telling some sensational story. Some were very funny, others downright silly and gossipy. Despite this, I liked Krista immediately. She was direct and open, and she knew so many people; she could introduce me to them. I secretly admired her because she embodied everything I wanted to be. And Krista seemed to be looking for someone just like that—someone she could impress and who would never contradict her.

You've probably guessed by now that Krista and I ended up in the same class and became friends. Sorry, or rather "friends," as it later turned out.

My homeroom teacher was a young woman. She had no experience, but she remembered "how it used to be." My class, however... Like any decent humanities class, consisted mostly of girls and a few boys. Marcin, Łukasz, Czarek, and Damian. Just so-so guys who would surely become feminine within a few years and submit to the majority—just for the sake of peace.

The girls, however... Krista immediately started exchanging kisses with half of them. Holding my hand, she introduced me as "her new friend, Nata." And that's how I was accepted by these girls. I was captivated by their beauty. They all wore mascara and eye shadow—which was incredibly impressive, because at home and where I'd gone to school, makeup was strictly forbidden. And they all wore pants (not skirts) and high heels. I felt really stupid and somehow old-fashioned. At that moment, I was afraid of their stares, thinking I'd see contempt in each of them. But they truly accepted me. At the time, I thought it was because I simply exuded something that made people like me immediately. But now I know it was Krista and her protection that elevated me in these girls' eyes.

From that moment on, my life changed.

After school, I didn't go straight home—I went either to Krista's or with Krista. And going out with Krista meant a pub and her friends. And a pub meant beer, cigarettes, and sometimes joints. Sometimes I drank beer with them, because otherwise they'd call me a "good girl" and I felt like an outcast, and I didn't want to be one. Going out with Krista was pleasant. Because at home, Krista acted differently—you could have a normal conversation with her, she didn't laugh as often, and she wasn't as loud.

Anyway, going out with the girls once I got home was practically impossible because of my prison. I missed a lot of parties. At first, I regretted it, but at the same time, I didn't feel bad at all. I felt bad in such places, but I wanted to be accepted and taken everywhere.

After a long time, my shyness disappeared. I felt very important and respected. I started wearing makeup, dressing like my friends, and every day after school, Krista and I would walk to the Under—our favorite pub. In short, I settled in. The only thing I never managed to do was learn all those slang words and use them in everyday life.

At the Under, no one asked for ID. Wanted a beer? Go ahead. Cigarettes? Why not? That's why we went there so often, and why the Under became the main meeting place for practically everyone. Not being there meant not living. Or at least that's what I thought back then. The Under gave me a sense of superiority, made me more confident—though that confidence seems ridiculous to me now.

I quickly overcame certain barriers. Beer, cigarettes, and other substances were commonplace. I also wouldn't say no to a joint, of course, so they wouldn't think I was hopeless and cowardly. I started going to parties where the main event was drinking and people puked on each other. I liked it. I felt like everyone else, I felt like a part of something, and it seemed like everyone around me understood me. I thought I knew everyone and that others knew ME, my true self. Needless to say, this was patently false.

May... Krista, Anka, and I lingered at Under. At midnight, we finally said goodbye to our group. I called my mother to tell her I was sleeping at Krista's that night. I really trained her well.

At first, she would attack me and make a fuss if I called her after ten to pick me up from somewhere in the city. Sermons, sermons, sermons... After a while, she stopped saying anything—she stopped reacting to what I did. She never asked me if I was drunk. She never asked if I smoked. I don't think she wanted to know. She would have to do something about it, get involved, help her child... Sometimes I'd suggest things to her. I don't know why. I think I subconsciously wanted her to show at least a little bit of involvement. Instead of lecturing me about where I wasn't loitering at a certain time, she would yell at me, search through my briefcase, and tell me to smoke all my cigarettes at once. Simply put, to be a mother. But the situation was too much for her. I resent her now. Because she could have done something differently...

