Man in the Mirror

AUTHORS NOTES:

My editor (Nonethewiser) wasn't able to help me out with this one. He gave me a couple of suggestions on the development, but he wasn't able to edit. I thank him for what he did do. He always knows what I intend to say, and he gives great advise on how to put it on paper. He is a great friend, and I couldn't ask for a better one. He was sorely missed with this story.

This story will be split up into three parts.

*********************

I rushed out of my house as fast as my legs would carry me. Taking short, quick steps I ran down the stairs of my porch. I was trying to run for the grassy area, but I knew that I wasn't going to make it. By the time I reached the sidewalk, there was no holding back. It was coming out fast and hard, and I was left with no choice.

So, I stopped where I was, bent over, and placed my hands on my knees for leverage. Then I violently vomited.

It wasn't just the Whopper and the fries that lay there on the pavement; nor was it the milkshake. There was so much more. Intermingled with the regurgitated chunks of food was the pain that I'd had to endure and the bile that I had to swallow. The realization of what my life had become was too much for me.

Laying there in the multi-colored vomit was my marriage; all 10 years of it.

Behind me, I heard footsteps coming from the house. Unlike the heavy sounds of my feet, these steps were lighter and barefooted. The patter of naked feet on the hard ground followed me until they were right next to me.

"Arty, please..." I heard as I felt a slender arm wrap around me. I violently shook it off as I stumbled backwards to get to my car.

"Get away from me Paige!" I yelled as vomit flavored spit flew from my mouth. I fumbled around in my pocket to find my keys and cursed the hand that refused to work properly. It was jittery and uncontrollable. I felt like that children's machine located at the mall. It's the one with the claw that feebly tries to grab the teddy bears so that it can lift it, transport it over the slot, and drop the prize for the lucky kid who only had to pay 25 cents. When I finally took hold of the keys, I pushed the button on the remote to unlock the doors.

"Arty, stop. Please. Let's go back in the house and talk." She begged me. I didn't respond to her. Instead, I got in the car and closed the door to cut her off. I then drowned her out by starting the ignition and stepping on the gas. The whir of the engine made her cries of protest inaudible.

Before I sped off in a tire screeching commotion, I took one last look at my wife. There she stood, only clothed in a bathrobe. Her arms were loosely crossed over her chest, as if she were hugging herself. Her hair was wet and disheveled. The worried look on her face wasn't enough to make me forget what that face was doing, not even five minutes ago.

As we locked eyes, I saw something. Rather, I saw an absence of something. Even through her worry and concern for me, I saw...nothing. No love. No respect.

Her half-hearted begging for me to come in and talk was just a series of empty words. They were things that was she was expected to say in this situation. She wasn't really trying to stop me from leaving. She wasn't frantically banging on my window, desperately protesting her love for me. She didn't even throw in the old, "it's not what it looks like" cliché. Her surface level concern was just a show. Nothing more.

She didn't love me. She hadn't for some time.

That was the most crushing blow. It was more devastating than the sight of her in the shower with her lover. Five minutes ago, she was on her knees in front him, like she was praying to him. Her head bobbed back and forth over his rigid member. It disappeared into her mouth, and reappeared coated with her saliva. Her wedding ring seemed to catch the light as her hand wrapped around the shaft to aid her oral manipulation. Whatever he felt at that moment was so good that he had to lean against the wall to keep himself upright. He lovingly rubbed her hair as he thrust his hips in tune with her and encouraged her with moans of praise.

The water cascading down the clear shower door and the steam that fogged the bathroom seemed to make that scene almost dreamlike. His muscled body and her soft femininity created a picture of contrasting beauty. I would have marveled at it if it wasn't so sickening.

However, that vision paled in comparison to the epiphany that just washed over me. Actually, epiphany is a pretentious, over inflated word; especially in this case. It implies that I just figured out something that had previously eluded me. The truth was, this realization wasn't a new one. It was just the reawakening of an old one that I swallowed because I didn't want to face it.

That's what happens when you swallow poison. If it doesn't kill you, it comes back up and leaves you heaving on the pavement in front of your house.

