The Man With Half A Face

The idea that we can escape life without some sort of baggage is absurd. I figure by the time we’re out of our teens, most of us are damaged goods. If we’re good about it, we can hide this from the better part of the population. For me, I try to counteract all the negative with a positive. (Example: I hate firefighters. Worst people on the planet! But… I believe in equal rights.) So that, in the end, hopefully the good outweighs the bad. Where this becomes a problem for most of us, I think, is in relationships. It’s the one place that we have to show someone our true selves.

 It’s as if you have half a face. (For the sake of argument, let’s say it was a freak thresher accident and not some heroic story.) Anyway, you’re walking around with half a face and people only sit on your right side because that’s the good side. Well, no one has an issue because they can only see the intact part of your skull. Then one day, a pretty girl walks up and you start to talk. Well now you have a decision to make. Do you turn and face her full on or just let her see what she wants to see?  What if she asks if you have any experience with threshers? Is it wrong not tell her about the accident?

I guess ultimately we all want someone we can stand in front of and say, “This is me. This is what I have to offer.” There is nothing more frightening and horrific than to lay bare who you are to another human being. It’s not always cathartic and freeing. Pretty much the best you can hope for, other than a polite rejection, is to find someone who will offer a peek inside their own suitcase. Maybe she will look back and say, “I lost my leg to a crocodile.” and then music plays.. and you both run in slow motion on the beach. Well, you do. She kinda hops.