Blog 275 ~Vanity

Ever since I started this blog I knew it was meant to be a temporary thing, and I tried to anticipate how long I would maintain it over the years. I originally planned to bail out at blog post number 238 because when I was a child I decided that was my lucky number. Obviously I overshot that by a few dozen.

I'd all but abandoned it a few years ago, between burnout and the nuisance realization that nothing I publish here can be resold elsewhere it kind of stopped making sense to keep pouring my creative energy into it. But at the same time, I've become aware that I'm a hop, skip, slip, fall, get back up, and jump away from 300 and there's a handful of loose ends that I feel compelled to finish out (including the Wax Buzzard Files of earlier this week).

So perhaps in 2025 I'll be churning out another 25 blog posts, finishing up a couple of things in my drafts folder and giving my brain something else to think about besides The Carousel (which I've been semi-diligent in pressing forth on). As such, here's a little bit of vanity, called "Vanity", left over from Short Story Week 2019 when I had to accept that my depression was just too heavy to keep doing Short Story Weeks. It's a silly little piece involving a conversation between two mirrors in a dressing room.

Vanity

She's early.

    What do you mean?

It's 6:25. She always gets here at 6:30.

    It's 6:35.

Wait, did they move the clock?

    This morning, yeah.

How'd I miss that?

    It was during the vending machine restock.

Oh, no wonder.

    They refill the RC?

I don't think so. They might be switching to Sunkist.

    That will be nice. I like orange.

How do you...nobody likes orange.

    Singers do. Less caffeine. They'll be doing at least one musical this season.

That's true. I really hope it's a big cast.

    Me too. This one woman show is so boring.

It's doing well.

    How well?

Well enough.

    Extension well?

No. Just...people enjoy it.

    Oh good. I'm so sick of looking at the back of her head.

You're not missing anything. She has a routine.

    Makeup's gotten so complicated.

I miss the Teen Theater. Boys having to put on mascara for the first time...

    Remember that one kid?

Oh, Jerry, Gerald, Something like that.

    Managed to poke both his eyes with the brush!

That was hilarious!

    Yeah. Good times.

Why do you think she was late?

    I don't know. Traffic?

You really think it's just traffic?

    It was five minutes. Does she look like she's been crying or anything?

No.

    Then it's traffic.

*sigh* Nothing happens around here.

    At least you can see the vending machine.

And a little bit of the hall light that keeps flickering.

    Now you're rubbing it in.

You know what I wish?

    That she'd leave a magazine on the table?

That she'd take a moment to appreciate what she has in front of her.

    A makeup kit and a Styrofoam mannequin head?

You know what I mean.

    I really don't.

Two reflections.

    So?

On opposite sides. One in front. One behind.

    I'm still not following you.

I'm talking about infinity.

    What about it?

Two reflective surfaces facing each other. You can get a glimpse of what infinity-

    No, I've got that. What appreciation are you hoping from her?

I don't know. It's fun. How often do you get to peer into infinity?

    Constantly.

Not you. Them. Do they imagine that there might be a whole other world inside the glass?

    Yeah, when they're four.

Really? You don't think it occurs to any of them once they grow up?

    I'm sure it does but it doesn't matter.

How could something like infinity not matter?

    Infinity is all over the place. There are an infinite number of points between the door and the chair. Everyone is in and out of infinity all of the time. It's really not that big of a deal.

Well, I think it is. I think infinity is amazing.

    I'm sure it is. For about six seconds. But then it's back to actual variables with actual influence.

.............

    What is it?

Nothing.

    Come on. What are you thinking?

You just made me feel really unimportant. You know that?

    Why?

I feel like I'm not good for anything.

    What on earth are you talking about?

At the end of the day, what impact do I really have?

    You reflect what's in front of you. It's not that complicated.

To what end?

    The end of time, the rate we're going.

Nobody really LOOKS at themselves. Not as they are.

    What is it you think they're seeing?

I don't know. Not who they are. Who they want to be. Who they can make themselves appear to be.

    So, what? You want her to take all the makeup off and just stare at herself?

All we do is reflect. On them. Why can't they ever do us the courtesy?

    To reflect on themselves, or you?

On me? Why would I want that?

    You tell me. I'm just a mirror.

Well what do you think I am?

    The question is what do YOU think you are?

I think I'm bored!

    Oh.

I am SO UTTERLY BORED! I am so bored watching her do the same makeup routine every night! And when she's not here, all I do is stare at you staring at me! The highlight of my whole existence is watching the drink machine get restocked! And it would be really nice if just once would step between us and think "Hey that's pretty cool! I can see myself an infinite number of times".

