"My Curse" by Danny Staten

“It’s time to wake up.” My mother gently shakes my shoulder. “You’ll be late for school if you don’t get up.” The blur of grogginess slowly recedes. I never flinch or draw back in fear at what I see. It has always been that way. Life is never as my eyes see it. The burned flesh on my mother’s hand strokes my hair. The raw crimson of burnt flesh stretches from her cheek down her body. As she turnes to leave the room, I see her beautiful face in the mirror; healthy skin, long flowing hair. The photo of the family I keep on the dresser doesn’t show my mother’s burns, nor my gunshot wound. Photos and mirrors are reality to me. I have never told anybody. I don’t want them to ask me. I don’t want to have to tell my mother that she will die in a fire, nor my father that he will die of cancer. The visible tumors and lumps greet me every morning. The lucky ones only have pale faces and blood-shot eyes.

I had a cousin I never saw except in photos and mirrors. When they showed me his photo in a Marine’s uniform I understood. His chopper was shot down. They never even found his dog tags. I wince every time my mother lights a candle, or my father pulls out a cigarette. I can’t even look at guns, not even the toy ones.

I think it would be best if I never meet you face to face. It is easier for us both.