Mirrors are confusing. Sometimes they show me with spiky red hair and sometimes they show me with short black hair or long blonde hair. I know it’s the mirrors that are fucked up because everyone still recognizes me even if one mirror shows me with a big nose and a scarred face or another with a small nose, thin lips, and a clear face. I think I used to have a job. I was the best lawyer there was or maybe I was the best janitor, I don’t remember, but I must have been the best because I’m so good looking. Or maybe I haven’t started working? Am I even old enough to work?
“Fuck you” I yell at an ambulance that nearly hits me walking on the sidewalk. The stupid bright lights and loud sirens has my head ringing like the bell at last call. Speaking of last call, I’m glad I didn’t drop this bottle of whiskey I stole from that crappy Irish pub. I take a swig as I ask myself, what kind of lame ass bar closes at twelve and how is it three in the morning if it’s only a ten-minute walk back from the bar to my apartment? Doesn’t matter. I have to get home to my wife and kids… or is it my parents… or does my creepy ass live alone? Oh God I hope I don’t live alone. I fucking hate doing laundry.
I get confused for a moment because I hear screaming. I hear things all the time, but I don’t usually hear screaming unless it’s a special occasion. I feel surrounded and alone at the same time. The dark street is both crowded and empty. Images of people keep going in and out all around me. Shit, I can’t find my whiskey.
I find my way home because I’m the smartest guy I know. Ok… it took me forty-five minutes but, you know what, fuck time. Time can be more unreliable than me. What does time know?
Oh, look at me I’m time and I’m so smart because I can keep things in order. Well fuck you time.
Damnit, now I’m confused again. Did I make it home? If I’m at home, why am I lying on the grass in front of 7-eleven? Why is there blood all over the ground? A stop sign has been mowed over and the ambulance is upside down a mere five feet away. I can see the driver he’s strapped into his seat hanging upside down like an idiot. Both of us are covered in blood.
Hold the fucking phone! That asshole has my bottle of whiskey! Looks like the thief drank half the bottle. Motherfucker! I try to get up to kick his ass, but something is holding me in place and I can’t move.
Am I at home or am I lying here broken? Is this my bed or some really comfy grass? I can see the drivers face or am I seeing someone else’s face? Where’s my face? Do I have a face? People are yelling at me and I can’t tell what it is they’re saying. Are they calling me stupid or crazy? There are so many voices. The smell of blood and leather fill my nose. I hear people calling someone’s name, but I can’t remember what mine is. Maybe it’s someone waking me up for school and if I listen I can find out what my name is.
Something tight is squeezing my shoulder and stomach. I can’t breathe. Maybe it’s the blanket that’s covering me in my bed or maybe I broke some ribs or something or maybe it’s this useless seatbelt that didn’t help the driver from getting injured. Am I going to die? I hope I die. It would be such a relief. I miss someone, but I don’t know who it is I miss. I just know I’m missing something I love.
Oh, that’s right. Now I remember, I did have a job. I drove the ambulance and I was the best driver they ever had.