A Reflection. A Glimpse.
written by: Richard Korst
Virgil was a nervous, fidgety sort. His rumpled, oversized gray suit, thin-soled, scuffed shoes, and yellowed undershirt befitted both his social standing and his propensity to sweat excessively. His receding hairline, lifeless eyes, pockmarked, bloated, and crimson face, suggested he’d stumbled and fumbled through every middle-aged milestone without the resources or energy to support his midlife crisis.
He stood in the cramped bathroom of his squalid apartment, a single overhead bulb swung in cadence with the rush-hour trains rumbling just feet from his building, illuminating a utilitarian space as tiny, sad, and unkept as a gas station restroom. Virgil had reached a personal crossroad. A failed career, broken marriage, and two loathing children had left him with only two options; either end or drastically change his life.
He firmly placed his hands on the sink’s edge, looked forlornly at the rusted stopper, sweat dripping from his forehead, stinging his eyes, and clouding his vision. After a few agonizing moments, he raised his head, reluctantly, his eyes closed, incapable of either facing what he had become or making a decision.
“Oh my God. Oh, my frigging God. What do I do now?” he muttered while shaking his head.
Upon finally opening his eyes, he looked at the mirror, rifled his left hand through his thinning hair, blinked rapidly, then let out a scream.
The reflection staring at him was Virgil, but an older, more decrepit version; hair gone, its lifeless eyes more hollowed, and marionette lines creasing its face from its mouth’s corners to its chin. Virgil leaned in towards the mirror, closely inspecting the image, seeking a clue to this grotesque parlor trick without success. Despite its appearance, he was reticent to believe it was more than a temporary apparition.
“Hey, Virgil,” came a nonchalant voice from the mirror.
Virgil rubbed his eyes vigorously, “What the hell?” he muttered as he grabbed a towel, attempting to wipe away the reflection.
“It won’t work Virge, I wish it did. I’ve already tried on my end.”
“Whaat theee Heeelll?”
“Calm down. You’re going to break the sink if you don’t let go of that grip.”
“Calm down? I’m talking to myself in the mirror. What’s happening?”
“Well,” responded Virgil’s reflection, “I think I’m here to help you with your decision.”
“What decision.”
“You know. The whole crossroads thing.”
“I’m supposed to get advice from a reflection in the mirror? That must have been some awfully bad Tequila. I’m going to turn around now, and you’ll be gone. You better be gone.”
After a long pause, and after rolling his eyes, the reflection responded, “Still here. Straighten up, man. Mm, mm, mm! Virgil, you can’t shake me that easily. Regardless of whether you believe in my existence, let’s cut to the chase, address your original question when you entered this delightful bathroom: “What do I do now? Simplistic inquiry. The pleading of a desperate man.”
“I am a desperate man.”
“I can see that. Pathetic. Ok, if it was me, and what I mean by that is if I was you, which I am, I think option one would be your best choice; knock yourself off. Trust me, this is spiraling out of control, it’s not going to get any better, and, in fact, it gets much worse.”
“Total horseshit!” shouted Virgil, stepping back as his spittle splattered the mirror’s surface, “Unless we’re in the ‘Twilight Zone,’ this ain’t happening.”
“Look, I’m not so enamored with this gig myself. Our place is a total dump. You’re a total mess, but let’s at least try to make the best of the situation.
“Hold on. Hold on. Give me a minute to think,” stammered Virgil, causing his reflection to freeze and face his doppelganger once more, “Suppose I do believe what you say. Suppose you are what I become. So what? Should I say I’m sorry, beg for your forgiveness, chide you for not taking care of yourself?”
The reflection folded its arms, “You’re so predictable, Virgil. Deflect and blame. Push the issue down the road. Don’t put this on me. Do you think I like what we’ve become? Do you think this was our master plan? Geez! Grow up, get a spine, and do something drastic.”
“Drastic? Like what?”
“Like how the hell would I know?” shot back the reflection. I’m not Jacob Marley, and you aren’t going to be visited by three ghosts tonight. What do you want to do?”
“Noones ever asked,” whispered Virgil.
“I’m asking,” pushed the reflection.
Virgil paused, closed his eyes, hoping some revelation would rise in him. Instead, his chin dropped, seemingly ashamed of his perceived unambitious list,
“Damn it Virgil, hold your chin up, for God’s sake. What do you want?”
