Who is That in the Mirror?

I'm never quite sure who I'm seeing when I look in the mirror in the morning. I'm not sure whose eyes I have and the faint whirring of the auto-heart in my chest reminds me that I'm part bionic. As a Tech Ranger First Class, I've seen a lot of action on the battlefield, and I've left a little of myself at each location.

Doing a quick inventory of myself, liver, lungs, pancreas, eyes, knee and hip joints, left arm and right hand, heart, are all artificial or from a human donor. How much more of my original self can I lose and still be me? When I look in the mirror, is the composite of parts looking back at me still Jim, or something else?

This is the time I hate most, the lull between assignments. Somehow I have to fit into the world and be a "normal" person doing a mundane job while I wait to be shipped out to the next planet in need of a mercenary. My right hand is drumming an unfamiliar rhythm on the steering wheel as I sit in my car outside of the delivery company, waiting to go in for an interview. I look at my hand, a stranger's hand, and wonder who is really moving it.

"Do you have any experience doing delivery, Jim?" starts the tired looking interviewer. I wonder if I'm the tenth or fiftieth person this guy has interviewed today. As I tell him about working the supply detail during my last deployment, I catch the interviewer staring at me. Or that is, staring right into my eyes.

I cleared my throat and said "I can start work right away."

The interviewer blinked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I had a strange image pop into my mind of a person I haven't thought about in years. They were a good friend but they passed away a few years ago. Strange. Why don't you come by tomorrow and we'll get you into the system. I'll give you a short, local route to start tomorrow."

"Thanks," was the best I could do in response. Before I knew what was happening, my right hand shot out toward the interviewer, as if on its own. The man took my hand and shook it. His eyes widened, his body stiffened and he took a quick breath and held it, and my hand, as he stared into my eyes again.

I took my hand from him and backed away saying, "I'll be here early tomorrow morning." The man nodded and rubbed his eyes again.

Back in the car, I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror and wondered who was looking back at me. Who was the man seeing when he stared at me? Is Jim still here?