Who?

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Something has gone terribly wrong.

It might be due to the drinking water or shifting geological plates. Maybe it's global warming. Maybe it's something far more ethereal. Something supernatural. I don't know what the causation is, but I know that something has gone wrong in a major way and I know it can't be reversed. When I look in the mirror I see a man. A man who is not me. Where am I? What did they do with me? And who is this other weird looking guy who has taken my place?

I think of the movie "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" where aliens from outer space took over the bodies of earthlings. Could the strange guy in the mirror be an extraterrestrial who has taken over my face?

Rod Serling has been dead since 1975 so I know this isn't a new Twilight Zone episode. An yet the words he spoke at the start of each program keep repeating in my head. "There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge."

Yes, there is another dimension at work here. How else to explain the strange face in the looking glass that glowers out at me? That face, it mocks me. Even as there is a slight familiarity in its features, there is a strange, alien quality that overwhelms me and scares me. I don't know this face.

Moreover, I don't want to know this face. And yet, the face taunts me, drawing me closer to it, daring me to turn away. "Look at me," it demands.

The stranger's forehead is abnormally high. When the forehead reaches the top of the scull, we finally get to what is left of the hair and it is thin on top. The color is nondescript. The face's eyes are sunken in and have dark droopy bags under them. They seem tired, sad. The eyebrows are comprised of long unmanageable hair that have a tendency to stick up.

The skin is loose and wrinkled. Under the chin there hangs what is commonly referred to as a "turkey neck" but unlike anything an actual turkey might have possessed. Any self-respecting turkey would have had cosmetic work done. The ears, it seems, have acquired some of the missing hair from the head. The problem with ear hair is that there is not enough hair to groom, and since they don't make ear hair styling gel, all one can do is pluck.

In the final analysis, I have no choice but to confront the image staring at me. I must address this face every single day. I am forced to wash it, shave it, brush its teeth, and tend to its needs in many other respects. I am its caretaker.

There was a time when I was caretaker to another face, a face that has long ago departed. It was a different face entirely from this one. A face not frightening at all. A face with promise and enthusiasm in it. A face without lines, without droopy skin. A face which contained many dreams and hopes. A face not nearly so tired looking. Now that was a face I actually looked forward to seeing in my looking glass each morning. I wonder whatever happened to that face?

In less than two weeks I will be three quarters of a century old. And I will continue to tend to this face, the face that time has given me. It may not be the face I remember so fondly when it was fresh and tight, but it is the one I have charge of now, and I will do what I can to keep it clean and shaven. I must do my best to take good care of it and appreciate it. After all, who knows what face I will asked to care for in the future?

(COMMENT, BELOW)