Mirror Image
by
Owlcroft
In memory of Ray Stevens, who sang a great truth.
"What in the world?" Lydia wondered when her friend opened the door to the Roadhouse.
Beetlejuice posed in front of her. "Like it, babes? It's Mirror Image Day." He spun slowly in place, smoothing his hair with one hand and showing off his black shirt with purple-and-white striped suit.
"So you're all dressing in . . . what, opposite colors or something?" She tried to adjust to seeing her best friend (and she hoped more at some point) like this.
He nodded. "Yeah, basically just the reverse of what you usually wear," and, raising his eyebrows in question, pointed at her own garb.
"Then I should have red tights and a black poncho?" Lydia put a hand to her chin and thought. "Oh, better take out the hair scrunchy, too."
The ghost obliged immediately with a snap of his fingers. "Black with silver web stripes for the poncho. That okay?"
"Deadly vu," she admired. "How come I never heard of Mirror Image Day before?" She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led him back into the Roadhouse.
"Only happens once every five years. You must've missed it the last time." He studied her new outfit and grinned. "Oh, yeah. You look great," and then he tried to mute the compliment by adding, "if I do say so myself." She grinned back at him and punched him lightly in the arm.
"So are we going to walk down the avenues and see everyone in their different get-ups? That ought to be fun." Lydia kept looking at Beetlejuice then shaking her head at how striking the altered colors were.
He grinned at her, knowing what she was thinking. "Yeah, we're all in different colors or different styles – you know, opposites of what we usually look like, but I want you to see Ginger and Jacques before we take off. They're getting ready themselves and you'll be . . . impressed when you see them."
"That shirt is just not right for you, though." She wrinkled her nose and squinted at him. "Not with your skin tone. The purple stripes . . . I'm going to have to think about those. But you're still beautiful." She chuckled as he studied the far wall and tried not to blush. "There's an old song that says, 'Everybody's beautiful in their own way'. And you are, Beej."
Trying desperately to change the subject, he said, "You almost never say 'deadly vu' any more. Getting used to the Neitherworld?"
"Maybe. But I think that's a good thing. It might not seem as bizarre to me these days, but that's because it's like home to me now. I fit in here in a way I don't in my world."
At that point, Ginger scuttled out of the kitchen heading for the front door, waving a claw frantically at the twosome and singing, "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!"
Lydia returned her wave and watched the pink spider dash out the door and down the street. "It would've been hard to imagine Ginger in a lime green outfit, but you know – " she put a finger to her lips and considered. "I think it suits her."
Beetlejuice thought about that for a few seconds, then said, "She looks like a slopsicle." When Lydia chuckled, he amended that to, "A spider-shaped slopsicle."
"So how did Mirror Image Day originate anyway?" She smoothed down her silver-etched black poncho and smiled in pleasure.
The ghost shrugged. "Don't know exactly. Something about how we always look the same but are supposed to realize we're different anyway. I don't really understand it. But it's fun." He gave her a hopeful look.
"You mean," she said slowly, thinking as she went, "You're all different, but you look the same way all the time; so once in a while you change things up to . . . kind of remind everyone of your differences? That kind of thing?"
"Maybe." He scratched his head carefully, then remembered he'd run out of snacks in his hair and scratched more vigorously.
"But that's what is so special about the Neitherworld – that everybody's different and it doesn't make a difference. You see?" Lydia plopped onto the couch and rested her chin on her hand.
"So when we, once every five years, look different from the way we usually do, it's a way of reminding us that everybody being different is important. Maybe something we should emphasize. Is that it?" Beetlejuice re-examined his purple stripes.
She shrugged. "It's my best guess, but that's all it is – just a guess." She fell silent then for a few moments, then muttered, "When I was little, some kid told me I was different. And he said it like it was a bad thing to be. He said people like me were –"
Beetlejuice stopped her at once. "No. You know better than that. At least, you do now, right?"
She reached out for his hand and pulled him down beside her. "I do know better. Thanks to you."
Before he could get embarrassed by that, a skeleton clad in white tie and tails strolled into the room.
"Je suis là," he pronounced and pirouetted slowly so his friends could appreciate his garb.
"Jacques," Lydia exclaimed, "you look so . . . different," with a meaningful glance at Beetlejuice.
"Très suave, toujours très suave," Jacques told them as he swept elegantly out the door. "And you, Lydia, are une jolie fille. Be-attle-jooz, however . . . un beau gâchis." He waved a graceful farewell as Beetlejuice cocked a quick snook at him.
"Poseur," he muttered. "Blagueur."
"What did say about me – that I'm pretty?" When Beetlejuice nodded, she grinned at him. "And what does bogashee mean?"
He stood up abruptly. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, that's what you were talking about, right? That it shouldn't matter what somebody looks like or what somebody calls you. It's sort of what Mirror Image Day means, isn't it? You look at somebody in a different way, but it's still them." He frowned then. "Although . . . you think I'm beautiful, but I know I'm not."
"But that's the real beauty of you and the Neitherworld. It doesn't matter what anyone is or what they look like. And I know you don't believe me, but you are beautiful . . . in your own way, just like the song says."
Face crumpled in discomfort, he muttered something that might just have been, "You, too." Then thinking hard, he said slowly, "So we dress different so people will look at us and then maybe see our differences . . . well, different tomorrow, remembering the different we wore today – you know what I mean. But we sort of . . . celebrate our differences?"
Lydia reached out and took his hand. "I think that's it and I think it's wonderful, don't you? And it means we never take each other for granted, seeing each other in a new way every so often." She smiled up at him. "I can never take you for granted. You're the most important person in the world to me."
Beetlejuice turned his head and shut his eyes. As she waited patiently, he drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, then said, without opening his eyes, "You know I . . . I never take you for granted. You're the best friend anyone could ever have and if I didn't have you –" He broke off then but she stayed silent, holding his hand firmly. "If . . . if I ever lost you, I would never –" Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared right at her. "I would never get over losing you, never."
"Oh," she sighed in gratified amazement, "Beej."
He managed a grin then. "It's the day you're supposed to be your own opposite, isn't it? So I was sappy there for a sec. Hey, babes, c'mon! There's a whole world out there waiting for us!" And he took both her hands to pull her up from the couch. "And we can be as opposite as we want, but we're still us, right?"
"Right!" She matched his grin. "And, no matter what, we'll always be us."