Krista's parents, on the other hand, were people who devoted most of their time to elegant parties and were only home when the offices started closing. Krista was practically uninteresting to them. She was expected to bring decent grades, tell everyone where she was and when she'd be (though there were no consequences for arriving late). She could invite as many friends as she wanted and throw parties whenever she wanted. There was no problem with anyone staying overnight. With this arrangement, Krista had everything—except love.

Anyway, we weren't in any particular hurry to get home. The night was warm, and Krista, as usual after a few beers, daydreamed about how wonderful it would be to fly away and never return. I was completely content with my situation. I told myself, "I wouldn't change a thing right now." As is often the case, I uttered those words at the wrong time.

Just then, a woman came around the corner. She looked no older than sixty. She held her purse close to her as if it held something precious. Anka, who had been complaining for some time that the old people had cut her allowance, smiled mischievously and, nudging Krista, said, "I bet that old woman has a ton of cash on her. It's the beginning of the month, after all..." Krista immediately perked up and began discussing with Anka how to steal the woman's purse. Of course, I was completely left out of the conversation. However, I didn't feel particularly wronged. I didn't want to rob the old woman, and besides, I'd never really robbed anyone. So I stared at the stars and pretended I didn't hear anything. Finally, Krista grabbed my arm, digging her long nails into my ear, and very firmly said, "Run." So I ran. I tried to ignore the old woman's startled scream, Krista and Anka's cruel laughter, and then that loud, "Police! Police!" I simply ran forward, and nothing else registered.

***

No, no, that's not the reason I don't want to look in the mirror. Really. Believe me, that attack on the old woman doesn't keep me awake at night. I'm saying this because the incident with Grandma is a prelude to what happened next. Will you let me finish? Well, that's great...

***

You might be surprised, but I slept better than ever that night. I fell into a sound sleep, untroubled by old women, handbags, devils, and the like. When I woke up, Krista and Anka were already awake. They sprawled on the sofa and began to collect their loot.

They counted over eight hundred zloty with satisfaction. I was happy too. Truly. The girls and I were thrilled and made fun of that old lady and her shrill, "Police!" We parodied her several times, each time bursting into hysterical laughter.

The sudden influx of cash sent us into ecstasy. We immediately ran to the shops and bought things we could never afford. However, the cash ran out very quickly. We had to steal money from home again just to afford a single beer. I don't think I need to add how much this situation bothered us, because we kept remembering those eight hundred złoty and how easily we'd "earned" it. Finally, Krista couldn't take it anymore, took Anka and me aside, and started telling us how nice it would be to have as much money again as we had last time. And that no one had caught us then. And there weren't many patrols on the streets. You could choose areas where there weren't many of them. And that it was really easy. And that we should try again.

We immediately liked the idea. Truth be told, the same thing had been plaguing Anka and me for the past few days. We all knew we'd repeat the theft – because the first time it went smoothly and quickly. We thought we were so brave, so brilliant, and generally the best.

We decided that Anka and Krista would snatch the bags. The girls were probably afraid I'd chicken out, get caught, or something. They knew me well, but despite everything, I still wasn't as bold as they were, incapable of impulsive and – simply – reckless behavior. I was supposed to keep an eye out for patrols nearby, warn them, distract them, and generally act as security.

The whole bag business was going very smoothly. The victims were usually older women or young women in high heels. There were a lot of them hanging around late at night. At first, we did "actions" every few weeks. However, that time period began to steadily shrink. Eventually, it got to the point where we couldn't even survive a week without that stolen money.

And that's all well and good, right? Except that after a while, the girls didn't want to split the money evenly. They started telling me they were the only ones at risk, and I'd never face any consequences if something happened. That I wasn't entitled to the money, at least not to the same extent as they, Krista, and Anka, who were in such danger, blah, blah, blah. I started arguing with them – trying to explain that they knew I couldn't handle it, that I was putting myself at risk too, because someone might see me, associate me, the authorities might write me up, and so on. They didn't care. Finally, Krista said something that "helped" me make a decision – "Okay, Anka. Forget it. I always knew Natalia wouldn't dare." That was it. I suddenly realized that if I didn't do this, I'd lose my friends. They'd leave me. They'd hate me. I couldn't survive this. They were my whole life. ALL of me. I couldn't let them take me away. I couldn't. So I heard myself say, "Girls! Wait!"

