Dissociative Identity Disorder_1

I wasn’t so sure if Mike was comfortable with the furtive glances other people in the bar threw our way.

Those glances.

We got a lot of those the next day when my wife and I decided to give Mike a treat at the state park. Our dog, Tommy, tagged along also, making purring noises all the way. One of the people that couldn’t keep their eyes off was a photographer. I had him take shots of us as we jollied around and then we took a couple more holding hands around the Christmas tree. I gave him my address and he promised to come in by 10 a.m. the next day.

10 a.m. and the pictures came in. The first one showed me, alone, with my hands around the Christmas tree. The next showed me, alone, arms spread out eagle-wing style.

“Photographer!” I shouted, quite perplexed. “What is this? Why is my wife, Mike and Tommy not captured in these pictures?”

“Sir, you were alone in the park yesterday” the photographer answered calmly.

I turned to my wife. “Sweetheart, did you hear this clown?” I said.

“Sir, there is nobody in here with us.” The photographer said again, his voice starting to tremble.


_Joe Aito