Everyday Masquerade

        Since I can remember, the masks have been a part of life; everyone has at least one, most with smiles, some that have frowns, even a few that are perpetually crying.  Everyone wears one from a young age; it’s sort of like potty training, just one more thing to get used to before going to school.

         I remember I got my first one when I was three; it was simple, just solid pink that covered my forehead, nose and cheeks.  My family isn’t as formal as many, so we only had to wear ours when we went out or had people over.  It was something I didn’t mind, it made me a big kid-until my face felt funny or sweaty underneath.

         I can remember the time my family was out, I think we were at the market, although I can’t be certain anymore, and I decided that I didn’t feel like wearing my mask anymore and simply took it off and carried it in my hand.  It didn’t take more than a few minutes before my parents noticed; the looks people were giving me through the eyeholes of their own masks were of shock and disapproval.  I think it was that moment, when my parents turned on me with expressions of fear blended with anger that it really solidified in my mind just how much control the masks had over everyone.

         From that day on, I never revealed my face in public again, I even became the figure disapproving of oblivious parents and ignorant children, even reprimanding my younger brother when he rebelled against his own training mask.  Since then, I have accumulated a variety of masks, greens, blues, browns and reds replacing the pink that I had once favored.  I accepted how things were and came to quite enjoy mask shopping with my girlfriends.  It was just part of life, like wearing shoes or pants.

         Life with the masks just went on, it was never something you questioned at least not out loud.  If someone did have the audacity to question an educator about it, they were met with stony eyes that were enough to silence all but the most abominable of learners; that was until Guy joined our school.

         Guy was beautiful.  His mask was always plain and simple, perfectly matching the golden-cream color of the skin on his hands and arms, and his eyes shone brilliantly from the eyeholes of his mask.  When he spoke and read quite confidently in front of the class, the hazel-green color of his eyes danced between green, gold, and brown.

         It wasn’t only him that was so breathtaking to me, but also his mind.  He was forever talking in front of or to the class, always sharing his opinions and views, however radically liberal they may be.  The educators always endured and tolerated his outspoken ways being as he was the son of the prominent scientist (but who on earth knows what he actually did).  His voice was like music and was honestly the first thing I ever noticed about him.

         I was with Emily and Mae, my two best girl friends, planning a shopping excursion to find shoes and masks to match our dresses for the upcoming formal when I heard his voice, smooth as honey and completely intoxicating.  We were in study hall, making plans rather than studying, naturally enough, when I felt him behind me only moments before he spoke.  And my heart stopped.

         It wasn’t so much what he said, a mundane question of allowing him to sit in the seat to my right if it weren’t already claimed, but the way he said it.  I mentioned before that he had an incredible voice and it haunts me trying to find the words to describe the sound that still dances in my mind.  When I say his voice is smooth, something like honey, I mean it flows out with so little roughness that you could sit and listen to it all day, but it avoids femininity and fits somehow perfectly in the youthful balance between rough and masculine and high and boyish.

         I can’t say how others react to hearing his voice, but as for me, my stomach jumps and my heart gets all fluttery like it’s making sure that I’m paying attention.  Judging from the looks on Emily and Mae’s faces, I would guess that their reactions are fairly similar.

         When I met his gaze, my already pounding heart decided to go double time and I was sure that soon it would burst through my chest or climb up my throat.  I smiled and told him the seat was free and waited a moment for him to settle himself down in his seat and begin talking to me.

         To my shock, he did nothing of the sort.  He sat down, pulled out a school book, and began to read!  I think we were all shocked to see someone actually study in study hall, that maybe that was why we were all shamed into doing the assigned reading for our classes that day.  I think that was the first time that year I actually did the reading before it was due.

         I learned all sorts of things about history that day in study hall, although how I managed to pay any attention to my reading when I was so aware of him sitting to my right, I will never know.  I noticed every move he made, whenever he shifted or turned a page I paused my reading and watched him from the corner of my eye through my mask (which for those of you who haven’t tried it, is VERY challenging). 

         Every motion was a possible move to face me and strike up a conversation.  He could be dying to open up and talk to me, but just not be sure about starting to talk to me, intimidated or something.  I had to have spent a good twenty minutes alternating between reading and watching him before Emily texted me.

         Wat’s w/ him?

I responded with a IDK and turned to my right to see if my change in activities had bothered him at all.  While I was looking at him, he turned and looked at me.  I was caught.  His eyes were so piercing and direct, they seemed to be snidely asking “Can I help you?!”

         I immediately turned back to my book and felt my face heating from beneath my mask, spreading down my neck and onward to my fingertips.  I cursed myself quietly for having such a pale complexion that I blushed so easily.  I heard him shift on my right and against my will and better judgment; I turned to look at him. 

         He had turned to face me and seemed to be studying the red flush that was slowly receding back to my normal pale tone.  When I noticed that it was my blushing embarrassment that he seemed to find so curious, it returned and with a vengeance.  My arm looked like I had spent a week sitting out in the middle of the Sahara desert without sunscreen or a scrap of shade.

         I pulled my arm from the table and pulled the sleeves down to my fingertips and rested my cool hands on the back of my neck in a useless attempt to slow the heated flush that was rapidly deepening.  I took a deep breath and fixed a fierce glare on my face as I turned toward him with a mind to detail exactly how rude he was being, when he looked at me grinning (I don’t know how I knew) beneath his mask.

         “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone blush quite like that,” he said as he reached out a hand and pulled my arm back down to the tabletop.  “How does it not stop at your mask?” he asked as he pulled my sleeve up past my wrist and began to examine my hand – fingers, palm, knuckles and all, seeming almost disappointed when the brutally vivid red faded to the pink tinged cream of my normal skin tone.

         He looked back up from my hand after he seemed certain that the last of the color had drained from it and asked again “How does it not stop at your mask?”

         I looked at him right in the eye, which was probably why I was such a dunce as to ask “What?”

         “Your blush” he replied like he was talking to a three year old, which naturally made me blush yet again, much to his apparent delight. 

         “Oh, I don’t know.  I wish it would stop at the mask, this is positively humiliating.”

         He laughed and grabbed my hand again when I tried to pull my sleeves down over my hands and their ever-crimson shade, and said, “don’t be embarrassed.  I like it.  It’s different.  By the way, I’m Guy.” 

He then released my captive hand and held out his right one for me to grasp and say “Hello Guy, I’m Addie.”