METANOIA

SCARS

The bathroom was a narrow one but large enough to change in comfortably. There was a basket of toilet paper and various fragrant candles. It also was surprisingly clean. Someone in the house wasn't messing around.

Silas had not been by himself for over twelve hours, and this trip was beginning to feel like an out of body experience. He took off his shirt and his pants. He had snuck in a T-shirt and a bag he assumed contained his new $60 cutouts.

There, alone in the bathroom in his boxers, he stared at himself in the mirror. He tried to imagine what he would have looked like when he was in Columbus.

Silas was now in his late twenties. The last time he was in Columbus, he was under twenty-five. Back then, he was about 20 pounds lighter and on a stricter diet. In those days, the image reflected in the mirror would have had a long Mohawk or a shaved head and a goatee that was at least four fingers long. He would have had his labret, or his tongue pierced; he would have been wearing large plugs in his ear at the time. His nipple rings would have matched. He would have been wearing a shirt and a pair of ripped up jeans, but not bought that way; ones that had the wear and tear from living in them. His nose would have been broken...again. He would have been bruised and battered from all the martial arts, the backyard boxing, and the close-quarter knife combat training. But he would have been wearing his scars and bruises proudly. His face was livelier then, and his eyes darted around, anxious to discover.

Standing now, staring in the mirror, he could see the ghosts of all the piercings. He had forgotten to put them in. His normal clothes lie on the toilet seat; suit jacket and dress pants. He was a lot larger and buffed up from the lifting, the only exercise he got now... He had two different hoops in his nipples, since he hadn't bought a matching pair or taken them out for almost a year now. His gauges had shrunk over the years, despite not being closed up completely. He had a tattoo on his lower arm in ultraviolet ink, and the massive Omega on his back; both a little blurred now. He had new scars. Most notably, he had a large new scar across the back of his hand from where he had fallen on a pile of glass. His hair was a mess and he had a short scruffy beard instead of a long, well-groomed one. But none of these were as dramatically different as were his eyes.

It was in his eyes that something had shifted. He imagined his younger self staring back at him through the mirror with penetrating eyes that always peered beyond the surface. He always had really large irises; it was something that attracted people's attention immediately. That and his unusually deep voice was a pair of social weapons when used properly. He could talk his way into or out of anything, should the need arise. But over the years, these had changed.

Now, his eyes were darker and deeper. They were hidden behind circle-framed glasses that made them look smaller than they actually were, and there were creases around them now. Very slight, but they were enough to change the effect. His eyes were colder and lacked the utterly mad, crazy, carefree glow and cheer they once held. His features and expressions had faded. His voice had acquired a new element; it was as coarse as it was deep.

In certain ways, he had matured, but not completely.

He felt like a statue in the making. He feared he was dulled from being overworked. He wondered if that spark of fire inside him was dying out, paving the way for something newer. Transition didn't necessarily mean something bad or dull. Silas felt he had missed something somewhere; he had let life slow him down.

That was when he came to a stark realization. You see, in many ways, growing up is misinterpreted. The biggest bully of our lives, namely the society we live in, has certain expectations about our growing up. In many places, growing up means dressing a certain way, taking out your piercings, talking to people who have similar attitudes, and engaging in a limited set of activities. More productive, controlled, if not sedated. Ideally, everyone plays along with this game. You start work, put on certain clothes, talk a certain way, act more professional, and in many ways, you stop doing a lot of the things you enjoy. You learn to play along and fit in. Silas had been making that mistake too. He had been playing along; subservient to what was required of him. And for someone who claimed to be so self-observant, that had escaped him somehow.

That didn't have to be the case. It wasn't even in his nature. Growing up did mean responsibilities, but beyond that, all the decisions were his to make. It would surely be harder to pull off the life he wanted, but it didn't mean he couldn't do the things he enjoyed. He didn't really have to wear the clothes he had been wearing. He didn't have to hang out solely with people from work. In fact, the things he cherished the most, in the older idols he had befriended, were things he associated with the Neoteny of humankind.

It is a damn shame most of you will not know what that means. Don't worry; my spellchecker has underlined it as well. Neoteny means "remaining young" and, according to Wikipedia, it is a medical condition or a biological mishap, but as a writer, I don't give two shits what Wikipedia says.

With that said, Silas had always cherished mostly curious, playful and mentally flexible people. He had made them his mentors, but for some reason, he had followed a different path for himself.

He was curious. How had he failed to realize that?

What was it about this place that elicited a true and uninhibited sense of self?

What had changed?

Was it the lightning on the plane? No, it was before then. He was fidgeting subconsciously with his phone.

He had the feeling he was going to find out over the course of the next two days.

Rather than his new cutoffs, he had accidentally brought the bag that contained Misha's shorts, which he realized were actually swimming trunks. He didn't care. He had bought a gray T-shirt with a depiction of the internet meme, Annoying Orange, on it. He put that on as well.

He was about to step out when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He looked younger.