Your Face

James had a problem. He had no face.

Actually he had a face and he knew he had a face. He could see it in the mirror. Eyes, nose and mouth were there where they were supposed to be, on the front of his head. He could see it. It’s just nobody else could. They saw through his face, around his face and everything but his face. There was nothing there but visual ambience.

Even from the beginning his mother was puzzled and standoffish. His father came home from work every day and was surprised each time he spoke. Who could they talk to? He had no face.

Despite this James grew up otherwise normal. He could kick a ball, count to 100 and find Africa on a map. Nobody noticed, however. Why would they? He had no face.

James came of age. He found he liked girls. He was completely uncomplicated in this. If he liked a girl he’d go up to her, talk to her, try to find things in common, impress her, make her laugh. But every time he met her again he’d have to start over. Why? She could barely remember him. He had no face.

James had to find a way round this. His solution was to listen and look and remember. He had to hang on every word, every expression and every inflection of the people around him, reminding them of themselves. It wasn’t all bad, mind you. If people remembered him they often liked him. He was a blank canvas. People projected onto him what they wanted to be. He could be handsome, tough, friendly, aggressive… anything they wanted.

The one thing he couldn’t be though was a person. He wished he had a face.

When James left school he was nothing bad but nothing great either, nothing to write home about. He found an appropriate job, working in an office, inputting data. His life would glide by from day to day, week to week. He had a few girlfriends, a few mates. People would come in and out of his life. Though he’d barely register on them, they left a mark on him.

He wanted a face. More than anything in the world he wanted a face that could be recognised, seen by others. The more he thought about it he thought, why should he be denied?

As this began to weigh on his mind someone came into James’s life, not a person, but a film star, a face. Known all over as “Brad”, his was the most famous face in the world. His was a wonderful face. His face would grace action movies, play romantic leads and light up madcap comedies. With a simple wrinkle or a smile Brad could bring whole audiences to tears of laughter or smiles of joy.

Brad’s face was everywhere; in films, on TV, on posters, in adverts and magazines. Everyone wanted to know Brad, to be close to him. Stories of his life were everywhere. It was almost all anyone ever talked about. There was so much detail about him that it may have seemed, behind the face, was an ordinary man, fragile, vain and fearful. Behind his face was a two time divorcee, a man convicted of drunk driving, rumours of gambling debts and drug abuse. But what a face!

James knew what to do. He went to see Brad’s films, watched his TV interviews, read all about him in books and magazines. He studied Brad, everything about him, in particular his face. He ended up knowing pretty much everything about Brad.

Then James quit his job. This didn’t really register with anyone. He had to hand his notice in three times before his line manager even accepted it. James had saved up a lot of money over the years. Now he’d spend it. The morning after he left work he took a flight to America, to Los Angeles. Getting off the plane he immediately booked a cab, up the hills to the great mansions, to one mansion in particular, Brad’s stately abode.

Every day, and some nights, James would go up to the gates of Brad’s LA mansion and watch what went on. He did this for several weeks. Normally someone doing this would be spotted quickly and arrested, but not this time. No one spotted James. He had no face.

James would watch people come and go, cleaners, builders, executives; he watched and waited. Then one afternoon he saw a blacked out sports car pull up into the drive. The occupant didn’t get out, speak into the little box and ask to be allowed in. The gates just parted. It was Brad.

James waited until it was dark then sprung into action. He broke into the compound with a ladder and some wire cutters, crept up the long garden to Brad’s house. There was a light on at the first floor; at the window the silhouette of a man. Brad was alone. James crept into the house, climbed up the stairs and made for the lighted room.

Brad spotted him standing in the doorway. After a moment’s awful pause:

“Who are you?” said Brad, audibly frightened.

“My name is James”.

“What do you want?” said Brad, backing away, quaking. “I have money”.

“I don’t want money”, said James.

“Why can’t I see you? Come into the… I’m not afraid. What do you want?” Brad babbled. “I have a car? A TV…? Drugs…? I have drugs; coke, weed, ecstasy?”

“I don’t want those things”, said James.

“Why can’t I see you?” said Brad, looking around for something to arm himself with. “What to do want?”

James walked forward, into the light. He said:

“I want your face”.