Mary, Mary

Life was hell.

No matter how hard she tried to improve things, no matter how kind, helpful, or persistent she was, life remained a relentless hell. She couldn’t fathom why her life was this way. What was she doing wrong? When would the universe show her some mercy? Who did she need to convince of her goodness?

Mary sat at her vanity table, staring at her reflection, her eyes glaring back, sadness etched every speck in her hazel eyes.

Thoughts of fairy tales danced in her head, of princesses with their fairy godmothers, helping their charges, charming princes coming to the rescue, a magic lamp granting wishes, and even a magic mirror.

She gasped, her eyes drawn together, staring intently at the mirror, before shaking her head at the preposterous thoughts dancing in her mind.

“Yeah, right, like mirrors possess magic and even if they did, they wouldn’t be running to help me improve my life.”

Mary’s shoulders sank with a heavy sigh as she turned away from the mirror, marched over to the bed, and tossed herself onto the firm mattress, praying sleep would find her.

“Mary. Time to wake up dear.”

She pulled the pillow over her head, not ready to start another day.

“Mary, Mary, where you goin’ to?” the voice sang.

A smile tugged the corner of her mouth, the Monkees tune filtering into her head. “Mary, Mary, can I go too?”

“Mom, stop.”

“I’ll just keep singing until you move your butt out of that bed. It’s going to be a beautiful day, now get out of that bed so we can hit the road.”

Mary groaned but did what her mother asked. Usually, she looked forward to these Saturday excursions, but today she felt out of sorts. Tossing back the blanket, she got out of bed, moved to her dresser pulling out her favorite jeans and T-shirt, before moving to sit at her vanity. Her auburn hair was tousled, the curls springing out in multiple directions.

“Mom,” she called. “Think we have time for you to French Braid my hair?”

“Coming,”

Mary fidgeted in her seat, knowing that once the pulling began her scalp would ache like crazy, but she loved the French Braids her mom made her. She knew how to tame Mary’s unruly curls, probably because she had a headful herself.

Her mom returned to the room, taking the brush off the vanity table, using long strokes to get the tangles out. Mary tried to sit still, but her head continued moving backward with every brush stroke.

It was then her mother started humming the Monkee’s tune. It was a distraction, Mary knew. Anytime things were difficult, her mom would start singing that song and get Mary to join. Before too long, all of her focus would be on those lyrics.

“This one thing, I will vow ya, I’d rather die than to live wihtout ya. Mary, Mary, where you goin’ to?

Her mother pulled locks of her hair, crossing them over one another, twisting and pulling, making one long braid while they continued singing, her mom shaking her hips as she worked her hair into Mary’s favorite hairstyle.

Once she wrapped the rubber band on the tail, she smiled and leaned down, staring at their reflections.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s the luckiest of them all?” Her mother said.

Mary shook her head. “Mom, I’m too old for that.”

“Oh, please, you’re never too old to make wishes and dreams. Go on, close your eyes, make a wish, and repeat it.”

Mary did as she was told. “Now, why are you lucky?”

Mary turned in her chair and looked up at her mom. “Because I have the best mother in the whole wide world!” Mary said.

“That’s right. And I have the best daughter any mother could ever ask for.”

Mary sprang up in bed. “Mom!” she shouted.

She scanned her bedroom, quickly realizing she was in her own home, an adult, with adult responsibilities, and her mother was no longer living. A cold chill raced down her spine what she wouldn’t give to have her mother here, encouraging her, comforting her, making her repeat that damn chant.

She looked over at her childhood vanity and got out of bed. Mary turned on the lamp on her night table and walked over to the vanity, sitting on the small bench. Tears burned her eyes, ready to fall, but she blinked them back.

Turning toward the mirror, the familiar song filtered into her mind.

She knew it was childish and knew it wouldn’t bring her mother back, but for that brief moment, she felt her mother’s presence.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s the luckiest of them all?” Mary stared at the mirror, her hands trembled as an airy image appeared staring at her. The image became more apparent and then vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“I miss you, Mom,” she whispered.


Prompt 1: "Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who's the ________ of them all?"
Word Count: 822