Virgil raised his eyes, bit down on his lip, his words hushed but sincere,
“I want to be respected at work, be proud of my accomplishments, recognized for my contributions. I want to be a good father, loved by my children. I want to live out the rest of my life with dignity, purpose.”
Virgil’s reflection peered outward, placed his hands to his mouth as if in prayer, took a deep breath while absorbing Virgil’s comments,
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“What feels good?”
“Getting that weight off your chest. Laying out a plan.”
“What plan? They’re just words.”
Virgil’s reflection peered at him with a sympathetic, caring expression, then sighed, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a first step.”
Virgil smirked, attempting to appear sarcastic, “You came all this way to quote an old Chinese proverb? Should I put up a poster of a cat hanging on for dear life to a tree limb with the words, ‘Hang in There?'”
Virgil’s reflection smiled, “That’s it. I like this new you. Challenging, funny. I’m just saying, your goals may not seem all that lofty, but greater men have failed in lesser efforts. At least try.”
“We’ll see. If I were to take your advice, where would I start?”
“Let’s start with a little self-respect. Pull your shoulders back, look me in the eye. Believe in yourself and believe in your children’s desire to have a father they can love.”
Virgil straightened his back with a loud crack. The shoulders of his rumpled suit smoothed, the lapels rested cleanly across his chest, the rest of the suit draped appropriately at his waist, arms, and legs simply by changing his posture.
“That’s a good start, my man. Look at yourself. I mean, really look at yourself.”
Virgil peered at his reflection and, for the first time in years, he recognized someone other than a loser, a chump. He grabbed his chin with his right hand, sighed heavily, letting out the frustration of wasted years and the toll it had taken,
“Hmm. I’m going to give it a shot. I owe it to myself and to my daughters. I may fail, but I’m not going down without a fight.”
“A fighter. Truer words were never spoken.”
In the days, weeks, and months to come, Virgil’s transformation extended beyond the scope of his mirror. He attacked his work, volunteered for unwanted, unglamorous but critical projects, provided updates, completed assignments on time, and presented his findings and results to management, including well-thought-out recommendations.
He arrived early to pick up his daughters on visitation days, planned outings, and prepared meals. As time passed, his children anxiously awaited his arrival on the curb outside their home, anticipating their father’s visit, prepared to regale Virgil with weekly highlights, trials, tribulations, and even discussions about boys.
Virgil’s apartment became a home, its drab and college apartment style furnishings replaced, its space designed to appeal to friends and guests, including a newly framed ‘Hang in There’ poster neatly hung in his kitchen.
Periodically, Virgil’s reflection would return to the mirror, its appearance closer aligning with the current Virgil; confident, happy, proud, and, yes, dignified, the redness gone, the hollowed eyes vibrant, the hair still receding,
“My lord Virgil. Who are you?” asked his reflection, beaming with pride.
Virgil humbly responded, “I guess I’m who I should have always been.”
“I’d say so.” The reflection peered in, almost as if coming through the mirror, “Hmm. Amazing! Other than your total transformation, what’s new?”
Virgil chuckled, a warm recognition of the compliment he’d been paid, “Believe it or not, everything. I just got promoted at work, and my ex agreed to let me take the girls on vacation with me, no restrictions. I wouldn’t have believed it could happen in a million years. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. My appearance, my thoughts are merely a reflection of your appearance, your thoughts providing a glimpse of what could be.”
“So, wizard, you’re telling me I could have clicked my heels at any time and gone home to Kansas?”
“Something like that.”
The longer they spoke, the more Virgil’s reflection morphed, their appearance simpatico, their movements synchronized and in tandem. Virgil smiled. His reflection smiled in return. “And so?” asked the reflection, sounding like a father asking his son about the big game.
“We’re going to Disneyland. That’s it. Nothing big on the grand scale of things.”
Virgil’s reflection gave him a thumbs-up sign, “One small step for mankind. One giant leap for Virgil. You done good.” A tear began to slowly trickle down the reflection’s cheek, and his voice croaked as he spoke,
“I don’t think I’ll be seeing you anymore.”
“I thought the time was approaching.”
“Indeed. Oh, one last thing before I go, if I may.”
“Yes?”
“I love the cat poster.”
Virgil’s lips curled into a beaming smile. He placed his fingers on his forehead, then pointed them in the direction of the mirror,
“Adieu, my friend. Adieu.”
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Believing in oneself can sometimes be a daunting task, but sometimes an omen, sign, or, in this case, an apparition can help define your true self.
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