Through the Mirror of my Mind

At times we unknowingly peer into a looking glass and notice not only our past but what quite possibly could have been our future.  “There but for the grace of God go I”, an adage I valiantly cling to and try to live by.  Today, peering beyond the looking glass, my heart awakened itself to the reality of how fortunate a man I am.

    The date is Thursday December 7, 2006. My appointment for a physical is scheduled at 3:00 p.m. Leaving work I realize my time is limited and quite valuable but never the less so too is my health.

 Sitting in the waiting room of the doctor’s office I watch the television as Judge Maria Lopez hands down a verdict in small claims cases written and played out for the general public to view. A crack addict is on the screen suing her landlord because he allegedly destroyed several of her “church” hats.  How ridiculous that I’m wasting my time with this.

    The heavy metal door which guards the examining rooms opens and through it walks a gaunt man.  He seems familiar but I can’t recall from where. It could have been anywhere, around town or perhaps in a bar. I know not his name and it makes no difference for I am looking at a ghost; perhaps the ghost of Christmas past, perhaps the ghost of Christmas future.

He is waiting for the receptionist to return from a brief departure so she can schedule another appointment for him.  My eyes remain fixated on the television screen to my right; I don’t want to look to my left toward the emaciated being. Perhaps I am uncomfortable with facing illness. Perhaps I have simply seen too much of it in my lifetime.  To my horror perhaps I think I am better than the man before me. He begins to speak to anyone who will listen.

“Did she leave?” No one bothered to answer.  I couldn’t remain silent.

“She said to leave your return visit paper on the desk and she’ll call to schedule appointments.”

“I need to check an appointment. I need to come back in twelve days. I just got out of the hospital.” In his voice could be detected a southern drawl, faint but discernible.

I can’t help but notice the missing teeth in his mouth. There are practically none from molar to molar with the exception of one sitting off to the left side of center. That one is, at best, decayed.  His hair lies straggly upon his head, like he’d gone through a round of chemotherapy and lost the majority of it.  From behind his glasses it is evident there’s been a problem with his vision, perhaps he lost the sight in one, the other strains to focus. Still, his features dictate that he must have been good looking before fate intervened.

We are distinctly different and yet one in the same. I sit with my freshly laundered Armani shirt and blue Armani pinstriped pants with their crisp crease.  On my feet are polished Kenneth Cole black shoes.  He is wearing a pair of dated Sergio Valente jeans and a wrinkled baggy shirt.  On his feet are sneakers, worn and tattered.  Yes, we are distinctly different.

“It’s good to be alive,” he says while smiling, the hollowness where teeth should be shining through, “Yes, it’s good to be alive.”

“You bet it is,” I respond while attempting the same verve this man has but failing horribly. Suddenly it no longer bothers me to look this stranger in the face.  He is reaching out, excited to be breathing in life no matter his physical appearance.

“I’ve been HIV positive for over twenty years,” Bingo, I am privy to why he looks so familiar. “I was nearly dead, no T-cells, then came back to life and was in the hospital for a month.  I lost twenty pounds but gained twelve back.” His hand caresses the small protruding belly behind his shirt proudly as if he were rubbing a precious gift.

I couldn’t help but think of all my bitching over the small amount of excess weight located at my waistline and how I frantically exercise to lose it. I think of how desperately I avoid the homemade chocolate chip cookies that are my love and how I berate myself after giving in to them. 

“That’s fantastic,” I say while keeping my gaze focused in his eyes, never looking away. “Are you taking your meds?”  I want him to know someone cares; the rest of the room continues to stare at the television.

“I am, yes I am.”  The receptionist appears, opens her window and interrupts our conversation.  Moments later he is ready to leave.

“I wish you a happy holiday.”  The gaunt shadow of a man speaks through the void of his teeth as he holds out his hand to me.  He is seeking acceptance and friendship; I understand how he feels. I take his hand in mine. It is warm and filled with love.

“Keep up the good work; it’s important that you do.”

His mouth widens happily and I see the beauty in his smile. I can’t remember the last time a smile was so beautiful.  As he walks away my realization becomes apparent-- I am lucky. This was the most powerful moment I’d had in a long time. Still, I know not his name.

I can’t stop thinking of the man who is the shadow of someone I’d once known. In this stranger I saw my past, my late partner, Dean, as he struggled with his disease while becoming skeletal but never losing faith before his defeat. I saw the valiant and brave man who refused to give in to his nemesis.

 In this man I saw the frightening future I thought could be my own as a gay man who’d lived through the early days of infection, a future I fought intently and with determined resolve to never allow.  My own reflection was vastly different yet bore a similarity. 

I am healthy and alive.  Through the looking glass I see the reflection of a life, my life, and the way it might have been.  Through the looking glass I see the good I have achieved, not materially but physically and spiritually; there is a pride and thankfulness for it. 

Yes, Thursday December 7, 2006 was indeed a very special day. At times I lose my spirit and the sense to place in perspective the silliness which sometimes clouds my vision. I worry about choices, silly choices and fret over their outcome. A man whose name I will never know, a better man than I, allowed me to look through the mirror of my mind and see the reflection of the way life used to be, the way life ought to be.  Through the mirror of my mind I see the reflection of a love given to me; the love of life.