He woke up. The room was dark. The headache pounded until Jack Casner wished that he never had to open his eyes. For once, there was no sound but the harsh pounding in his ears. Gloria must have gotten up already. With a lot of self-control, he managed not to pass out as he sat up on the edge of the bed. She goes to work while I sit here, at home. Waiting for some jerk to call me and take pity on me. God I hate interviews. He shrugged painfully. Oh well, I needed a vacation. So what if it was a few months, I earned that unemployment. His memory gave up a smarting reminder. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just a few months.

He barely made it to the master bathroom before his stomach vacated what little contents were in it. Eyes burning with tears, he leaned against the toilet bowl, his chest heaving. After a few minutes, he hauled himself back up with the sink counter. His eyes averted from the mirror as he attempted to use mouthwash to get the taste of bile off his tongue. His stomach heaved again. Swallowing hard, he knew that anything more than coffee was out of the question. The hot water of the shower scalded as he let it run down his face, hoping it would wash the headache away.

Sore all over, he dressed slowly. The stabbing pains behind his eyes nearly blinded him as he got off the bed to leave the room. His knuckles turned white as he clutched the bedpost to steady himself. I feel like I have been hit by a train.

He headed downstairs. Not that I didn’t try to get a job. Everyone wants a stupid kid these days; probably afraid they’ll have to pay me what I am worth. He wandered into the kitchen. The calendar Gloria kept on the refrigerator caught his eye. Goddamn, is it April? He stared out the window. The pink slip had come in May.

The kitchen was empty but the coffee pot was steaming. His hands were shaking as he tried to pour the strong black liquid into the mug. It took both of them to bring the sloshing cup to his mouth, then set it back carefully on the table. He ran his hands over his face, absently wondering where Gloria was, since it was too early for her to be at work. It wasn’t like her to miss an opportunity to nag him. He snorted, disbelieving that he actually missed her shrill voice harping at him. Her latest kick being how his drinking was going to kill him. And just how is that? He remembered asking her last time she had stood over him, passing judgment. “I don’t know Jack, but it is going to,” had been her come back. He had laughed and told her she was sounding like the kids. Gee Dad, I don’t know.

Come to think of it where are the kids? They should be here driving me insane. He considered calling out, only to have his head protest the very thought. Instead, he managed to walk into the living room. Becoming concerned, he looked out in the garage. His car was gone. John must have borrowed it. Eventually he searched the whole house. Back in the kitchen he found his cold coffee. It went down the sink. His sluggish mind tried to remember the night before. Nothing was coming to him. The view of the neighborhood caught his blurry vision. He rubbed his eyes and looked out again. All of the houses down the street looked deserted. No cars, no yapping dogs. Something didn’t feel right. He rubbed his forehead, which only seemed to make it hurt more.

Jack searched the house again. He even risked more pounding from his already blasting head to call out for them. This is starting to irritate me. He was standing in the middle of the living room when the phone caught his eye. He went to it. Picking up the handset, he tried to get his hazed brain to remember the number he wanted. As he held the phone to his ear, a movement caught his eye. Shutting off the phone before he noticed the lack of a dial tone, he stared at the mirror that hung over the fireplace. Gloria! He spun around nearly falling over the couch. The room was empty. More delicately he turned back around. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them the image hadn’t changed. What the hell?

In the mirror, he could see his wife talking to his daughter. They appeared upset. He went up to the fireplace. Every detail in the refection was the room he was in, except for Gloria and their daughter.

Gloria! He yelled, holding his head from the repercussions. He wiped the tears out of his eyes as he tried to squint at the image again. Gloria didn’t appear to have heard him. She was holding something in her hand, showing it to their daughter Tracy. He leaned toward the mirror, trying to see what it was.

Pills. It was the aspirin he had tried to take earlier. Or was it yesterday? He couldn’t remember. Tracy was shaking her head. Gloria put the pills back in the bottle. He tried to read their lips. Just then his son, John, came into view. The two women turned to him and started to speak at once. John held up his hands and fell into his favorite spot on the couch.

The couch behind him was empty. Jack looked back and forth. His head was pounding even harder. The images in the mirror talked amongst themselves, not aware of his reflection amongst them. He tried talking to them once or twice, but they didn’t seem to hear him anymore than he could them. His recliner was out of view of the mirror, but he could still watch them. He sat there trying to make sense of this bizarre experience. Maybe this is a fucking dream. He leaned back in the chair and concentrated on waking up.

After a while, Jack gave up and went to the kitchen for more coffee. They were still discussing something as he sat back in his recliner. As much as he tried he couldn’t make out what they were saying, only that Gloria was upset. She was wringing her hands, which he knew meant something was bothering her. Tracy appeared upset too. John was just looking impassive as usual.

He sat there watching them for what seemed like an hour. They would appear to come and go from the room. Gloria was looking more and more upset. What were they talking about? He tried to remember what day it was. Was it Tuesday? He almost shook his head as if to clear it but thought better of it. The pounding only seemed to be getting worse. The recliner creaked as he got up to go find the aspirin.

It was gone. The bottle was gone. He searched the cabinet. Nothing. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror. His face was pale, almost chalky. Jack rubbed his stubbled chin as he tried to remember the last time he shaved. The reflection frowned. Where are those goddamn pills? Nothing was making sense. He didn’t need a clear mind to see that.

Not only was there no aspirin, the kitchen didn’t have alcohol anywhere. He cursed out loud; some fucking dream this is! The sound of his voice echoing loudly to his ears in the dark kitchen; he listened to it, hardly recognizing it. He snorted. Now I am talking to myself. Where is that goddamn whiskey? I just bought it. I bet Gloria threw it out. She’s been so fucking high and mighty lately. He took the garbage can out from under the sink. It was empty.

