"What did you say?" McSexy asks.

"Kazoo-tight," I reply. "I struggled with German pronunciation as a kid. Clearly not born to be a translator."

"I don't know," McSexy playfully argues. "Your unique translation skills have been intriguing with this mirror stuff."

Unique translation skills, I think to myself, silently chuckling at the idea I was a five-year-old master translator bending sound waves so they'd produce a meaningful message in my developing native language. Kazoo-tight.

Bending messages, I ponder. Bending images—reflections—till they make sense in my developing language.

I look down at my hand, fingers moving in an intentional, wave-like manner.

I control how images are bent in my life. My universe.

What happens next, I can't fully explain. One moment my thoughts are fuzzy, then a second later, they're clear—like a lost treasure chest full of immense wealth popping open in my brain.

It's in this moment I realize I'm bending—warping—life itself. Although my outer image may look like me or move like me, it doesn't become me until verified from within me. Verified by feelings of contentment and joy. Verified by reflective proof I'm living with destined purpose. Verified with sounds of peaceful optimism because my inner voice is louder than the outer voices. Anything else is just—

"Imposter syndrome!" I blurt out. "And—and—goggles!"

McSexy rubs his face with his hands and flashes an amused, half grin. "I should probably prescribe something for your Karmapolitan hangover."

Flapping my hands like a featherless bird while bouncing on the hospital table-bed, I exclaim, "I get it! We're surrounded by images—reflections. Law of Mirrors!" I inhale a deep breath, excitement burning up my oxygen supply. "We're seeing ourselves in other people—especially soul mates—because they teach us to become our best selves. To become our destined selves. To see clearer—without goggles!"

"Whoa! Slow down." McSexy waves his hands towards me in a downward motion, like a school crossing guard signaling drivers to reduce their speeds. "Goggles?"

"Mortification goggles. Inferiority goggles. Vanity goggles. Whatev'!" I create circles with my fingers and place them against my face like a pair of chunky eyewear. "We choose the distortions we see the world with." My face lights up as though a bulb has been turned on inside my head. "Or worse! We let others chose the distortions we see our world with."

"I'm not following," McSexy confesses.

"You control your life based on how you choose to perceive it."

"Well, that's obvious."

"No, it's not," I counter. "We're not choosing—you and me. Don't you get it?"

"Apparently not."

"You're not choosing to be who you really want to be. You're an imposter pretending you're not inferior."

"I'm not pretending," McSexy defends. "I don't think—"

"Then why do you think PamPam cheated on you?" I interrupt. "Why do you tense up the moment the surgeon steps in the room?"

McSexy squirms in his chair as though fidgeting for a comfortable position. When he settles into stillness—thumb under his chin and fingers covering his lips—he inquires, "I'm listening."

"The answer is staring us in the face!"

There's a knock at the door and a woman's voice asks, "May I come in?"

"What's staring us in the face?" McSexy whispers.

"What Imma claims we're actually searching for," I whisper back.

"Wait. You mean bun—"

A louder knock raps on the door, interrupting McSexy's thought.

Nodding furiously, I whisper, "Yes."

"May I come in?" the woman's voice asks a second time.

"That makes no sense whatsoever," McSexy unloads in a rushed and barely audible voice.

"Come in!" I shout.

The door slowly creeps open and a head pops around the movable barrier for a peek. "There you are," Bubbles scolds when her eyes fall on Nurse McSexy. "I've been looking for you—everywhere."

Stretching out in his signature seated sexiness, McSexy flashes Bubbles a debonair smile. "I'm taking my break."

Bubbles looks around the room with cartoon-like animation. "In here? With a patient?" Holding a defensive palm up to me, she immediately adds, "Baby, you're wonderful company. It's just unusual, is all. Unusual for medical professionals to—lounge with the patients." Bubbles raises an eyebrow at McSexy.

"She picked up on me and Pam," McSexy explains. "She sensed it—the awkwardness. She knew."

Bubbles's attention snaps back in my direction, throwing shock waves of fear through my body—her eyes sending threats her lips aren't permitted to speak.

I didn't tell him a thing, Bubbles! I swear! I didn't tell him a thing! I'm innocent!

Bubbles nods, her lips pressed together and scrunched to one side of her face. With a fake smile, she redirects her attention back towards McSexy. "Just unusual is all."

"Oh, come on," McSexy counters with a smirk. "You gave her an egg salad sandwich. Don't lecture me on professionalism."

Bubbles's mouth drops open as she quickly shuts the door. "There's nothing unprofessional about feeding a hungry patient," she whispers with a hiss.

McSexy drops his head and looks up at his favorite assistant from an angle. "Nothing like a gossip sandwich to cure the hunger."

Unable to withstand the pressure of being falsely accused as a snitch, I throw my palms up in the air as though standing on a railroad track attempting to stop an oncoming train with my bare hands. Then bursting through a barrier of guilty silence, I spew, "I didn't say a thing! I swear to Ami Srettun on the Home Series, I didn't say a word!"

"She didn't," McSexy confirms. "I just happen to know about your egg salad sandwich code of secrecy."

Bubbles releases a deep exhale, her guilty eyes side glancing her favorite nurse. "You know I adore you. I'm just looking out for you."

"I know." McSexy motions towards the end of the bed. "Sit. We were on the verge of a Pam-Cure before you knocked."

Bubbles climbs on the end of the bed, her curiosity appears peaked given her expression. "Pam-Cure? What are you two kids cookin' up in here?"

"Stuff that'd make my mom proud," McSexy discloses.

With a mouth dropping into a wide-open smile, Bubbles turns to me and says, "His mom. You'd love her. Give that woman a couple Cosmopolitans, and you have a front row seat to an experience you'll be talking about for the rest of your life!"

"No way!" I glance back and forth between Bubbles and McSexy.

"Way," Bubbles affirms.

McSexy lifts his eyebrows and grins. "I'm telling you, she's your twin."

"So what is this Pam-Cure you speak of?" the bubbly assistant asks.

"It's more of an experiment," I confess. "But I'm pretty sure it'll work."

"I'm up for an experiment," McSexy replies, scooting to the edge of his seat. Holding a hand above his head, he adds, "I've had it up to here with the drama around here."

Bubbles clasps her hands, then rubs them together as though attempting to start a fire in her palms. "It goes without saying—I'm down."

Then, with an evil grin, I reveal, "I have a plan."

*****McSEXY BREAK*****

I was right! A plan is brewin'! Although--like my mom used to say, "If you want to hear God laugh, make a plan for your life." Nothing is ever certain, but it sure can't hurt to try something new.

MUSIC: Matchbox Twenty. Bent. Just because you feel bent, it doesn't mean you're broken. You're simply learning the language of mirror distortion.
(*Sometimes I have to be abstractly creative with these song choices to make them work for the chapter--hahaha!)

Your vote is truly McAppreciated. Muah!

MarilynHepburn.com

(This is a second edit chapter)