A Matter of Perspective

The below story is fictional and has not been modified in any way through the editorial process. Any similarities with persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The air froze his face while he walked back to his house. He had been in what he considered to be the worst encounter of his life.

-It's not that I don't love you; I just need time to focus on my own life.

Those words were pounding at his head like a heavy hammer, and each time it hit was a painful realization of the truth: His girl had now been demoted to ex-girlfriend.

What is left of me? He thought. As we usually end up becoming this binary consciousness entity whenever a relationship takes us as far as a couple of years, once the second part is gone, we feel not only the cold of the night, but the vulnerability of our situation, that had only been changed in our minds. Broken souls and mirrors can't be repaired, but, we must ask ourselves: Are they really broken? Isn't every piece of that mirror still perfectly reflecting who we are? They talk about a corrupted image of ourselves in that mirror, but I've never seen it.

We feel broken, but we are not, we are the same person, sure, we may not have the same support we used to have, or we can't talk about our feelings and experiences as openly as we used to. Maybe all girls are evil. Maybe all men are mistaken and really don't know how to treat a woman.

All these thoughts came rushing into his head as his conscience and heart fought a battle against each other, one that couldn't be won. When both armies are fighting a war for the wrong reasons, whoever wins, is still mistaken.

He opened the door of his house and experienced something unusual: A cold shiver made itself apparent, starting at the base of his neck, and followed through his elbows, arms, legs, even his ears, covered by his long dark hair.

Wallace then divided himself into three people: The terrified man who wanted to run to his parent's house, the man who needed to pretend everything was alright, and the logical man, who tried to keep the other two in line by giving plausible explanations to the situation.

He walked across the living room, doing so as quickly as he could; the coward man was in control of his limbs at the time. The confident man told the others everything was going to be fine if they turned on the lights, and the logical man began calculating distances, and the probability that the shiver would still exist even if the sun itself suddenly popped up in his hemisphere.

His hands tried to reach the light switch, and were more than successful, Wallace not only hit the switch; he also scratched his hand with the rough but artistic paint job on the walls.

The light switch clicked, but nothing happened, the room stayed as dark as it was before. Wallace stood there, silent. The three men were absorbed by their logical friend, who decided it was best to check the fuse-box. Shivers now gone, he was determined to fix the problem, knowing there was no such thing as monsters, zombies or evil creatures waiting to creep up on him and end his life. He came to this conclusion not by pure logic of course; rather, he convinced himself that when his main focus was to turn the lights on, he was as vulnerable as a sleeping bunny.

Crossing the room, now in a more calmed manner, he walked towards his next objective, which was hidden behind a curtain on the right side of the dining room, north of the living room. As he was walking, he remembered he had left the door open and decided it was best to close it before continuing his task.

Retracing his footsteps towards the door, he noticed the darkness becoming heavier, as if he had been in a room full of light and then the lights had gone off, he stopped and tried to adjust his eyes to the scene once again. The moment he was able to see shapes once more, he resumed his stride towards the front door. He noticed no lights were on outside either and wondered if there was an electrical problem.

Wallace was two feet away from the door when he suddenly heard a voice, as clear as that of a remarkable singer.

-Wallace... -said the voice.

A stronger shiver took over his body as a warm atmosphere was wafting through the air. He froze in his place and only moved when he felt a hand touching his shoulder; much like the gesture a host does to prompt a guest to get across the threshold.

He jumped up and kicked his elbows backwards, in an attempt to release himself from the man standing behind him, but was unsuccessful. He tuned around and gave a sweep with his right hand hoping to grab the intruder. It scared him to only have gotten a handful of air.

-Come on Wallace; join me -the voice said in a whisper.

The man began to walk backwards trying to find the doorknob, and as he did, his panting filled up the silence. He tried to open the door but it was shut as if it had been welded in.

The scared man that was taking over Wallace was overpowered in an instant by the logical man, who was able to articulate a few words before he was brushed aside by his frightened counterpart.

-Wh-Who are you!? -yelled Wallace.

-Join me, I'll explain -said the voice.

Wallace made a super human effort to voice his next question; he noticed the darkness becoming thicker one more time.

-What do you want from me? -a shaky voice was his best effort.

-Sit down, and join me -this time the voice was heard in the smooth tone it had been the first time.

Wallace took ten runner-like steps towards the living room and sat in one of the chairs.

-Ok, that's much better, now Wallace, please relax.

