Jamal just couldn't get enough of himself. He was one of those "one upper" people who, no matter what the conversation was about, always had a better story. You went to the movies? He walked the red carpet to the private screening where he watched it with the actors before going to the champagne-popping, paparazzi-flashing after party. You downloaded the latest Katy Perry album? He wrote one of the songs on it, number 5, the popular one that topped the Billboard charts. You were sick in bed with the flu? He just got over the yellow fever he caught while on safari in Kenya where he saw a lion take down a zebra 10 feet away.
Jamal.
You can hardly blame him though. He was an olive-skinned, curly-haired beauty, and he'd been that way since he was born. Beautiful and very, very vain. It was almost excusable when one considered that his dad had been on Forbes magazine's top paid CEOs list for the past 12 years and that his mother just earned her 5th nomination for best actress. Still, even by those impossible standards, Jamal took conceit to other worldly heights. There aren't many guys who would turn their noses up to the Ford model types that most dudes only dreamed about. Let Jamal tell it, no one was good enough for him except for him.
As self consumed as they were, Jamal's parents did what they could to keep their kid grounded. One of his grandmother's told them that he would live a long life as long as he stayed out of the mirror and turned his sights on the world around him instead of only on himself.
It was a pointless warning though because all Jamal could see was Jamal.
Never was this more evident than when, at his parents' urging, Jamal agreed to go on a date with Darlene, the daughter of billionaire philanthropist Pierce Knight. At a secluded table at one of LA's finest restaurants, Darlene prattled on and on about the charitable work her father was doing in China's orphanages to supply clean water to thousands of kids. As she spoke about the importance of something as simple as water, Jamal yawned and kept staring at his reflection in his gleaming, silver butter knife. It was clear the date was over once a frustrated Darlene stood up to leave and Jamal continued to sit there checking his pearly whites for lettuce. The heiress stormed out of the restaurant leaving the whiff of Jardin D'Amalfi trailing behind her and wondering how long it would be before her date even noticed she was gone.
Unfortunately, the paparazzi was there and captured the whole unbelievable scene one click at a time. Soon Darlene's humiliation was uploaded to TMZ, Perez Hilton, and every other gossip blog there was. Darlene—beautiful, smart, generous, ambitious Darlene—was devastated. On the other hand, Jamal counted the debacle a success—further proof that he really was above everyone else, even the daughters of LA's movers and shakers.
Jamal's parents did what they could to put out the scandalous fire that threatened to consume the relationships they'd spent a lifetime developing. They asked Jamal to apologize but the boy refused, unable to see any wrong he'd committed. "She was dreadfully boring," he sighed. "Not to mention, she looks like a dog." His parents were flabbergasted and wrung their well manicured hands in consternation.
It was after a languorous afternoon googling himself that Jamal ultimately started down the road that would lead to his final undoing. In a particularly venomous post by one of LA's many gossip girls, Jamal came across what he thought was a splendid idea. She wrote, "Perhaps the pompous Jamal should just recluse himself in his bedroom and stare in his mirror until he dies since his is the only face he likes to see anyway!"
"Why didn't I think of that? "he mused.
Jamal unceremoniously packed his things and without declaration or warning boarded the next available flight to Spain where his parents owned one of their many long-forgotten second, fourteen, or fiftieth homes. Loaded down with his Louis Vuitton luggage, Jamal struggled up the stairs past the abandoned living room and empty kitchen to his childhood bedroom where he closed the door behind him. The young man sneezed as he removed the white sheet draping the big, oval mirror where he had sat countless hours as a kid and admired the face staring back at him.
Peace. At last. It was only him. It was always, only him.
It was weeks before the Cuerpo Nacional de Policía found Jamal. After dispatching help from around the globe, Jamal's parents received the phone call they had long dreaded. After several complaints from the surrounding villas about a foul smell, Jamal's body was finally discovered in that immaculate upstairs bedroom where he'd locked himself away weeks early. What remained of Jamal rested slumped over and to the right. His face, withered and rotting away, was still reflected in his beloved mirror.
