2.

When I was young, I would play a game. In my parents' bathroom was a vanity with three mirrors, laid in a row over the sink. And so during the evening, when I was supposed to be bathing, I would play a game.

The two outside could open, exposing the medicine cabinets behind them. So I liked to stand in-between them, marveling at the near infinity I could create when the reflections faced each other. I would play with the angle, imagining that I was the one creating the tens, then hundreds, then thousands of identical copies. Finally, I would place myself in the middle of the mirrors, trying to get them parallel so I could see what infinity looked like. Of course, I was always in the way. Eternity was always right behind me, no matter how much I craned my neck, or how fast I was able to duck and weave.

Sometimes I would grow enamored with how many of me there seemed to be. I wondered if I was always in the mirror, and if when I left so would my mirror-selves. I liked the idea that I had other things to do, in other places.

Looking back, the idea was ridiculous, and I’m amazed I ever left that bathroom.