Saturday's Storyteller: "She still leaves messages for me on my mirror."
by Belinda Roddie She still leaves messages for me on my mirror. Not frightening messages, mind you. No I am coming for you or Your time is short or any foreboding specifics such as, Mind your step on the twelfth of September at eight o'clock sharp . No, these messages are curt, to the point, and usually about trivial things. Reminders and tips, mostly. One day, as I was attempting to floss a stubborn piece of popcorn out of the crevice between my back molars, a sentence written in the typical red, sinister scrawl informed me, Don't forget eggs for the birthday cake. On another night, after I was puking my guts out after a particularly bad plate of fish at my father's house, the blood-like words dripping from the glass suggested, Drink plenty of fluids and get lots of sleep tonight. At no time did I particularly feel comforted or charmed by these words, nor did I especially believe she was looking out for me. But she was there, doing some sort of service, and that didn