I found it during my walk home from the school bus the other day. It was lying
in the tall grass of my neighbor’s lawn. It was insignificant to most, not even catching
any of my fellow students’ eyes. It shimmered, the sun reflecting off its surface,
drawing my attention. I’m not one to stop for shiny objects. Or at least, I didn’t think I
was. Still, I stopped, bent down, and cupped my hand around its jagged edges. I’d
never seen a piece like it before. It was red, like the stained glass you’d see in church
windows, but it was too thick for that to be its origin.

 

There was someone in its reflection who was not me. A white pupil, lined by a
purple iris, observed me. A shiver ran down my spine, but I did not shrink back. I
picked it up, pocketed it, and ran home.

 

“Lavell!” My mother yelled to me as I ran up the stairs to my bedroom. She
wanted nothing but for me to stop running in her house. I slowed my pace but
continued to move in a hurry. Quietly, I shut the bedroom door behind me. I
retrieved the fragment from my pocket and placed it on my desk. I propped it up so
that my entire upper body was in view. The pupil had backed away, revealing the
being it belonged to. They were a similar height to me, that is to say, a 5’3” eighth
grader. They were skinnier, though, with sharp ears like high elves, oval eyes that

took up much of their face, and long, straight hair that’s nearly transparent in the
sunlight. They wore robes akin to that of a priest, with a hood and ornate river
patterns on its silk fabric.

 

“Who are you?” I asked. Their mouth moved. “I can’t hear you,” I replied, folding
my arms. They frowned on the other side. Sound seemed to be the fragment’s only
limitation. Then, they smiled like a lightbulb went off in their head and picked up
whatever it is that they can see me through – I can only assume that it is also a
piece of glass. They rushed it to some place where bright light cast upon them. They
held it up high and turned it around, showing me the outside world where they come
from. There were mountains with foggy peaks in the distance, looming over a forest
that disappeared over the horizon, and huts supported by chiseled stones. It

was beautiful. I don’t even think my dreams could live up to the sight.

 

They said something that I could not hear, but I understood them. I was
reluctant to introduce them to where I’m from. It’s not nearly as interesting.
Nonetheless, I did because they insisted. I went downstairs, running past my mother
who asked, “Where are you going?” To which I told her that I was going to escort a
friend around the neighborhood.

 

“I didn’t know a new family moved in,” my dad commented from the living
room. “They didn’t!” I hollered. Then, I stepped out the front door, held up the
fragment, and started walking around. I presented my friend the bus drop off, the
park, how to swing on the swing set, go down a slide, shoot a basketball, and what
our houses looked like in our little cul-de-sac. I couldn’t see their face while I showed
off everything, but I hoped they were content. All the while, I just wanted to see more
of where they’re from. I returned to my bedroom, and I urged them, through

hand gestures and pointing at objects, to reveal more of their world. They were
happy to.

 

----------

 

For a week, Red humored me. I named them that because that was the color of
the screen – what I chose to call the fragment. After school, I spent most of my time
cooped up in my room, enamored by the other side. Red revealed many things: the
berries they ate, the cots they slept in, the vine-ridden temple they prayed at, how
kids their age played with magic in the grassy fields, and what their classes were like.
They tried to get me to explore more of the world outside of my room, but I was
resistant. There wasn’t much to show.

 

I got to meet all of Red’s family, friends, and village people. They met me. Red
wanted to meet my friends, but I had none I wanted them to meet.

 

Only once did someone else look into the screen. My mom asked, “Who are you
talking to?” I pointed to the screen. Red’s eyes glowed when she came into view.
However, it was short lived. My mom’s eyes glazed over, and she walked away. She
didn’t see the significance of it, just like everyone else who got off the bus with me
on the day that I found it. They just see a piece of glass, but I see what’s on the other
side of it and that’s all that matters.

 

After that, our conversations became one-on-one. Red did not present me to
anyone else again. I wonder if it’s because I didn’t introduce them to anyone else or if
it’s because their people were less interested in me than I was in them. Regardless, I
was content with just Red.

 

Over the course of the week, I had secretly gathered some things. One was a
robe that looked like Red’s, procured from my parents’ closet. It was a bathrobe, but
it was close enough for me. I also made long, pointy ears out of notebook paper to
mimic Red’s. I wanted to surprise them, to show my appreciation and admiration of
their world.

 

On Friday, I was in my room peering into the screen as usual. I raised my hand to
tell Red to wait. I slipped out of view, put a linen hoodie on, and wrapped myself in
the bathrobe. Then, I folded the paper ears around my own. I walked back into view
of the screen, asking “What do you think?” Red’s nose scrunched up as they sneered
at me. Their face wore a mask of disgust.They did not say anything nor move. I froze, waiting for them to do anything or try to say something, but they only stared at me
with pained eyes like I had stabbed their pet or something.

 

Eventually, the view on the screen bopped upward, raised to their forehead.
From what I could tell, they picked it up. “Are you going to show me something?” I
inquired flatly. Red shook their head, seemingly understanding me. The view dropped
from their face to their robe, then finally to their sandals. As it reached the floor, the
screen cracked and shattered into several smaller pieces. There was nothing left in
the reflection but me in my makeshift costume.