Flash: On Reflection

Even a barely noticeable reflection, for example, in one’s americano, if not there, is disconcerting. Our reflections, like our shadows, like our heartbeats or our breathes are a subconscious comfort. It was a gradual realisation, missing these simple things, that made Andrea think that she might be dead. This is what she told me when I met her in the café and I must say she did look rather pale.

   ‘The other possibility, of course,’ I said to her, ‘is that you are mad.’

   ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said. She looked down at her undrunk latte. ‘Shall I try drinking it?’

   ‘Go for it,’ I told her.
   The results were somewhat inconclusive.