Man to Man
My subconscious recently approached my conscious mind about ‘The state of bodily affairs’ in its universe. My conscious mind enquired about what exactly it was referring too. My subconscious interjected an image of an overweight slob, lying haphazardly across a worn couch overrun with spent candy bar wrappers and empty potato chip bags. My conscious mind overlaid an image of a smiling Adonis-like warrior. Puck-weathered armour shining in the winter sun, sweat-soaked face smiling through proudly displayed chipped teeth as he leans calmly upon his wooden weapon.
The sound of laughter rising sarcastically from the background has me looking behind me, before euphorically reaching for the virtual throat floating before my hands in my subconscious. As ethereal wisps slip between my fingers the fog clears from in front of the mirror-like surface in front of me. My heart stops momentarily as the truth smiles back at me, attempting to allay my dismay with self-delusion. “He’s right I look like my father.”
The feeling of desperation welling up inside of me threatened to run and hide by its best friend the refrigerator at first. But determination picked me up by the shirt collar so that insecurity could kick me in the rear. Dad died at fifty-one, eight years older than my current age. Maybe it’s not to late. Maybe I can throw these chains of habit I seem to have unconsciously inherited without noticing.
The reality of my situation singed the fringes of my consciousness to action. A plan began forming in my mind as the picture of Adonis once again filled my screen. My subconscious began filling my senses with the feel of the wood in my hands as I lay it flat on the ice to receive a pass. The effortless feel of the bat meeting ball, the taste of dust flooding my consciousness as I roll my tongue across my lips.
The sound of a door closing, pumps adrenalin directly into corroded arteries. As I realise I can hear the dirty dishes complaining about their working conditions from the kitchen sink. The laundry hamper parades an “On Strike” sign in front of my face in the form of the excess laundry unceremoniously thrown about the floor. And the clock begins chiming the first of four bells informing me of the kid’s eminent arrival in expectation of dinner. Ready or not!
That’s it, I will show my wife that I’m still the man she fell in love with, my kids that they should treat me with respect and admiration, and the dog that I can do more than eat everything I see.
The chuckling rising from the back of my mind intensifies slightly, “You might want to get off the couch first Adonis.” As I roll over the cracking of chips and the tinkling of a tin can rolling on the ground follow the sound of crinkling plastic in a chorus. The source of the chuckling is nowhere in sight as I rise to my feet and stretch my arms into the air as I realise. “No time to remake my life today, I’ll get started on it first thing in the morning.” As the energy leaves me I sit down on the couch, then lie down on my side, and reach for the controller for my Xbox 360. “Tomorrow, yes tomorrow.”
