It is not my responsibility. Just pretend it’s not there. If it doesn’t bother anyone else, I’m not going to let it bother me.
Grace repeated this mantra to herself over and over again, as she glared at the smudge on the large mirror in front of her. She knew that on the other side of that mirror was at least one or two people watching her every move, studying her. She was not going to give them the satisfaction of cleaning the smudge off that mirror.
She decided to try focusing on something else. Glimpsing herself in the mirror, she subconsciously checked her posture, her hair, her face. She was sure to cross her legs at the ankles and to keep her knees pressed firmly together. A lady sits with pride, but reveals nothing. Mama and Daddy would be so proud.
She looked down at the perfectly manicured hands clinched tightly in her lap and wanted to cry. It’s just nerves, she told herself. She couldn’t help but be nervous. After all, it’s not everyday one finds herself in a police station.
The smudge started to call to her again until she just couldn’t keep herself seated any longer. She unlinked her ankles and slowly stood from her chair. Straightening her skirt, Grace casually wandered to the mirror as if to check her makeup. She scratched absently at the old scars under the sleeves of her blouse. Then she caught the eyes of her reflection and willed the fidgety pathetic creature staring back at her to remain calm and – above all else – act normal. She had to appear normal.
“Oh, peanuts”, she muttered to herself. After digging a tissue out of her pocket, she began buffing the smudge into oblivion. She stood back to examine her work only to realize, the entire mirror was filthy. Before she could stop herself, she was scrubbing the whole surface. She heard the door open behind her, but she was too busy to stop and acknowledge whoever had entered the room. Finally, when the mirror was as good as it was ever going to get, she stepped back once again to assess her work.
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