I couldn’t call it a super power, but throughout my childhood I discovered that I could change my mood and that of others at will. I couldn’t change it to any other state: I could only make them smile, which was enough.
So, I grew up, making everyone around me laugh, always the clown, the comedian. It was a satisfactory Exchange: I only showed what others wanted to see and, in return, they accepted me. The other parts of me were locked behind the jokes. Because nobody wanted to see me cry or rage, it wasn’t part of the act.
Then I discovered another power: I could vent my "darkest" side through jokes, thrown like arrows towards an open wound, and everyone laughed, even the attacked person, although there was a bitter taste between the teeth, a taste of iron or moss. This way, sadness, fear and anger were satisfied for a time, like the minotaur receiving his sacrifice of young virgins. Then another emotion would appear, and new arrows were fired at those around me.
There came a time when all my jokes were loaded with poison, and the laughter would come back with pain. That's how the exchange lost its charm, and I found my shadow.
One night the light went off at home: I had no audience and no distractions. I reheated some pasta in the stove and sat down under the light of a candle. At some point I turned to get water from the refrigerator and thats when it appeared in front of me. The shadow vibrated without a fixed rhythm, as if stirred or relaxed by spasms.
-Who's there? -I asked.
The answer came out loud, and at the same time, as if from a dark corner of my mind:
-Ah, it's me.
It was so unexpected that, I asked him, half joking:
-And who are you?
The answer came as before:
-I'm what you don’t want to see.
A deep sorrow filled me. So much, that it came with physical pain. A pain that moved throughout the body, but whose root came from the chest. Then I did something that I had never allowed myself: I let it flow. The pain translated into tears, few at first, as if the stares of others chased me even in my moments of solitude. The vision of the shadow on the wall gave me confidence, and I cried. My body began to tremble and a moan accompanied the tremor, it was a moan that I did not feel mine, like that of a child who seeks the embrace of his parents. I wrapped my arms around my knees and gave myself up.
I think I fell asleep and dreamed of the shadow: It wasn’t projected on the wall anymore, it was in front of me instead. The shadow came towards me and stared into my eyes. It looked like me in some of its features.
Its expression varied from time to time, as if the influence of the candle were still present.
The first thing I perceived was a blind hatred that penetrated me. I felt cold and lonely. After a little eternity, the brows softened, the mouth curved and I saw sadness: a desperate sadness, surrounded and imprisoned by itself. I looked her in the eyes, I cried and hugged her. Thus many faces emerged, with their own ages and expressions. I felt their pain, I heard their message and I admired their particular beauty. Finally I came face to face with my reflection: it seemed to shine from within. In a last embrace, he sank into me, or I into him.
I woke up on the kitchen table. The candle, a puddle of wax, and the shadow, a latent memory.
Dawn was here.
