There was no threat of the sky being deprived of the ominous clouds circling above. In and out of rainfall for 17 relentless days, the atmosphere was filled with the constant cycle of a depressing drizzle. Even when the raindrops ceased, the leaves of the trees cried down tears onto the concrete, never allowing the dampness to escape. The repetitive walk from the supermarket to home on the faithful moist ground was miserable and dreary. Walking in complete and utter isolation with daily groceries, as the highlight, was the epitome of my life. I had no joy. I had no love. And I had no hope.

Lifting my beige Dock Martin boot off the shady curb, I purposely stepped in a puddle 3 inches deep. Wondering how soaked my unchanged socks were, I looked down and saw dirt stains on the leather, with a hint of my blue jeans touched to the water. As a murky mirror, the puddle unleashed the image of my uncoordinated outfit: the faded jeans, the lackadaisical tawny button-up shirt covering a white Hanes under-T. Worst of all the reflection revealed the long and wavy hair that barely matched my belt; the awful color of brown. What is brown? It is more of an inconvenience than a color. It was merely nothing, but ugly. Then again, what did it matter? It only covered up my hideous face. The face that I kept tilted forward and down, on my journeys with my groceries. The face that I always kept leaning down and forward was the epitome of my life.

I sauntered on with my eyes glued to my now wet boots. Why did they have to be wet? Why didnÕt I step away from the puddle? Why did I have to look the way I did? All of these questions ran through my mind. I should have been unaffected by them. These kinds of self-assaulting questions and derogatory comments were, again, the epitome of my life. This destruction ruined any possibility of confidence. Though, I never blame myself, itÕs not my fault. ItÕs not my fault that IÕm labeled a cripple. ItÕs not my fault some idiot dropped a steal beam on my knee. ItÕs not my fault that I have to live off of disability checks from month to month. ItÕs just the facts of my life.

My eyes became bored of the grubby look of my shoes and wandered to what littered the ground. A twisted metal paper clip, an unlucky penny, and a brown, chewed on pencil all lined the path through the trees to my house. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary I kept walking. A box of oatmeal fell out of my grocery bag. I stopped to pick it up and dry it off on my dirty blue jeans. I saw another pencil on the ground, the same color also with chew marks. Did the office Depot man run through here? As I was nearing my house I wondered what I would do. Every day for the last 7 years has been nothing but dull. The same thing, once I got back from getting my groceries I would sit around and wonder what to do next. Today is no different. I sat down underneath the large oak tree. Yet another pencil was stuck intertwined in some roots of some weeds. I picked it up and started to doodle on the back of the T.V. dinner box for tonight.

My previous thoughts trickled into my thick head. I wish I were handsome. I wish I had short, soft hair that didnÕt have to cover this hideous face. I wish my face had defined features with a normal sized nose that was symmetrical. I wish my complexion were even and tan. I mindlessly started to draw what I should have looked like. My eyes were masculine with a few wrinkles to be realistic, my nose had looked as if it were that of a twenty-year-old, not for a man of fifty (why not? IÕm dreaming.) My ears and jaw were perfectly defined the way God should have made them. My hair was light blonde with wisps of gray around the temples to give an educated and wise appearance.

A crow landed on a branch above my head and called to wake me up. I snapped back to reality and walked into my house. The two-room, one bathroom complex carried an overwhelming odor of dust from a musty house that hadnÕt been cleaned for years. The only mirror in the house was shattered and still hanging partially across the wall of the entryway. I walked past it quickly to make sure that I didnÕt have to see even an inch of this grotesque image that is called my countenance.

I couldnÕt walk quickly enough. In the corner of my eye I saw something in that mirror. What I saw wasnÕt me though. I stopped to correct the glitch my eye had caught. The image was stubborn. I saw a man with short blonde hair. I looked around the room, and no one else was there. I looked back into the mirror and saw a handsome man. I touched my face and the hands of the mirror image touched his face. I fell backwards. This must be a joke; someone has done something to the mirror. It must be wrong because it is broken. IÕm tired, thatÕs it. I will go to sleep and I will be the same pathetic man I was yesterday. Not that I didnÕt wish it wasnÕt a joke. I have gotten used to this look and I know that my doodle wonÕt change it. I took off my jacket and threw it next to the coat rack. The pencil fell out near the entrance to my room. I stumbled past and landed in my bed to will myself to sleep and to forget about this nonsense of changing my face. From dusk till dawn, I dreamed aimlessly about the questionable phenomenon that just occurred in my epitome of a life.

As I climbed out of bed I warned myself to forget that image I had seen the night before. I couldnÕt resist plucking a large shard of the broken glass from the frame to see if it might, on the outskirts of possibility, reveal this delusion of reality. I slowly lifted my head, while changing the angle of the mirror ever so carefully to be sure that I wouldnÕt change what could be. I could see the reflection, first, of the ceiling, then the single burned out light bulb that hung from an electrical cord above my head. I began to sweat as I discovered that this could change the very core of my life. A dog barked in the distance. Do dogs care about their appearance? No, they only care about sleep. When I thought of this I suddenly felt the way I would if I were on the outside of my life looking in. ŌLook at this man.Ķ I mocked myself ŌSee how he thinks he can draw himself into a changed, wise looking gentleman.Ķ I tossed down the mirror and walked grabbed my wallet and hurried to the store. As I continued to the store my determination slowly built higher and I began to run. In my blurred vision I stumbled over a homeless man who softly cried out in pain. I didnÕt care. I ran on.

ŌGood day sir.Ķ A familiar young clerk cheerfully called. ŌHow may I help you today? I donÕt believe IÕve seen you before is there something I could find for you?Ķ I stared at him in disbelief. Is he kidding? IÕve seen him everyday for the past seven years and he has never said a word to me. Why start now? And for that matter why ask if IÕm new? I just walked by him. ŌSir!Ķ He hollered out to me. I walked past the fruit section, past the dairy shelf and into the bathroom. I made no hesitation to look in the mirror.

What I saw was no hallucination; it was no trick of the light. I knew for a fact that what was in that reflection was what was on my face. The perfectly drawn lines were that of my face. I stared. I didnÕt want to tear my eyes from that beautiful dream that was real. My eyes filled with tears and I crouched down, unable to keep my knees from buckling. This is exactly what IÕd always wanted. This is exactly what I have dreamed of. This is exactly what I thought I deserved. Why donÕt I feel that way now? The figure of the homeless man came back into my mind. What did he do to be stuck in that situation? He looked content though, happy enough to greet people. What is my excuse that I have to be the way I am: so self-centered.

I crawled out of the store and stumbled into the road. I walked. I walked. I walked until my feet felt like half the skin was torn off. I found myself alongside one of the major highways. A piece of tire was up ahead. It came closer and closer. I watched it. I watched it go right under my left foot. And I watched my foot turn to the side and my weight shift off that foot. I felt my right knee twist. I saw the path of the cars come closer and closer. I fell into the road and I couldnÕt move. Even if I could, would I? I could hear the truck from around the corner and I was too exhausted to roll out of the way. Or did I just lack the will?