I pulled off, leaving my ambivalent wife on the sidewalk. Before she disappeared from my rearview, I saw her shake her head and turn to walk back into the house.

*******************************

"Art? You okay? What the hell is wrong with you?"

I didn't even answer my brother. I pushed past him and walked into his apartment without even asking if it was okay. He didn't object. He just looked at me with curiosity as he closed the door behind me.

I flopped down on his couch like all the energy was sapped from my body. He walked slowly over to the armchair that was next to the couch and sat down, keeping his eyes on me the entire time.

I took a quick, judgmental scan of Lance's apartment. It was what I always did when I came here. I couldn't help it. The haphazard way that he lived bothered me. He had discarded clothes strewn around, piles of dirty dishes in his sink (right next to the empty dishwasher), and a trashcan full of garbage. It always made me look around in disgust.

In front of the chair that he now sat, I could see a PS4 controller laying on the floor. The TV showed a paused basketball video game, confirming that he was playing it prior to answering the door. Next to the chair laid an open bag of Cheetos and a half empty 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew.

What grown man plays video games at one o' clock in the afternoon? My twin brother; that's who.

I'm older than Lance by two minutes. We are fraternal twins. My name is Arthur McCormick. Some of you may have noticed something about our names; Arthur and Lance. Yes, our parents had a sense of humor. I don't know what they expected when they chose these names for us. It was like we were predestined to be at each other's throats. I'm just glad that we didn't have a sister; her name would more than likely have been Gwen. Life would've been rough having to explain to people that we didn't have an incestuous love triangle going on.

"Everything okay, bro?" he asked again as he reached over and nudged my leg. I still didn't answer him. After a few minutes of waiting me out, he gave up with a shrug and un-paused his game. It came to life as the sounds of screeching sneakers and sports announcers describing the events on the court came from the TV.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" I asked accusingly, completely ignoring the question that he asked.

Without looking away from his game, he scoffed and replied, "Aren't you?"

As I watched him, I grew angry. The amount of concentration that he was devoting to something so meaningless irritated me to my soul. How the fuck could he sit there, wearing basketball shorts and a tank top, while the rest of the world worked? I mean, he did have a "job" per se, but it was apparently so trivial that he could call off whenever he felt like.

Why is he able to carelessly breeze through life without a care in the world except for how to beat a stupid game?

"CAN YOU TURN THAT FUCKING SHIT OFF? What are you, 16?" I bellowed unexpectedly. It was so uncalled for that it even surprised me.

Lance looked a little taken aback by my unprovoked outburst, but it didn't really shake him up. His fingers barely slowed down as they vigorously pressed buttons on the controller. In his typical "Lance-like" manner, he simply shrugged it off with a shake of his head and rolled his eyes.

"What the fuck crawled up your ass and died?" he asked offhandedly as he continued to focus on what was happening on the television. It was as if I wasn't even sitting there.

This was his approach to everything. Nothing mattered. Nothing bothered him. He was impervious to life's hiccups.

I could practically feel my blood reaching the boiling point. When it did, something came over me that I can't explain. It was a sudden, uncontrollable urge to lash out. I just wanted something, or someone, to feel what I was feeling.

What was I feeling? Anger. Lots of white-hot anger.

Unfortunately, Lance was the only target in range. So without warning, I leaped from my chair and snatched the controller from his hand. Before I even knew what I was doing, it was sailing across the room and into the kitchen. As it slammed against the wall, it shattered into nearly a dozen pieces and rained onto the floor.

"WHAT THE FUCK, ART?" he yelled out in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"YOU! You're what's wrong with me!" I yelled back as I poked him in the chest.

"If you have a problem with me, feel free to leave, asshole! This is MY apartment. Take your fat ass home to your wife!"

My brain snapped. That's the only way I can describe it. With an animalistic growl, I rushed at him.

Lance and I got into it all the time. It was unavoidable to fight with a guy that you shared a room with for the first half of your life. So, me attacking him wasn't completely out of the norm.

Unfortunately for me, Lance had always been bigger, stronger, and faster. Despite being my "twin" brother, he was taller than me by about 4 inches. That was why he played football and I didn't. Because of the disparity in our physical makeup, he always got the better of me.

