Bathroom Monologue: Narcissism

A vain gift, but a necessary one. The man was impossible to shop for. He ignored cash and gift cards. He shrugged off any clothes, preferring to strut around nude (not that he didn’t have the body for it, but it was annoying). One Valentine’s Day she’d tried to make herself a gift to him. He dropped her after thirty seconds and went to the lake on his own. He was always going to the damned lake on his own.

She had tenacity. This year she wrote everyone who’d ever known him. His parents. His teachers from the school days. Friends for whom he might have done an idle drawing or holiday note. She compiled hundreds of his scribbles, contracts, waivers, medical records – anything with so much as his own signature. Then she had it bound and ordered two reflective mirrors for the front and rear covers. For all intents, it was a holistic autobiography, dedicated to and composed entirely by the man himself. She bet Narcissus wouldn’t throw this one away.