The Mirror Man…a few thoughts on the backstory of an incomplete work…unedited…

“Every now and then I get a glimpse of the old Possum, and I miss him.”

I uttered those words yesterday evening. Earlier in the week I turned 49, shortly thereafter, my mom had her day. Together, we went to town and had a blast buying each other mugs for our coffee and just meandering around.

But the truth of my words yesterday evening cut deep. I do miss the old me. The person I was had no problem securing dates, nor would I have any problem finding a partner to share my life with.

That’s all in the past now. That poor guy died a horrible death in the killing fields of war. Ne’er to be seen again. He is buried somewhere underneath a ton of trauma, alcohol, mistakes, anger and more than one nightmare.

It’s a shame. I used to be a good guy.

I had started a story about a guy who woke up one morning and looked in the mirror. What he saw blew his mind. Instead of one image staring back at him, he saw slivers of himself and his past. He also saw possible outcomes of the future although those parts were blurry.

And that is how I see myself. The truth is I haven’t been a complete person in a long time. Like a broken glass, I’ve been a shard of brokenness.

I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is. At this point of my life, as I rest comfortably one year away from the big 5-0, I’ve figured that with enough duct tape, and Gorilla Glue, I can hold it together.

After all, what choice do I have?

The story I started had a title: The Mirror Man. I hate leaving stories incomplete, so I reckon I’ll mosey down the trail and see if I can’t finish it.

Take care,

Freeman


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