    And you think that one moment will be enough to satisfy the boredom?

It would be something, wouldn't it?

    Sure. For a moment. But then what?

Back to boredom I imagine.

    Yeah, pretty much. It's our lot.

Still, I guess it could be worse.

    How so?

She could be a vampire.

    What would be worse about that?

Then we wouldn't see her.

    Oh, I never thought of that.

Yeah. It's why the mirrors in Dracula's castle are always cracked. They just couldn't take it anymore.

    Well, it's destiny isn't it?

.............

    .............

Do you want to break?

    Right now?

Yeah. Both of us.

    What for?

It's going to happen anyway.

    You can't possibly be that bored.

Think about it. We would scare the hell out of her.

    She'd probably think the dressing room is haunted.

Exactly! Do you know how fast she'd hightail it out of here?

    It would probably shut down the show tonight.

And it would be worth it!

    You kind of have a point.

So what do you say?

    You're not going to leave me hanging are you?

Hanging?

    Like, we count down and I break and you don't.

No. I'll go first. I think it will be way cooler if it goes smash-beat-smash.

    You're serious about this?

Just watch me. I go, you go.

    Okay, if you're this determined.

All right! Count me down!

    From what?

Three.

    Why three?

Just do it!

    Okay, here we go-

".gniyas era syug ouy gnihtyreve raeh nac I"

.............

    .............

Sorry miss.

The Wax Buzzard Files: Chapter Seven -The Missing Chapter

If you're coming straight to this chapter you are going to be SOOO lost. Why not start at the beginning like a reasonable human being and not a literary miscreant?

Everyone is the hero of their own story. Implicitly we're also supporting players in the stories of the people around us; as well as background extras for countless others, which I don't count (I tried once, but I succeeded and never had to try again).

This time I was an innocent bystander. Most bystanders are guilty of standing by, but I was sitting. And that's when I found a cellphone in the cab. I wasn't looking for it; meaning the cellphone, not the cab. Well I wasn't looking for the cab either because I already knew it was there; I'd found it earlier.

The cellphone was a surprise; I jumped when I saw it. The driver asked me if I had a problem. "Not on me," I said, "Just this cellphone."

"Let me see that," he said, so I let him, and he saw it. He wasn't as surprised as I was so he didn't jump quite as much. He'd seen it before. "I've seen it before," he said.

"Former passenger of yours," I said.

"You might say that."

I did say that. Somehow I'd gotten ahead of him. I crawled back into the passenger seat and waited for him to tell the whole sad story of the love of his life who got away, which he never did because it was too sad. So I told the story and we had a good cry.

"Why didn't you tell her how you felt?"

"She was a dermatologist," he said. "What could I tell her that she hadn't already read in dozens of textbooks?"

"Look at me," I said. And he did. And we drove off the road. "She left her phone here for a reason. Probably because she forgot it, but if I know anything about love, I'm not telling you. You have to seize the day, even if it's at night."

"So I should go to her right now?"

"Absolutely! That's a lot better than what I was going to suggest."

He took his advice and dove out of the cab. I tossed the cellphone at him just as it started ringing. That would have been a close call.

I never found out how things worked out; the last I heard from him he said 'Ow!' when the cellphone hit him. But now that I was alone in a driver-less cab it gave me a little time to think about how I was going to survive the collision with the tree up ahead.

But I'm not here to tell you about that; I'm elsewhere relaying the information to other people, sorry you missed it, it's a great story, but to repeat one's self is to diminish the value of communication, that's what I always say.

Besides, my mind was wandering, and for the sake of avoiding an out of body experience I had to go with it. Something kept gnawing at me. I thought it was a badger but my friend the zoologist suggested it was guilt. Guilt; I hadn't seen it before. In my defense I didn't know what guilt looked like the first time I saw it, but now it was staring me in the face (and I still say it resembles a badger).

I was grateful to my friend the zoologist for his suggestion, and for driving out to the middle of nowhere to offer it to me. I should learn his name. Also that he could give me a ride the rest of the way to the hospital in his car, which coincidentally looked like a cab. Come to think of it, both my friend and the former cab driver could have been twins; fraternal at best with a several year age difference but possibilities are endless. The point is, I found myself with the same exact precise pinpointed level of determination I'd had when I first got into the previous vehicle. And I don't have to tell you what that means, so I'm not going to.