In the Den of the Lion

You had to ruin everything, didn’t you? With just a few weeks to go, I almost made it out unscathed and undetected. None of you had a clue what was underneath. Yes, I, Daniel Owen, had infiltrated the ranks. I had fooled you all. But in a single moment, you destroyed all those years of work.

At first, the fake persona was hard to create. But watch a few spy movies like I have, and you slowly get the hang of it. Besides, seeing how the ones that had been discovered were treated, there really wasn’t any other option. There was no way I would go through the hell of all that for four long years of high school.

Of course, the costume was very heavy at times, like wearing clothes soaked in water. I felt like one of those characters you see walking around at Disney World. On the outside, a happy, smiling face, getting good grades, always ready to please and never saying the wrong thing — a persona as sickly sweet as honey glaze. But inside, I was there in the dark, sweating and struggling to hold up that heavy head of this person I created.

I did get used to fitting it all into this smaller space for a while. A good spy always knows how to navigate through hidden spaces. But soon enough, I realized that trying to keep my real self and my fake persona in here at the same time just made me too clunky and awkward, and in this game of human dodgeball, you’ve got to be on your toes and agile if you’re going to survive.

After all, there was only so much room in here. Something had to be cut away. So, as all cunning spies do, I sedated that hidden part of me and put it down for a long sleep. The rest was simple, really. I just tied it all up very tightly, and in the dead of night, I took it out to the middle of a deep, dark lake and dumped the body overboard.

I really hoped that when the coast was finally clear, I would remember where I put it. It’s like that time capsule that my parents and I once buried in the back garden. We always thought it would be so cool to have a keepsake from the past that we could dig up one day, but as the years went on, the ground shifted, and to be honest, we kind of forgot where we buried it. But I knew it had to be done if I was going to become the perfect mole.

It’s funny. I did a project on moles once. It was for the Science Fair in public school, back when things were simpler. I set up my display in the gym, amongst the homemade volcanoes and other haphazardly constructed science experiments. I can still remember the image of that mole’s ugly, pinched face glued to that bright yellow bristol board.

I learned that moles use oxygen more effectively by reusing the exhaled air as they burrow underground. They have small, inconspicuous eyes and ears. They don’t really look and see for themselves. They just keep burrowing down in the darkness.

So, to become a true mole, the real key is avoiding being noticed. Just follow the others and do as they do, and soon enough, you’ll blend in. Oh, and of course, make as little noise as possible and forget about having your own opinions. It’s much easier to blend into the background that way. Then, no one will even remember that you’re there.

One day, you’ll make it out alive. Just keep reusing that exhaled air in the meantime.

But after a while, like a climbing vine that grows and then hardens around a tree's trunk, my façade grew over everything. I knew I should have probably checked on myself once in a while, but I grew increasingly scared to dive into those murky depths to see what was left of me. And what would really be left anyway?

I had finally gotten used to being ever-vigilant for incoming threats. The constant second-guessing of every move was tiring, but I knew that the end reward would be worth it. It was like living with a quality-control monitor in your head that never goes off shift. The best spies never do, I guess.

And I had to remember not to be too good at anything. Being too good means once again that the spotlight–as bright and harsh as a prison searchlight–will be turned on you. I just had to get used to being the last to be picked for the team in gym class, if you catch my drift. It was safer that way. Better to just hide and watch and observe.

But not like you. Jamie Simpson, star quarterback. The guy that everyone wanted to be. Standing tall and proud in your Lionheart jersey, moving with ease and confidence through the world. It’s easy when there’s nothing to hold up but yourself. You, with the perfect girlfriend and your beautiful, perfect friends, growling as you do your high-fives to your teammates and cruise the hallways like you own the place. It seemed like you didn’t have to work for anything.

One day, I’ll be like you, too. I’ll have someone like you. I’ll show all of you once I make my great escape. But what would it be like to feel like that, even for a few moments? To be just a little bit closer?

That was my downfall, I guess. I wanted a piece of it. Skin in the game, as they say. And so, I had foolishly put my hand up when Coach Hamilton asked if anyone was willing to dress up as the Lionhearts mascot for the seasonal football games.

Bad spy behaviour. I veered off track. I should have known better. But I guess the part of me that wanted to see you up close threw me off my game.

And so, already so used to slipping into another persona, I put that stupid costume on and slipped that lion mask over my head. And game after game, I watched you and the team tear across the field, your legs exploding with strength and your massive arms clearing away everything in your path. Beautiful and masculine and so alluring, but always a football field away. But still, I knew that was as close as I could get.

And now, on this late afternoon, with the sun almost out of sight over the bleachers, I watched you score the final touchdown to bring home the trophy—the final trophy before graduation. I watched as all the other players lifted you up in victory. Here on the sidelines. Under that idiotic grin of the lion, through the tiny slits for eyes, I watched it all and smiled bitterly to myself. But that’s okay. I still had you all fooled. I would have my victory, too.

