Narrator: Lucía V. | Mexico City, Mexico
I bought a silver-plated spoon because it was the same pattern my grandmother used to have. I liked the thought of using something old instead of keeping it in a drawer.
When I polished it, a face appeared in the bowl. At first I thought it was my own, stretched by the curve. I smiled. It didn’t.
I turned the spoon over. The face was on the back too, smaller and farther away. A man with one eye almost closed. He seemed to be concentrating on something beside me.
I looked over my shoulder. Nothing there. When I looked back, his mouth was wide open. He was much nearer.
I put the spoon in a kitchen drawer. That night every piece of cutlery in it rattled for about ten seconds. My flatmate heard it from her room and shouted at me to stop making food so late.
I returned the spoon to the seller. I didn’t invent a reason. I told him it frightened me. He handed my money back without checking the spoon, then wrapped it in a cloth before putting it under the table.
I should have asked him a question. At the time, getting my empty hand back felt like enough.