After these words were spoken, a lit candle appeared in the middle of the darkness, illuminating the coffee table, Wallace, a small group of shelves with crystal cups, glasses and jars; and the face of the man in front of him.

-Now, Wallace, if you don't mind, could you pour us some whiskey, I have an important matter to talk to you about.

Not saying a word, Wallace took to short glasses and put them on the table; he then opened a door under the middle shelf and took out a bottle of expensive whiskey. He poured some in both glasses leaving both half full, and then placed the bottle back in its place.

-Thank you - said the man looking at the glass Wallace had positioned in front of him-. Cheers.

Wallace took a sip and rested the glass between his hand and his left leg.

-It's good to see you are more collected. For a second there I thought you were going to lose it.

-You did give me a good scare -Wallace was trying to hide his uncomfortable state.

-Funny isn't it?

-What is?

-Well, when you were coming here you were going off about the heartache Alice had caused you, how bad you felt, how lonely you felt and how much would it hurt to see her with someone else...

-Yes -said Wallace, confused.

-... Then, you enter your home, the lights are off and you jump in to fix the problem, moments later, you detect an intruder, tell me, did you think about Alice when you thought someone had broken into your home?

-No, I...

-Of course you didn't. See, it's like this: Her leaving you could have been a tragic episode of your life that results in you devastating your mere existence by basing it only in memories. Or, it could be an opportunity to do something better for you. There are more important things you could focus on, think about it, there are men who get sick of some unknown disease and instead of seeing it as a horrifying experience; they take on the chance to develop a cure, saving themselves and others. There are others, who get a splinter stuck in one finger and chop off their hand. You have to decide which one you are.

-This isn't anything as dramatic as that, -said Wallace as he noticed the man was not drinking-. You haven't touched your drink.

-I asked if you could pour us some whiskey, not that I was able to drink it.

-Who are you?

-A friend, someone who knows he can help. Tell me; were you really happy with her?

Wallace took a moment to reflect on the question, and flashes of past arguments with Alice filled up his mind.

-No, not really.

-Was she happy with you?

Wallace could not answer this question. He just sat down looking at his drink.

-You see, all our lives we wonder what we want, what we can get from others, but we never stop to think what we can do for them, to make their moments with us more pleasant. You think in terms of what she was not doing, but you forget about what she was doing, and what you ceased to do as a response.

Wallace was speechless, he had never considered this viewpoint, all he ever cared about was to go out, have a good time, feel loved, but he never did anything to make her feel loved, safe, then he noticed how he had been driving her away.

-Now that you know the truth, I want you to do me a favor: I want you to get in your car, and look for the first woman you see. I want you to talk to her and give her my drink. Talk to her, but this time, truly listen, and care, because there's still hope for you.

-How do you know?

-You have a bottle of cheap scotch and you gave me your finest. That's evidence enough. Just don't ever talk about this to anyone, deal?

-Ok, but...

The man blew off the candle and as in a magic act, the lights were on again, and the man was gone. Wallace sat down for a while reflecting.

After a few minutes, he got up, got out of the house and, as he was getting ready to get into his car, a familiar voice called his name.

He turned around and saw Alice's friend, Faith, whom he had relied upon time and time again to give him advice on how to convince Alice to forgive him. She was looking beautiful in her black, buttoned-up coat, grey pants and black heels. Her brunette hair was held in a ponytail.

-I heard about Alice -said Faith with her sweet tone of voice as she got close to him.

-I'll be alright. Do you want to come in for a drink?

They entered Wallace's house as a second couple looked at them from a parked car a block away.

-It seems you won again, Ray -said a blonde woman with short hair, and lips as red as roses.

-Pay up, I told you I could bring those two together.

-How did you do it?

-People ridden with guilt will believe any speech that makes that guilt stronger. They know on a subconscious level they want to feel that way, so they wait for this moment where a breaking point occurs, and, after it happens, they realize what they really wanted in the first place. The hard part was to arrange the blackout.

-How did you convince her?

-It was trickier, I told her that he and his girl were having problems, that they might break up and that he was absolutely fine with it since he had always been in love with someone else.

-Is he?

-Did you see the way he looked at her?

-Fair enough, was that all?

-No, I then told her how I had gone many times to his place and every time there were two glasses of whiskey on the coffee table, one half drunk, and the other, untouched; that I had asked him about it and he said to me he did that every Saturday night, hoping that one woman came to visit one day and drank it with him. That's all she needed to hear.

-That's mean! -said the blonde woman.

-My dear Scarlett, it is simply a matter of perspective.