Bare

In a late night introspective mood, I stood in front of my mirror after the shower, smoothing the humidity off the silver glass, and running a hand through wet curls. It was with a sudden widening of eyes I realized  I was admiring my body…. for perhaps the first time ever.

The towel hung limp, forgotten.

There’s something unfathomable, intangible about this whole experience, of shifting into the person I should have been all along. I can’t explain how one day I seem to suddenly catch sight of myself and feel startled into a sense of feeling more “awake”. Suddenly notice the changes that have been creeping to the front, a little at a time, everyday. Such was my midnight mirror-gazing, leaning forward as though to convince my eyes; noticing muscles that have never grown until now, risen like pale hills and valleys on this changeable landscape. I notice veins that stand off from the muscles like rivers, coursing, as though heavy with water after the snow melting from mountaintops. I notice fresh skin, unfreckled, untouched by sun, stretched around my chest muscles and back and belly. A little weight shifted there, a little thinner here. And yet the crooked smile remains, and the quick green eyes I inherited from my mother. I may be a shapeshifter. I may have shed my old skin like a snake growing old, but there are clues of the person I’ve been all along, the person I was, and the person I will become. And the Truth is here, standing, staring at me from the mirror.

His beard is coming in and he wears it scraggly; a proud teenager with an old man’s eyes, his body somewhere inbetween the two. His mouth sometimes forgets how to smile but his ears never stop listening. He’s tired. His heart is heavy in his chest made of lead, feet made of clay, and with a stiffened white hand, he draws the towel over himself like a curtain closing. He lowers his eyes and no longer looks at me; with methodical habit-learned quickness, he shaves, brushes his teeth, and turns out the light.

In the morning, the man in the mirror wakes with a snoring silver cat wrapped over his stomach, the pair looking like a drunken after-party, his naked, muscled leg sticking out from under a patched blue quilt. His face sounds like a velcro fastener on the pillow as he turns his head, and he stops, eyes wide. That’s new. He turns his head again and again, making the scratching sound with the stubble of his own beard, grinning like someone doused with wine, given over to silliness.

The cat wakes grumbling, gold eyes glaring a moment before going back to sleep; she is used to his antics and forgives him.

In these moments, I am laid bare to myself. I spend so much time in my own head, sitting on a therapist’s couch, in a group therapy session, on a friend’s floor, helping a customer at work; so rarely am I truly myself - the boy I was at age 8 who wanted to be an inventor. The young man at age 13 who was reading Shakespeare in his garden to wild rabbits. The college student who listened to classical pieces and grinned with dirt on his face as he shaped clay into bowls and dishes, whirling in his hands on a mud-stained wheel. So rarely am I myself; so busy am I interacting with the world, turning myself into the listening ear strangers need, quickly honing in on what is expected of me in each and every social situation, that I never step out of these roles and say with truth: “Hello, I am Milo.”

And I want that to change. I want to share my Truth with you, if you’ll only listen, if you’ll only let me in, if only I can trust you with this piece that’s been broken so many times before. This Milo is still the 8 year old inventor and he is frightened of this world. Yet he still holds out his hands in greetings, though they tremble.

Hello, I am Milo, and you are my friend.

I am Milo and if you would like, I am going to read you my favorite poem.

I am Milo, and this is a new piece of art I’ve made.

I am Milo and today I have been on T for 10 months.

Hello, I am Milo, and in this rare moment, I don’t care what anyone thinks and I love myself.

Laid bare;

I am left with nothing but affirmations.

And this:

This second in time is a clear piece of glass. Hold it up to your eye, and feel silly and watch the world warble within it. Or let the warm sun come through it and watch the light spread into colors on your floor.

Let his moment split wide open for you.

The man in the mirror smiles at me and he has never done that before.