Blurry
I understand them better than they think I do. It's all in the mirror.
I used to play mirror games when I was younger. My mom thought something was wrong with me. She worried that I was becoming self-involved. She was convinced that it was some after effect of my father's abandonment. One time, she even called a shrink because she wanted to get me help. I deserved a normal childhood. That's what she told me. Then the guy she called told her how much he charged. I could see the look of utter panic spread over her face as she hung up the phone. "Normal's overrated," she said.
I never told her why I really played mirror games. I think the truth would have disturbed her even more.
One of my mirror games actually did evolve as a result of my father's leaving. People used to tell me I looked like my father. But did I? I couldn't remember what he looked like. My memories of him had faded. I could only vividly remember two things about him. The image of him walking away from me the day he left is forever ingrained in my mind, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't remember his face. It's always his back that I see in my dreams. I also remember that he always smelled like Old Spice. I know because once I was at the movies and this man sitting next to me smelled exactly like my memories of my father. I got up the courage to ask the man what kind of cologne he was wearing, and he said Old Spice. I went out and bought a little bottle that night. It made me feel like I had a piece of my father with me.
It was this inability to recollect the details of my father that prompted the invention of my first game. I'd stare at myself for hours, desperate to find some part of him in me. I wanted to feel connected to him. I wanted to know if I was anything like him. I needed to feel complete. The problem was that I couldn't remember. When I figured out that looking at my total reflection wasn't working, I moved on to individual body parts. My nose, was is anything at all like his; was his hair blonde like mine; did his middle toe do that weird left curve thingy like mine? I needed to know. I wanted to remember because I thought I needed to remember him to figure out who I was. After all, where I came from would determine who I would become. Or would it?
My other game involved a sort of false reality. It messed with my head, and for some bizarre reason I liked that. I'd stand in front of my mirror, as still as possible, and just stare. No blinking, no shifting. Just staring. I'd focus on one part of my reflection and concentrate. Eventually, things would start to get blurry. The line between where I ended and the air began would become muddled and I'd lose perspective. Sometimes, it would look like I had two of every body part. After awhile, my mind would accommodate to this false reality and I'd believe. I had two heads. That's what the mirror told me, and I believed it as truth. Why shouldn't I? You don't question truth. Destiny. But my game would inevitably end. I'd blink or shift and everything would pop back into focus.
See? I understand them more than they think I do.
I understand them better than they think I do. It's all in the mirror.
I used to play mirror games when I was younger. My mom thought something was wrong with me. She worried that I was becoming self-involved. She was convinced that it was some after effect of my father's abandonment. One time, she even called a shrink because she wanted to get me help. I deserved a normal childhood. That's what she told me. Then the guy she called told her how much he charged. I could see the look of utter panic spread over her face as she hung up the phone. "Normal's overrated," she said.
I never told her why I really played mirror games. I think the truth would have disturbed her even more.
One of my mirror games actually did evolve as a result of my father's leaving. People used to tell me I looked like my father. But did I? I couldn't remember what he looked like. My memories of him had faded. I could only vividly remember two things about him. The image of him walking away from me the day he left is forever ingrained in my mind, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't remember his face. It's always his back that I see in my dreams. I also remember that he always smelled like Old Spice. I know because once I was at the movies and this man sitting next to me smelled exactly like my memories of my father. I got up the courage to ask the man what kind of cologne he was wearing, and he said Old Spice. I went out and bought a little bottle that night. It made me feel like I had a piece of my father with me.
It was this inability to recollect the details of my father that prompted the invention of my first game. I'd stare at myself for hours, desperate to find some part of him in me. I wanted to feel connected to him. I wanted to know if I was anything like him. I needed to feel complete. The problem was that I couldn't remember. When I figured out that looking at my total reflection wasn't working, I moved on to individual body parts. My nose, was is anything at all like his; was his hair blonde like mine; did his middle toe do that weird left curve thingy like mine? I needed to know. I wanted to remember because I thought I needed to remember him to figure out who I was. After all, where I came from would determine who I would become. Or would it?
My other game involved a sort of false reality. It messed with my head, and for some bizarre reason I liked that. I'd stand in front of my mirror, as still as possible, and just stare. No blinking, no shifting. Just staring. I'd focus on one part of my reflection and concentrate. Eventually, things would start to get blurry. The line between where I ended and the air began would become muddled and I'd lose perspective. Sometimes, it would look like I had two of every body part. After awhile, my mind would accommodate to this false reality and I'd believe. I had two heads. That's what the mirror told me, and I believed it as truth. Why shouldn't I? You don't question truth. Destiny. But my game would inevitably end. I'd blink or shift and everything would pop back into focus.
See? I understand them more than they think I do.
