The Day Everyone Saw Me

On Tuesday morning, I accidentally revealed myself.

Not in the ordinary way.

I mean that my skin simply became transparent.

I was standing in line for coffee when the woman behind me gasped. “Oh,” she said. “So that’s what you look like.”

I looked down.

Inside me was a small green room with a chair, three nervous goldfish, and a man wearing my face like a hat.

I screamed.

Everyone stared.

The barista handed me my coffee and whispered, “You’re being very honest today.”

“I don’t want to be honest,” I said.

But my body had other plans.

My ribs opened like curtains.

My childhood memories floated out and landed on the floor. My worst joke crawled under a table. A tiny version of me stood up and announced, “I once waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at me.”

The entire café went silent.

Then everyone began clapping.

I was mortified.

I tried to hide behind my own shadow, but even it had already seen too much.

So I did the only reasonable thing.

I took off my transparent body, folded it neatly, and left.

Outside, the sky was embarrassed too.

It had turned completely red.

For the first time all morning, I felt better.

At least I wasn't the only one.