This time was no different. I was thrown to the floor with nearly no effort on his part.

Common sense should have told me to calm down and get a grip on myself. It should have at least reminded me that I was fighting a person who wasn't even the root cause of my anger. But who has common sense when they have a belly full of white hot rage? Rage leads to destructive courage, which leads to a "David and Goliath" optimism that rational people don't have. All I knew was that something had to feel pain. Right now.

In my ardent anger, I leapt up and attacked again. This time, I went for broke and tried to punch him. He fluently leaned back, causing me to miss my mark in a big way.

The last thing I remembered was his fist slamming into me, and the stars that followed.

**********************

"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with him. He came over here with a shitty attitude, like he always does. Then, outta nowhere, he just snapped and charged me like a bull!"

That's what the voice in the background was saying when I came to. It sounded like Lance, but it was distorted. As I dazedly opened my eyes, the throbbing in my head made me groan.

Memory flooded back to me. I remembered my brother cold cocking me, and sending me hurling through space. As I gingerly sat up, I saw that I was stretched out on the couch. He must have put me here, because when he hit me I was on the other side of the room. No doubt I hit the floor.

The voice interrupted my thoughts. It was definitely Lance, and it sounded clearer this time. "No, no no. You don't understand. I know we always fight, but this was different. This time, he actually swung at me. I mean, he actually tried to hit me." I turned slowly to see him in the kitchen on his cell phone. While he talked, he was reaching into the freezer and digging something out. When he finally turned to me and saw that I was awake, he scowled. Then he smirked and said into the mouthpiece, "What do you think I did? I knocked his fat ass out. Now come get your husband before I have to kill him."

With that he hung up the phone laid it on the kitchen counter. Then he walked over to living room area and handed me a rag with ice in it.

"You done acting like a fucking retard?"

"Why did you call Paige?" I asked groggily, ignoring his rhetorical question.

"Because she's your wife, dumbass. You're her problem."

I shook my head and placed the homemade icepack against it. "Call her back. Tell her I left. Tell her I died. I don't care. I'll get outta your hair, but I can't talk to her right now."

His face turned into one of concern. "What the hell is going on with you, Art? You come over here and you take a swing at me? AT ME? What the fuck?"

"Like you care."

"Whatever." He said with a dismissive scoff. "You came over here and jumped on me. Your problem is now my problem. So, either you tell me what's going on or go home and deal with it."

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I did owe him an explanation for my odd behavior. So the next 5 minutes was filled with me explaining the turn of events. I told him how sick I was feeling after eating a questionable meal from Burger King. The end result was "explosive" (if you know what I mean). Everything that I had to do at work could have been accomplished from my home computer, so I went home.

But, as fate would have it, that bubbly stomach turned into a life altering discovery about the fate of my marriage. I didn't expect Paige to be home. She worked during the day, and spent her lunch hour at the gym.

Or so I thought.

When I pulled up to my house, there was a strange car parked along the curb. This didn't set off any warning bells because we've had people park in front of our house to visit our next-door neighbors. Since I didn't see Paige's car, I didn't associate this with her.

I was also a little too preoccupied to care about some random car. My mission was to make it to the bathroom as quickly as humanly possible. So, I simply swing into my driveway without giving it a second thought.

As I walked into the house, I felt my meal trying to escape me. I rushed to the bathroom to avoid making a mess in my pants. When I burst through the door, I found two very surprised lovers.

Needless to say, I no longer had to shit. But that feeling in my stomach was no less explosive.

That scene would have been funny if it wasn't so tragic. I half expected Lance to laugh at me as I retold my horrific afternoon. But he didn't. He grew more and more pensive as the story came out. When I was done, he just shook his head and growled. Then, with pursed lips he angrily yelled out, "Fucking bitch! That stupid...fucking bitch! Fuck her!"

I chuckled inappropriately and joked, "Funny thing...that's exactly what that guy was doing."

