Fabioisonfire
total a-hole
Masks part two
We finish our dinner in silence and our mother sends my brother and I to our bedroom without a word. That was the first time I had ever asked about our masks. Before today I had never thought of what it would be like if I didn’t have to wear a mask constantly, if nobody did. The masks were something given to us at birth, not meant to hide our identities, but to present them. But that was before today.
My brother and I sit on our beds, across from each other in the small room we shared. I can see his eyes studying me through his disguise.
“Have you ever thought about…” I start, my hot and nervous breathing stifling inside of my plaster veil.
“Thought about what?” My younger brother asks.
“Thought about not having to wear one.” I say, grabbing my mask and tugging lightly as I do.
“Momma said we have to. We have to wear the masks.”
“Yeah, that’s what momma says.”
“Everyone else does.”
My little brother was right. Everybody wore a mask. Everybody I knew had a mask when they were born and everybody I knew had a mask when they were buried. Seeing someone’s face was considered embarrassing and disgusting and awkward. Many people made a point of it to make sure their mask covered as much of their real face as possible.
Most people decorate their masks, too. Even the undesirables can smear mud and use white paint to change their second face. My mother’s mask, though still very dingy and white and modest, bore the beautiful symbol of Aries, her Zodiac sign. My brother used blue paint to decorate his mask with comic book designs. The more rich and famous people of our community could have their masks emblazoned with precious gems and stones. I never really did anything to my mask.
I could hear footsteps headed towards my mother’s room. She was probably headed to bed already. I reach my hand up to the familiar wax string at the back of my head once more, but this time there was no St. Luke’s bell to stop me. I pull the string, my mask falling off of my face and into my lap, landing with an empty thud.
My skin took in a deep and long breath as I turned my head around to look at my room through new eyes. My neck felt lighter and my head felt more clear. I could breath deeper. My brother sit there on his side of the room, staring at me, still confined by his own white plaster face facade.
“Go ahead. Take it off,” I whisper.
“What if momma—”
“Just do it.”
My brother looks down at his feet and undoes his mask, letting it drop into his own lap. He shields his face at first, and then slowly reveals himself. His brown and nervous eyes look into mine, racing. This was first time I had ever really looked into my brother’s eyes, and seen what was inside him. I felt free and naked and excited. And there was much more to see.
We finish our dinner in silence and our mother sends my brother and I to our bedroom without a word. That was the first time I had ever asked about our masks. Before today I had never thought of what it would be like if I didn’t have to wear a mask constantly, if nobody did. The masks were something given to us at birth, not meant to hide our identities, but to present them. But that was before today.
My brother and I sit on our beds, across from each other in the small room we shared. I can see his eyes studying me through his disguise.
“Have you ever thought about…” I start, my hot and nervous breathing stifling inside of my plaster veil.
“Thought about what?” My younger brother asks.
“Thought about not having to wear one.” I say, grabbing my mask and tugging lightly as I do.
“Momma said we have to. We have to wear the masks.”
“Yeah, that’s what momma says.”
“Everyone else does.”
My little brother was right. Everybody wore a mask. Everybody I knew had a mask when they were born and everybody I knew had a mask when they were buried. Seeing someone’s face was considered embarrassing and disgusting and awkward. Many people made a point of it to make sure their mask covered as much of their real face as possible.
Most people decorate their masks, too. Even the undesirables can smear mud and use white paint to change their second face. My mother’s mask, though still very dingy and white and modest, bore the beautiful symbol of Aries, her Zodiac sign. My brother used blue paint to decorate his mask with comic book designs. The more rich and famous people of our community could have their masks emblazoned with precious gems and stones. I never really did anything to my mask.
I could hear footsteps headed towards my mother’s room. She was probably headed to bed already. I reach my hand up to the familiar wax string at the back of my head once more, but this time there was no St. Luke’s bell to stop me. I pull the string, my mask falling off of my face and into my lap, landing with an empty thud.
My skin took in a deep and long breath as I turned my head around to look at my room through new eyes. My neck felt lighter and my head felt more clear. I could breath deeper. My brother sit there on his side of the room, staring at me, still confined by his own white plaster face facade.
“Go ahead. Take it off,” I whisper.
“What if momma—”
“Just do it.”
My brother looks down at his feet and undoes his mask, letting it drop into his own lap. He shields his face at first, and then slowly reveals himself. His brown and nervous eyes look into mine, racing. This was first time I had ever really looked into my brother’s eyes, and seen what was inside him. I felt free and naked and excited. And there was much more to see.
