Oh, I know lots of people. Lots and lots of people. But I don't have any real friends. Not like I used to have in the bakery. Not a friend in the world who means anything to me, and no one I mean anything to."
I discovered that my speech was becoming slurred, and there was a lightness in my head.
"That can't be right, can it?" I insisted. "I mean, what do you think? Do you think that's… that's right?"
Strauss came over and took my arm.
"Charlie, maybe you'd better lie down a while.
You've had too much to drink."
"Why y'all looking at me like that?
What did I say wrong?
Did I say something wrong?
I din't mean to say anything that wasn't right."
I heard the words thick in my mouth, as if my face had been shot full of novocaine.
I was drunk—completely out of control.
At that moment, almost with the flick of a switch, I was watching the scene from the dining room doorway, and I could see myself as the other Charlie— there near the sideboard, drink in hand, eyes wide and frightened.
"I always try to do the right things.
My mother always taught me to be nice to people because she said that way you won't get into trouble and you'll always have lots of friends."
I could see by the way he was twitching and writhing that he had to get to the bathroom.
Oh, my God, not there in front of them.
"Excuse me, please," he said, "I got to go…" Somehow, in that drunken stupor, I managed to turn him away from them and head him toward the bathroom.
He made it in time, and after a few seconds I was again in control. I rested my cheek against the wall, and then washed my face with cool water.
Still groggy, but I knew I was going to be all right.
That's when I saw Charlie watching me from the mirror behind the washbasin.
I don't know how I knew it was Charlie and not me.
Something about the dull, questioning look in his face. His eyes, wide and frightened, as if at one word from me he would turn and run deep into the dimension of the mirrored world.
But he didn't run.
He just stared back at me, mouth open, jaw hanging loosely.
"Hello," I said, "so you've finally come face to face with me."
He frowned, just a bit, as if he didn't understand what I meant, as if he wanted an explanation but didn't know how to ask for it.
Then, giving it up, he smiled wryly from the corner of his mouth.
"Stay there right in front of me," I shouted.
"I'm sick and tired of your spying on me from doorways and dark, places where I can't catch up with you."
He stared.
"Who are you, Charlie?"
Nothing but the smile.
I nodded and he nodded back.
"Then what do you want?" I asked.
He shrugged.
"Oh, come now," I said, "you must want something.
You've been following me—" said it.
I was an arrogant, self-centered bastard.
Unlike Charlie, I was incapable of making friends or thinking about other people and their problems.
I was interested in myself, and myself only.
For one long moment in that mirror I had seen myself through Charlie's eyes—looked down at myself and saw what I had really become. And I was ashamed.
Hours later I found myself in front of the apartment house, and made my way upstairs and through the dimly lit hallway.
Passing Fay's room, I could see there was a light on, and I started toward her door. But just as I was about to knock I heard her giggling, and a man's answering laugh.
It was too late for that.
I let myself into my apartment quietly and stood there for a while in the dark, not daring to move, not daring to turn on the light.
Just stood there and felt the whirlpool in my eyes.
What has happened to me?
Why am I so alone in the world?
4:30 A.M. The solution came to me, just as I was dozing off.