He ignored it. Instead, he paced around in anger. "Who is the mother fucker? Is it someone we know?" Then he stopped pacing and looked at me with as if something occurred to him. "Goddammit, Art. Tell me it's not Brian. That snake has always had his eye on Paige!"

"No, it's not Brian. You remember what the last guy did to him for fucking his wife. I don't think he'll be messing with any married women for a while. I don't know who this guy is. He looks familiar, but I can't place his face."

Truth be told, this bro moment was exactly what I needed. Sometimes, you just need someone on your side. You need an ally to hate who you hate, and be angry just because you are. No words of wisdom; no pretentious platitudes. Just an ear to hear, and a heart to feel. Lance and I rarely saw eye to eye; but at the end of the day, we were still twin brothers. We were allowed to fuck with each other. That was our right. But if anyone else tried it...

A knock at the door jarred us. We gave each other a knowing look as he got up to answer it. I could hear Paige's voice on the other side asking about me.

"He left." Lance said abruptly in a rude, deadpanned voice.

After a pause, Paige said, "But...you called me and told me..."

"He left." Lance repeated, cutting her off. His voice was bland and flat, but it was brimming with disgust. As she stood there speechless, he ended the conversation with a pointed "Bye Paige" before slamming the door in her face.

When he came back and sat down in his chair, I gave him a small smile of gratitude. He nodded slightly to acknowledge it, grabbed another controller from his entertainment center, and continued to play his game. Nothing else was said as we sat there like that for the rest of the afternoon.

***

Later in the evening, it became apparent that I couldn't avoid Paige forever. At some point, I had to confront what was going on. My procrastination in doing so was an odd way of me holding on to the last vestibules of my life. Once I went home, the demise of my marriage would be real. Questions would be asked, answers would be given, and decisions would be made. Naturally, a fair amount of swearing, yelling, and name calling would be sprinkled in for good measure. You can't really have betrayal without the emotional outbursts that accompany it, can you?

After hours of silently watching Lance play games, I told him that I was heading out. As I got up to leave, he walked me to the door.

"You good?" he asked with a worried expression.

"Not really. But I'm not gonna do anything stupid." I answered truthfully.

He nodded and grabbed me in a quick hug. "Good luck bro." he said as he opened the door to let me out.

I drove home in depressing silence. The only sounds heard were those of passing cars and my own thoughts betraying me.

How could she do this to me? Why would she?

Those were the questions that every other thought revolved around. My brain tried to rationalize things. It struggled to come up with an answer. When it did arrive at one, I dismissed it and looked for another. The reality of knowing that she just didn't love me was too painful to bear.

I finally arrived home and parked in my driveway next to Paige's Nissan Maxima. The strange car that was in front of my house was gone. Everything looked so normal; so much so that I could've almost fooled myself into thinking it was all a dream.

But it wasn't. It was real. My mind replayed the entire afternoon frame by frame. Her wet body knelt in deference to him, his protruding erection jut in front of him, the water streaming down their naked bodies, the look of pure bliss on the asshole's face as he got his dick sucked with forbidden lips; I was assaulted with all of it.

However, the vision that stuck wasn't the live action Skinemax movie that played out in my bathroom. It was the one outside. Paige's lackluster pleas for me to come into the house and the apathetic attempt to console me told a story of a problem that I'd overlooked. Maybe it wasn't really apathy; that could have just been how it appeared to me. But there was a definite lack of hysteria. When a person is facing the loss of something that is precious to them, they get a bit hysteric. Their pleas have a desperation to them. Paige sounded like she was trying to convince me to let her mother stay for the weekend rather than begging me to forgive her.

Wasn't I even worth that? A desperate plea for forgiveness?

I looked up and saw a silhouette in the window looking out at me. It was too tall to be our son or daughter (Josh and Allie, who coincidently were twins because Paige also carried the twin gene). I knew it had to be Paige. At least, I hoped it was. Could just as well have been another lover.

Okay. Maybe that was petty.

I sighed, opened the door, and stepped out of the car. With labored steps, I trudged towards the house and finally made my way onto the porch. I looked towards the window that held the silhouette and confirmed that it was Paige's. We locked eyes for a moment before I turned the knob and walked in.