“Yeowch! What gives?”

I sat up, rubbing my tender rear, glaring at the man who had just inserted his boot artfully into my butt. “Who the hell are you?” I asked, then blinked as I realized that he was me; or I was him; or – look, in the interest of time and sanity, I’m going to dispense with accurate pronoun usage, alright? This is weird enough as it is.

Now then. The man looming over me looked exactly like I did, or like I wished I did. He was tall, with a casual style and knowing eyes that looked out at the world through wire-frame glasses. His blond hair was styled exactly like mine was, at least when I bothered to comb it. He was subtly muscular and comfortably tan, neither of which I was. It was his clothes, however, that were the most distinctive. He wore a shadowy cloak over a beautiful maile shirt, with dark silk pants covering his legs. Looking at me with eyes that seemed to know all my secrets and exuded confidence, he spoke.

“Get up. We need to talk.”

“At the risk of repeating myself, who the hell are you,” I spat, hauling myself to my feet.

“I am you, Eric. You are me. We are one, together.”

“And that means what, exactly?”

Sighing, he shook his head. “We are the same person, Eric. Although you are in charge most of the time…”

“Look, either I get a good explanation, in English, in the next ten seconds or I will get seriously pissed off, alright?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Eric? I am your subconscious. I thought it was high time we had a little chat.”

As he spoke, the torches in the room flared into life. The area looked like, well, home. It was a cave, but not dark or dank at all. It was warmly lit by the friendly light of the torches, and heated by a crackling fire that had been carefully laid in a pit in the middle of the cave. I had always loved caves, especially their otherworldly atmosphere and wonderful acoustics. Despite the smoke rising from the cheery fire, the air was fresh and clear, and it smelled like the first snowfall of the season. The walls were filled with rows upon rows of books, and they were all old friends. Authors like Simon R. Green, Neil Gaiman, Spider Robinson, and Robert A. Heinlein lined the shelves.

One book in particular caught my eye. Walking over, I pulled out a first edition copy of a book entitled Static, by Eric Laux. “I haven’t finished this yet. I only have one chapter written. How is this possible?”

“The subconscious is where most of your potential waits until it is used. This is what could happen, if you finish the story. You might publish it, as seen here.”

As he spoke, a glint from the other side of the cave caught my eye. There, in its own stand, a single sword stood, its naked blade gleaming in the firelight. “Okay,” I said, pointing to the sword, “if this is my mind, then why is there a sword over there?”

My subconscious looked at me, and said, “Honor. It represents your own sense of honor, like that of the knights of old. And that,” he said, pointing to the only dark corner of the room and to the cage lurking there, “is fury. Anger. Rage. You’ve always known how much damage you could do, if you truly unleashed your full potential, and so it is caged, hoarded until it is finally needed.”

I nodded, knowing exactly what he was taking about. “Okay, if you’re my subconscious, and this cave is my mind, then why is there a passage leading off from it?”

“That leads to the collective unconscious of the human race.”

“Aren’t we a little, ahem, Jung to believe in that,” I grinned, waggling my eyebrows.

“What… oh, I see. Because Carl Jung came up with the concept. Very nice. I never was as good at jokes, but that's why you get the driver’s seat, I guess. Anyways, it’s time you looked your life over, Eric.”

“Why? It’s fine as is.”

“You are literally lying to yourself. Let’s talk.”

“Fine. What about?”

“Life. To start,” he said gesturing grandly with his right hand, “this part of your life.” The image that appeared beside him was of a sprawling, red-bricked building. It was Honeoye Falls-Lima High School. My high school.

I glared at my counterpart. “My school life is my business. It is personal.”

“I am you. Therefore, it is my business also. Do you want to see how you go to school, how I appear when we are at school?” His clothing blurred and shifted, reforming into full plate armor. Spikes protruded from the joints, and I could see the handle of a brutal greatsword glaring over my counterpart’s right shoulder. One eye winked at me through the dark, battle-scarred helm. “This is who you are, Eric. Is it who you want to be?”

“Not really, I guess. I suppose I should try to be a little more trusting and open.”

He nodded, looking pleased. “Make sure that you remember that.” With another hand motion, the image of my school disappeared, only to be replaced with the image of peace and solace, at least to my mind. A gleaming tuba sat on its bell next to a chair and music stand. Looking closer, I recognized the music as one of my favorite pieces, Bach’s “Komm Susser Todd”.

“‘Come Sweet Death’. A tad morbid, don’t you think?”

“No. This song gives me peace to play. It is not a call for death, but a celebration of life.” I picked up the tuba, nested my fingers on the valves, and let the music flow through me.

When the last sweet note had faded, I bowed my head, letting the echoing silence whisper through me. Looking up, I found my counterpart looking at me with a tender expression. “When you are playing… you change. You are less armored, more open, more at peace. That music means that much, that it can do that much…”

“I know. It’s hard to put into words, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but we understand one another, we know what the other means to say. That’s more than can be said for some people.”

“What does that mean?”

“Do you remember your cousin? Of course you do, as do I. His autism, his condition; this keeps him off balance, skewed, existing at ninety degrees to reality. He is not whole.”

I remembered my cousin. He was only a few years younger than me, but we were a lifetime apart. Kenton had come out to visit us, to visit Uncle Brian and Aunt Cynthia and Cousin Eric. He had flown – his first trip alone, using unaccompanied minor status, three years older than usually granted. He arrived, and he smelled. He just did not notice, or realize that others did. He arrived, and he spoke using the words of others, never making his own sentences, instead quoting from movies or videogames to make a point. (No quotes from books – never from books, although whether this was because he did not like them or just did not read I could never tell). He arrived, and he stayed. It was a trying time for me, but I learned. The experience taught me that there are different people out there, and I can respect that, but it is still something I would not like to repeat again.

“Exactly, Eric. Do you know why you did not like meeting Kenton, however? Oh, I realize that part of it was because you were embarrassed for him, but there was something else. Not everyone enjoys looking in the mirror. His handicaps reminded you of your own, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Now listen to me. He. Is. Not. You. Understand? You two are completely different people. Eric, you have come to terms with your problems. You can succeed, and succeed well, despite your own challenges.”

“I know.” Seeing Kenton had helped me put my own issues in perspective, no matter how arduous the experience was at the time.

“Good. Now, let’s…” he trailed off, looking at the ceiling suddenly. “Ah, shoot. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet!” Quickly crossing the space between us, he stared deep into my eyes. “We have no time left Eric, so don’t talk, just listen. No matter what, you are not alone. You will do fine at college, and likely thrive. Remember, as cliché as it may seem, you are special…”

As he spoke these last words, a bright light washed out anything in my vision. Blinking, I found myself lying on the floor next to my bed, wrapped in a tangle of sheets. I shielded my eyes and saw my mother standing over me with a flashlight.

“Eric! Are you alright? You were yelling in your sleep, and you must have fallen out of bed!”

“Actually, mom,” I said, a smile creeping across my lips as I remembered the ‘dream’ I had had, “I couldn’t be better.”