Mirror in the Future


The cracked leather strap of my backpack dug into my shoulder with every step. Dust covered my worn-out sneakers. Romania. The word now sounded heavy and foreign in my mind, not like the exciting adventure promised in glossy brochures.

My stupid guidebook had clearly stated: “Do not attempt to drive the mountain road to Rubinstein Castle alone. Hire a driver who knows the way.” But stubbornness apparently ran in the family. Definitely.

Now the rental car sat steaming and useless around the bend behind me, and I was walking. Just walking. Endless road, endless trees crowding together. My feet ached. Me, all alone, and a young woman at that.