Back in the living room, they were still in the mirror, discussing something. They were always discussing something. He usually tried to stay out of it. Gloria would badger him to get more involved but he would just say that she was handling things fine. She didn’t need him; she had always managed quite well without him before. What was the difference now?

Besides, how was a man supposed to get any reading done when they are always talking in front of him? Not that they considered the sports page important. All he wanted was some peace and quiet; some time for him after scuttling all over town for stupid interviews. Gloria would get all puffed up when he asked them to leave the room. “You don’t have to yell”, she would say. “Why don’t you try to make an effort to contribute instead?”

What does she think I did for the last 29 fucking years, going to work every goddamn day? What with the commute, the traffic? All so she could take my paycheck and pay for the kid’s shoes or whatever. 29 years. Hell of a contribution. And what do I get? Laid off, the walking papers just so some jackass can retire to some fucking tropical island.

The last few months had been nice though, doing nothing but sitting around in a quiet house and reading the paper; until everyone got home that is. Then there were the kids and their music, and Gloria harping about the bills, trying to get him to go out for more interviews. I am so tired of those damn interviews.

The silence of the house was imposing. If it weren’t for the brass band in his head there wouldn’t be any noise at all. He went to the family room. The stereo looked inviting. He turned it on, but no sound came out. All the connections were right. Oh I am gonna kill John. He’s always got this cranked up. Probably blew the speakers. He turned it off, the lights slowly fading. Maybe there’s something on TV. He celebrated when the picture came on. Now where’s that remote? The volume said it was all the way up. He hit the side of the television. He tried to understand the action from the screen, but shortly lost patience. I’m really getting tired of this fucking nightmare. Can’t drink, can’t even watch TV. Shit, it’s just like being awake, but without Gloria’s nagging. Without turning it off, he went back to the living room.

He watched Gloria, hoping to get a clue about what was going on. She was standing close to the mirror. Her face was full of worry. What was she worried about? He was the one stuck in this weird nightmare. He walked up to the mirror. Gloria!! For Heavens sake! She didn’t move. He waved his arms. Nothing. She turned around to face a man in a uniform that he could just make out on the other side of the room. Who the hell is that?

He turned and looked at the room he was in. It was his living room; the house that he had been paying for during his 29 years of loyal service. The one that Gloria was paying for now. It irked him that she found a job before he did. “At least one of us has one,” she had said.

Awe to hell with it, it’s my dream; I will go buy more pills, maybe some beer. At least Gloria can’t nag me. He laughed but didn’t really feel comforted by the thought. Out in the garage, his car was still missing. Maybe it was outside in the drive. Then he realized he needed his keys. Where did I leave them? He went back into the house. He looked in all of the usual places. No keys. Not even his wallet. Even Gloria’s purse was missing.

Finally he found himself back in the living room. He studied the mirror as his head pounded continuously. The officer, whoever he had been, seemed to be gone. He could see his mother in law had joined Gloria and the kids. He grimaced. At least I don’t have to sit and try to ignore her too. I don’t have to listen to any of them. He sat on the couch where he could see John was still sitting. When had John grown a mustache?

Screw it I’ll walk. Outside the door, the sun was shining. There were still no cars or activity of any kind across the street. He shook his head and started to walk out the door.

What the hell?? Nothing. Total darkness. The doorknob was still in his hand. He panicked, falling on to the hall floor. Carefully he got up and tried to go out again, holding on to the door jam. No sooner than his foot touched what was supposed to be the front step, than everything went dark. He jerked his foot back. Sunshine. His head pounded harder, which he hadn’t thought possible, making it even harder to think. The empty houses stared back at him. He picked himself up and decided to try another way.

Out in the garage, the automated door was unusually quiet. He approached the opening cautiously. He leaned against the wall; he stuck his foot out. The blackness overwhelmed him. He jumped back away from the door, the sunshine reflecting off of Gloria’s car nearly blinding him. His was still nowhere in site.

Stumbling back to the living room, he collapsed into his chair without looking at the mirror. He held his screaming head. What the hell is going on? What kind of crazy shit is this anyway? Okay, I have to remember last night. Only the pounding answered. He laid the recliner back. Have to relax. Several minutes passed. Images came slowly, painfully. Everything was jumbled: the letter from the unemployment office announcing the end of his checks… pounding… another gracious rejection from a job. We are sorry to inform you Mr. Casner....

Pounding… Gloria yelling at him… Pounding… The slow burn of the whiskey he had bought with money he had taken from Gloria’s purse, blurring the edges off the voices in his head. The evening got hazier from there; he remembered nothing else until waking up. The recliner creaked as he leaned forward to rub his aching head, which only seemed make the pain worse.

In the mirror, Gloria was standing in the living room holding a family portrait from their 25th anniversary. In the fading light he could see her crying. She was wearing a robe he had gotten her a few years ago for Christmas. He hadn’t noticed her wear it for a long time. Hadn’t thought it still fit her anymore. Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, she wiped her eyes and looked straight into the mirror. He could have sworn she said Goodbye Jack before walking stiffly from the room.

Jack turned as if he was really watching her leave. For the first time since he had gotten up, he noticed he was cold. He stared at the silent empty room. A newspaper paper on the coffee table caught his eye. With trembling hands he picked up the paper, and read the bold headline in disbelief.

The antique gold-framed mirror above the fireplace reflected the shadowy image of a middle-aged man crying into his hands as he silently faded away.