Cracked Window

At the gym today, I saw the ghost of me.

His image materialized six feet in front of me on the window overlooking the squash courts. I was striding in place on an elliptical machine. Cast in shades of gray, he appeared to occupy a space between two worlds, mine and one of shadows. He bounced up and down, a reflection methodically running toward me but getting no closer.

He looked maybe 15 years older. An old bald man well into decline but trim and relentless. I was thankful I couldn’t see his eyes, only darkness. The more I stared the more familiar the image became. My oxygen-deprived brain was perceiving signals heretofore beyond range. I was watching a broadcast of what will become of me. The soundless, subliminal message was clear: “I’m coming for you.”