Paradise

‘Well I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday.’

As soon as the playlist shuffled up Meatloaf, Marvin jumped from the sofa and started rocking around the lounge. It didn’t matter how old he got (54 two months ago) or how sore his limbs were, the best song in the world demanded his full performance.

‘Parking by the dah and there was dah dah-dah-dah car in sight.’

It had been so long since he’s heard this track, he had forgotten some of the words. Not that it mattered; there was no-one in the house to shame him for his forgetfulness. Only the large mirror over the mantle place bear witness to his childish behaviour and he had great practise at steering his gaze away from his own reflection.

He danced over to the sideboard where his phone was charging and cranked up the volume.

‘…wishing they were me that night,’ he sang, catching up with the singer.

This song was not just a powerful rock ballad. It was not just a deliciously wry commentary on the souring of love, from teenage lust to matrimonial hell. This was also one of the best duets ever recorded.

Marvin closed his eyes as he bopped his head to the music, swinging his arms wildly and singing along with Meatloaf at the top of his voice:

‘C’mon. Hold on tight. Well c’mon. Hold on tight.’

The first line of the chorus was sung by the female vocalist. In all his years of loving this record – four decades, he winced as he calculated it – he had never sung Ellen Foley’s part, always leaving that for whichever girlfriend he was with at the time. And there had been many during his lifetime’s search for someone to fill the void within him.

‘Though it’s cold and lonely-’

Marvin wondered if the thrashing was playing tricks on his hearing. He heard Ellen’s voice coming from the phone speakers, as he’d expected, but he thought he had also heard another voice. Closer and quieter, but off-key and unassured.

He had no time to ponder further on this as he was back with the next lyric.

‘I can see paradise by the dashboard light.’

The next voice should only have been Ellen’s. This time Marvin was certain someone else was joining in.

‘Ain’t no doubt about it we were doubly blessed.’

He opened his eyes and cast a quick look around, still maintaining his out-of-rhythm dancing as he did. There was no-one in the room but him. Yet the unknown singer continued.

‘’Cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed.’

The sound was coming from behind him.

‘Ain’t no doubt about it,’ he screeched, joining Meatloaf and Ellen Foley and the new voice.

Though he was spooked, he did not stop prancing and jumping about. He manoeuvred himself around to face the mirror.

‘Baby, got to go out and shout it.’

There wasn’t anything wrong with the mirror. It cast a perfect reflection of the room – the leather sofa, the framed picture of Judy Garland, the bookcase, the nest of tables. The only thing it didn’t reveal was him.

In his place, awkwardly moving and throwing her head about, was a woman.

‘Ain’t no doubt about it,’ they sang in unison.

Marvin didn't recognise the woman. It was no-one her had ever seen before, either in his life, on TV or in his dreams. But she was matching his every move.

Despite this bizarre turn of events, Marvin did not stop his off-time swaying to the music. His feet stepped with the beat, his shoulders rocked, his arms flew about. In fact, when he tried to approach the mirror, he found he was unable to stop dancing.

The reflection followed him perfectly, even down to the confusion in her eyes. The only part of their bodies which didn’t work together were their mouths. While Marvin continued butchering Meatloaf’s lyrics, the reflection stayed silent. When the chorus came around again and Marvin stopped, so his female counterpart began:

‘Though it’s cold and lonely in the deep dark night.’

Marvin’s mind was swimming, and not just from rocking his head around. He had no idea what was happening, who this mystery woman was or why he could no longer control his own movements. He seemed to be caught in the song, unable to do anything but sing along in this uncanny duet.

Together, Marvin and his reflection danced through the ballgame and performed the ‘Will you love me forever / Let me sleep on it,’ argument perfectly. It was as if they had practised together their whole lives.

‘I couldn’t take it anymore,’ Marvin screamed, starting the final section of the song. The end was approaching and he started to feel melancholy. Would this woman disappear once the final note had been played? Would he ever get a chance to sing with her again?

*

As the song faded to Ellen Foley’s ‘It never felt so good, it never felt so right,’ the reflection in the mirror returned to normal. Everything was represented correctly: the sofa, the Judy picture, the bookcase, the tables.

Now that the frantic dancing was over, even the person’s image had returned.

Looking deep into the reflected eyes, Leslie let out a happy sigh. She was finally out, and the void Marvin had felt his whole life was now gone.