Pieces

Strange. They act the same, yet seem completely different.

My mother, father and brother race to welcome me home. Smiling, laughing. The faces, expressions and mannerisms, exactly as I remember.

I find myself smiling along with them, laughing and hugging and putting on an act of my old self. They seem to buy it.

“What was it like?” My dad asks, when we’re all seated in the living room.

“Did you shoot the bad-guys?” Says my little brother.

“Yeah, sure did,” I find myself saying. We do a fist-pump, like always.

My mother seems a bit more concerned. “Were you ever in danger?”

“Nah,” I lie, as an explosion flashes through my mind, partner blown to pieces. “All the major fighting was over when I got there.”

I’ve lost track of how many I’ve killed.

“Good,” she sighs. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Everything back to normal.”

They smile and hug me.

Later, night terrors wake me up at two a.m. in a cold sweat. I bolt up silently in bed, mind screaming.

Don’t make a sound. I don’t want them to know.

Instead, I get up and pad over to my mirror. Look at the person staring back at me.

Same hair. Same face. Same everything.

But that person looks like a stranger to me, now.

How can I feel so different on the inside, but still look the same outside?

Do I even see it in my eyes?

Yes. That is the one place I see it. Cold and dead. The life drained out of them.

I’m the same, but different.

A familiar stranger.

I’ve lost myself, even though he is standing right in front of me.

***

You won!

I remember that day so well.

Free plastic surgery. Transform your body!

Lose the overly large nose? The too wide hips? The flabby arms? Who would say no?

“You look amazing!” my friend said, the first time she saw me. “I can’t believe it. You look like a different person. I didn’t even recognize you!”

“I know, right!” I said, and we high-fived each other just like always.

But now, on our first shopping trip in my new body, something seems different.

“How does it look?” I ask her, spinning around in a perfectly-fitted dress.

“Fine,” she grumbles, and stomps off to look at shoes.

What did I say?

“What’s wrong?” I ask her, as we walk out the shop, me in my new dress.

“Heyyy, can I get your number?” A man calls out to me.

I pause, stunned. No guy has ever done that to me.

“Keep walking,” my friend says, pulling me along. “Guys like that aren’t worth it.”

Still, I couldn’t help but be stupidly flattered.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” my friend says, as we continue walking and I try not to look back. “You just seem…different.”

“But, I’m the same as I always was.” We’d been laughing together, telling the same stupid, tired jokes.

“I know,” she says. “But it still feels like I’m walking with a stranger.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. Was my friend really that…. shallow?

Our epic shopping trip is cut short and I end up going home early.

Alone, I examine myself in my new dress, spinning in front the mirror in my room.

And I notice how generic I look. The textbook definition of beauty; perfect symmetry, smooth, unblemished skin, small, non-descript nose, high cheekbones. Nothing unique or intriguing.

Completely contrary to my personality.

How can I look so different on the outside, but still feel the same inside?

I’m like a life-sized doll.

No wonder my friend was turned off.

I’m the same, but different.

A familiar stranger.

I’ve lost myself, even though she is standing right in front of me.