A Mirror Floating in Water

7:03

He stepped out of the house, the sound of door bells jangling. He cautiously and curiously walked to the left of the porch and snuck up close enough to see the bunny run away, which had impelled over three yards from the last time he saw it within the house, before disappearing out of sight. It had obviously started sprinting away once it heard the bells, he thought. Those bells had been bought at some Christmas shop years ago, and when they had been first placed upon the door, they irritated him greatly, not only for the fact that they were enormously huge and a pain in the *** to get used to, but because they had always reminded him of winter, even when it wasn’t winter, thus making him feel out of place, an uncomfortable juxtaposition.

He walked down the three wooden steps which where shady red and made a beautiful crinkling noise as he stepped down each one. He had made it as far as the driveway until he paused in aversion. A man with a white sweatshirt (or something of the like, for he was rather far away) was walking on the edge of the street. He knew that he had seen him pause. A pause itself as well as a contemplative hand to the chin (which is what he had) certainly implied that he was going to return back to the house. Better to return back, he thought. But then upon a couple of steps back towards the house, he hesitated again and began to walk the other way.

Once he had crossed the street as he reached the alleyway between two houses, he thought; what a wonderful pathway this is. For it was quite eloquent; the trees loomed over the his head and clouded the sky, bits of light shone out of houses, obscured by trees. He could see through the light into the very homes. The basement light was on in one of them, which was so engulfing, for it was as if stepping into another universe; and yet the warm radiance of the houses seemed to create a most beautiful harmony with the evening light and he began to think of distant memories past.

He could hear the soft echo of his footsteps, barely giving amplification. The rhythm, the flow was so melodious and pleasant, as his footsteps danced along with the evening glow of the houses. A hare and a squirrel stood frozen in his path, each one almost parallel, side-by-side. He wondered how close he could get without them leaping off the path. It was no more than a yard until the both of them finally leapt; each one together, at once, and at the same time.

He came out to the ending of the alley and into the street; a car in the distance drove straight on with powerful headlights. He thought of waving it, but it would just be pointless, for it was too far away to even matter.

The half-lit neon sign appeared out of the contrasting blue darkness. He could see clouds in the far east, as if painted by the finest painter. The sign reminded him of a streetlamp he had seen just a little while back in the alley.

At last he had come upon the flat smooth sidewalk of the store. Peering into the dairy, he took great pleasure in seeing the passing of walls from his perspective, as if his un-static mobility had given him an omniscient and voyeuristic feeling of power.

He walked in and turned right to head straight for the milk section and opened the freezer door, but then he checked the price sticker, just for safety, upon the glass pane. When he entered just a few moments ago he had reached inside his pocket to count the amount of coins that were within. But, knowing that he didn’t have as much as the price tag asked, he went straight out, mumbling “I knew it.”


He walked back the way he went, whistling the allegro from Beethoven’s Eroica 3rd symphony, which soon became the overture to Le Nozze Di Figaro and then back again. As he steadily walked along, deep in thought, a blue minivan appeared out of nowhere and drove up in front of him. Unaware if the driver had seen him, he moved out of the way and gave a humble waving gesture, which could’ve been mistaken for a friendly wave. Which would be ridiculous, for he had never seen the person.

Walked up the porch steps, now whistling the opening chords of the 5th, he noticed that she was drying clothes by the clothesline, he walked across the porch until he saw her.

“Did you get the application?”

“Umm no, milk costs $3.39.”

He then found himself at the dining room table with her counting out some change from the jar. He wondered why she had silently insisted on coming back inside to give more change, as if he was not adequate enough to do so himself.

“Okay that should be enough,” she said after she had finished counting out-load (which had always bothered him) and put the coins back in the jar.

He started counting the money that was slid over to him. “You don’t have any cash?” “No.” It was really too bad, for all that there was were little dimes and nickels.

“Wait, wait,” he said as she piled in the rest of the remaining surplus dimes and nickels into the jar. “I need ten cents.” “Why?” “Because then I would have four, four dollars.” “Okay.” She slid over a dime.


He whistled his way back to the dairy and enjoyed the repetitious rhythm of the evenings walk especially the aesthetic pleasures of the coming night. He again approached and reentered the store, and once again walked straight to the milk, his left shoulder close to the freezers, as if being stamped down by the greater amount of people who had entered between the last time of his entrance. He grabbed a glass of chocolate milk and walked up to the counter, the third person in line.

The women first in line was ordering chickens the women next to her at the second cashier seemed to be too. He patiently waited, observing that the women at the second cashier wore a dark blouse with white stripes and had a pretentious air about her. She had ordered one of the workers behind the counter to go get another glass bottle for her, and she looked on, as if thinking the whole store were under her command.

At last, he walked up to the cashierless cashier and waited for service. The two available workers were preparing the two women’s chicken and the cashier to the right was already serving the next person in line. He was the next person in line, had he done something wrong, he thought, pondering all possible errors of social etiquette. Alas, a worker soon came up with an empathetic and exhausted smile. She rang the bottle of milk up and on the screen appeared $4.99. His mind jumped.

“Umm wait a second, the freezer door said $3.39, umm that says $4.99.” he said, worried.

“Yeah, we have a return charge of $1.49 so that you return the glass.” The cashier factually said.

The young man, unable to compute when in such a public and moderately crowded place stood silent for a couple of seconds before reiterating stupidly, “But the freezer says $3.39.”

“Yes, we have an extra charge of $1.49 in case you don’t return the bottle. The company has to pay for that bottle.”

Still not understanding, the young man sighed and said that he would not buy the milk but that he would like a job application. In some other context, this would appear as a punchline, for he had so dimwittedly humiliated himself.

He brought the glass of milk back to the freezer and left.


The sky had clearly grown darker during the time that he was in there, and now the lights shone more brilliantly in the night sky. This is a time of night to walk by the streets, he thought and took a different route and walked on the sidewalk towards the gas-station.

Soon once the white lights of the gas-station came to full illuminacy, he noticed that there were no cars and that the cashier was empty. He entered the desolate store and saw the late-night cashier huddled up in the far corner on a stool, reading a magazine, but really seeming to stare into the distance. The young man hurriedly paced to the candy isle and got a FastBreak (King Size) and tossed it onto the cashier’s counter, as if it was a gun (I am Clint Eastwood, he thought). The cashier cooly said $1.49 and the young man hastily tossed out a dollar bill and five of his many dimes. He was given his receipt and change, noticing a black smudge of paint on the cashier’s middle finger’s nail.

He walked out and tore open the bar, taking his biggest bite.

7:28