MAN IN THE MIRROR

By Val Kyrie

©shadowMare publications

E-mail: valkyrie01_2000@yahoo.com

 

No, I did NOT name this after that stupid Michael Jackson song. I just happen to think the title fits. This is for Ed, who was “volunteered” to be my beta reader :0

This is also for Mr. Stanley. Love ya sweetie, and thanks for the music!

As always, this is a work of fiction. Please do not download.

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I am alone, for once.

 

I sit before a brightly lit mirror, gazing upon the silver depths and feeling as if the weight of the entire universe is sitting on my shoulders. I have a job to do tonight and I wonder, not for the first time, if I am man enough to go through with it.

 

So I will not be recognized, I don a mask and become another person, at least for awhile. I pull my hair back and began to take up my alter ego, the one who goes out in the world and does what I can’t do. See, I’m not the ballsy wild man so many of my acquaintances think I am. I’m really a shy, reserved person who would rather, at least now, sit back and watch things happen than make them happen.

 

As I sit there, watching “him” come to the fore, I take my wedding band off and stare at the glinting, bright gold band that I’ve become accustomed to. Funny. Me, an old married man. The lady I’m married to saw through the face I wear and loves me anyway. Enough to chance having a kid, who inspires a level of emotion in me that scares me to death sometimes. I never thought I’d be able to love someone that deeply or be loved back without reservations. And that scares me even more. Once, I didn’t really care what kind of state the world I lived in was; now, every little environmental tragedy, every world event makes me sit up and wonder what in the hell kind of world I’m leaving to my son.

 

He’ll wonder someday whatever possessed his old man to take up the profession I have. He’ll say I chanced my health, my life and my own well-being more times than I should have. Risky sex in dark, cramped closets, bad business deals that made people who could have really hurt me madder than hell and the stupid shit I have to do in my line of work to stay on top have left their mark not only on my skin but deep in my bones. There’s mornings I have to get up slowly till my aches and pains shut up and let me go about my day. I know I’m not getting any younger but the siren song of my profession’s called me out to dance more times than I can remember.

 

Some days I hate who I’ve become. I used to hate it more when I had to keep my real self hidden away to protect my privacy. I lost friends and lovers due to my need to have some sanctuary left. I even pushed away the few friends I’ve known for a long time at one point to try and get my ‘self’ back. Stupid. And the one person who made me realize that my job was only a small part of me, not all of me, is gone. He’d know the best way to pop my inflated ego, shore up my wobbling self-esteem and make me laugh. God, I miss him. I wonder for a moment if there is life after death and if so, I hope he’s happy wherever he is.

 

And my three closest friends---I pushed them away too. I had a second chance to get them back and I have, but I wonder how long we’ll have each other this time?

 

Now, as I finish getting dressed, I let my hair out of its confinement and fluff it up around my face. A face that I recognize faster than the one I was born with stares out of the mirror at me. A face I’ve hated and loved at the same time for over twenty years, a face that’s given me the keys to many a kingdom and its riches. A face that I’d hidden behind in the past and now have to allow to share my privacy. A face that my own mother recognizes better than my real one.

 

The dark eyes glint out at me and I feel the rush coming on. Spandex and leather make me look years younger and accent the body that I’ve worked harder and harder every year to keep as healthy as I can. I know I look as good today as I did when I was twenty. I wonder, as I make the final touches to my clothes, if the somewhat naive kid I was then would recognize the man I’ve become?

 

A knock on the door wakes me up.

 

“Mr. Stanley? Two minutes to show time.”

 

The man in the mirror watches me leave.