Reflections

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It’s Sunday afternoon. I’m sitting at my keyboard with writing to be
done. It’s raining, so I can’t procrastinate by heading into the garden
to do some weeding.

I gaze at the blank screen. ‘Reflections’. That’s a promising theme but
I haven’t the hint of an idea.

I gaze into space. Across the room my reflection in the wall mirror
gazes into space too. Clearly she hasn’t an idea either. That makes two
of us.

“Are you stuck too?” I ask her. “oot kcuts uoy era” she asks me. We both
shrug.

My goodness, she’s aged over the last few months. Hair gone quite grey.
In fact, she’s rather let herself go. She’s looking pensively at me.
She’s probably thinking I’ve aged too. Which reminds me, I must make a
note to phone the hairdresser this week. Perhaps she’s had the same
thought because she’s also jotting something down. That’s interesting –
I’m left-handed but she’s right-handed.

We’re looking glumly at each other again. ‘Cheer up’ I tell her. ‘Pu
reehc’ she mouths back. We both smile.

It’s still raining. I wish I were somewhere else. Somewhere hot and
sunny. Not the UK in a wintry July. At least with Zoom you can change
your background and pretend you’re somewhere exotic. Mind you, I was in
one meeting where I complimented someone on their background. It turned
out they really were sitting by a swimming pool in Southern Italy. “I
grabbed a flight when I could”, she said, “and now I can’t get back
because of quarantine, so I’ve just got to sit it out here.” Smug cow!

Well, I’ve got to sit it out here. And it’s still raining. And I’m
bored. And frustrated. And fed-up. Perhaps a chocolate biscuit will
help. Oh! The packet’s empty. How did that happen? In the mirror, my
reflection is looking at an empty biscuit packet too. No wonder she’s
put on some weight. I see hers are chocolate digestives, while I prefer
chocolate hobnobs.

I turn back to my keyboard and blank screen. I wonder. If I were my
reflection looking at me, what would I be thinking? I look across, but
she isn't looking at me, she’s got her head down and she’s busily
typing. . .

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By Janet Bone