I was supposed to do it on Friday, because that's when the most girls in high heels were hanging out in the park. And supposedly, they were the easiest to pick up and usually had the most money. We were sitting at Under, and I drank beer after beer. Finally, Anka took my hand and led me out of the pub. I had Krista on my other side. The girls patted me on the shoulder and told me I could handle it, that it was so easy. I don't remember much about the walk to the park. I barely understood anything except "you can do it." Finally, we reached our favorite spot. But no one came. The girls started getting more and more impatient, and I was secretly happy, hoping we'd just leave right away.

We didn't.

Finally, someone appeared on the road. Don't ask me who it was, because I don't remember. Krista and Anka pushed me onto the road abruptly, and the approaching figure stopped. I suspect she was surprised to see the girl staggering onto the road. Finally, she started walking again, and I ran towards her, reached out, and...

I failed. The girl was holding her purse tightly, and I couldn't yank it away. She grabbed my forearm and started shouting, "Police! Police!" I looked back at Anka and Krista in despair, but they were gone. They'd fled. They'd left me. My best friend. After that, I didn't care.

I accepted being taken to the police station with indifference. I submitted with indifference to the blood alcohol content test. I gave my details and phone number utterly dispassionately. I waited in silence for my mother to arrive. I wasn't bothered by the slap my own mother gave me the moment she saw me. I didn't care about all the procedures. But I didn't give Krista or Anka's names. Don't ask me why. I guess I just couldn't believe they weren't there, that they hadn't helped me.

I let myself be led home like a child. I threw myself on the bed and refused to react to anything.

On Monday, I was ordered to go to school. I was taken to talk to the principal and the school psychologist. I had the utmost respect for them. I just nodded, "Mhm... No... Yes... There was no one there with me."

I hoped Krista and Anka would appreciate what I had done for them.

Of course, fate once again showed me how naive I was.

Krista didn't speak to me at school, didn't look at me as if I weren't there. After class, she and Anka took me behind the building and asked if I had said anything to them. They were thrilled when they heard my answer. They looked at each other and started laughing. Then, quite suddenly and without thinking, I asked, "Why?" in such a mawkish, cracking voice. And they... they laughed even harder. "Are you crazy? Nata! Were we supposed to stay there to get caught? You understand, you know, we couldn't do that. Better to catch one than three, don't you think?" I burst into tears. They looked at me like I was some big, nasty bug they'd gladly stomp on if they weren't afraid of getting their soles dirty. Finally, Krista said, "Hmm, you know, Nata... Now you understand. We can't hang out with you anymore. Mother forbade me, said you were definitely a bad influence. Besides, between us, you were always the one who stood out, Nata. We can't be friends with you anymore because you might screw something up. You're completely unreliable."

And they left me.

***

Do you understand now? Do you now know why I can't look in the mirror?

Because when I look in the mirror... I have to look into my eyes. When I look into my eyes... I see nothing in them but blackness, but night, but emptiness. They express absolutely nothing. Eyes are the mirror of the soul – it's true. That's why my eyes express nothing. They are as empty as I am. I don't know who I am. I don't know if I even exist, because I am supposedly my soul, my feelings, my character. And I am devoid of emotion and devoid of character.

When I look in the mirror, I remember how empty and meaningless what I do and who I am are.

I renounced myself.

And you remind me of that.

Yes, you, mirror. I can't look at you anymore, can you understand that? I can't and I won't. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid, it's not fear! I don't want to do this because I don't want to look at this empty shell that I am. Understand! There is no ME anymore, and I don't want to remember it. When I look at you, I want to disappear forever... Break you and use a piece to...

So I'm sorry... You have to go... I have no other choice...