I went inside and headed to the locker room, hearing the screams of celebration slowly fading into a dull roar. I sat there for a long time beside my locker, breathing in this mask's heavy, stale air.

Then I heard something behind me. That’s when I turned and saw you come in. Suddenly, I felt that there was even less air in the room. Seeing you there, standing there silent, looking at me and only me, I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead and trickling down my face.

My stomach sank. All good spies have a keen sense of when danger is lurking nearby.

You still had your silver helmet on. That crimson red jersey with Lionhearts emblazoned across the front, clinging tight to your chest. Standing there in your white football pants, now smeared with tracings of mud.

“H-Hey, how’s it going?” I said to you nervously.

But you said nothing. And then you slowly took off your helmet and walked towards me with a strange look on your face. With each step, I could hear the cleats of your shoes. I felt danger approaching, but maybe something else underneath, too.

“Great game out there, man, you really….really knocked ’em dead.”

My words sounded so hollow and fake. Still, you said nothing. I could feel my heart beating so hard in my chest that I had actually wondered if you could see it. And then, now standing directly in front of me, you slowly removed your helmet, as silent as a lion about to pounce on his prey, never taking your eyes off mine, even though the mask hid mine from view. And yet, I felt like you were looking right through me.

“Take it off,” you said.

“Wh-what?”

Just be calm, I thought. You’ve come this far, don’t screw it up now; you can do this.

“O-Oh, right. The mask. I almost forgot that I had it–”

But before I could even finish, you reached out your hand and tore it off my face. The cool air of the locker room rushed to meet my skin. My hair clung wet and hot to my face, and my cheeks felt like they were on fire. I could feel the blood racing through my entire body, and my hands and lips were trembling.

I started breathing heavily and deeply. My mind was scrambling to think of something to say, feeling like a cornered animal. But you just kept staring. And with each second, I could feel my façade slowly crashing down in front of me. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

No. I can’t let this happen. I won’t let this happen.

“Well, I’m gonna get out of here and–”

But before I could escape, you stepped even closer and pushed me up against the lockers, pushing your body against me with full force. The locks swung and rattled in protest. Your strong hands flanked either side of my head. The animal had been cornered. There was no escaping now.

Run. You’ve got to run.

Your face moved forward until it was just inches in front of mine. I could feel your chest breathing in and pushing me back even further against the locker. I could feel your warm breath on my skin. Your big blue eyes studied my face up and down, scanning every inch and line, almost curiously, like you’d never seen anything like this so up close before. Examining your prey before you pounce. With you finally so close to me, all I could do was hold my breath.

And then, before I could get away, you tilted your head and pressed your lips against mine. You breathed hard through your nose as if taking in every part of me. Your every breath in tore me open wider and wider, my insides spilling out and into you. And with your every exhale, it felt like you were sucking out the poison that had me under its spell for so many years. My lips softened as they relaxed into yours. And finally, I felt I could breathe again for the first time in years.

I suddenly felt that part of me floating deep down in that dark lake, slowly undulating in that lullaby of endless sleep, arms listlessly hovering in the cold water, suddenly opening its eyes. Suddenly waking up.

And then, it was over. My breath was at a fever pitch, and I was shaking all over. I felt electric. I felt alive. You still hovered very close, and for a brief moment, I could see a strange look in your eyes. Perhaps a mixture of sadness and curiosity. Perhaps as if you understood everything. Maybe wondering what could have been in a different time and place. And then, you took my face into your hands, and slowly, your two muddy thumbs pressed gently into my cheeks, never taking eyes off of me, and ran them slowly down my face, leaving your indelible mark on me.

“I see you,” you slowly whispered as you gave a very faint chuckle.

And then, with the crowd still cheering outside, you turned and started to walk away, as slowly as you came in, back down the hall to the place from where you appeared. But just before you left, you turned and gave me one last look. Then, you slowly pressed your forefinger to the middle of your lips and made a ‘shh’ gesture…but didn’t make a sound.

As the doors to the locker room slammed behind you, an icy cold came over me. I stood there frozen, feeling exposed, turned inside out—pink and raw like a newborn. I was in suspended animation, somewhere between the lion mask that lay crumpled and deflated beside me and that part of me floating at the bottom of that dark lake.

Those tiny eyes of the mole were gone, replaced with eyes wide open for the first time. I had no idea you were hiding like me. But unlike me, you’re strong, confident, and standing firmly in the spotlight. You learned how to do it all and not be on the sidelines. You truly are the Master Spy. And now you’ve made it impossible for me to wear this mask any longer. You’ve ruined everything. With one kiss, you destroyed me.

Yes, I had made it out alive. This spy had done well. But exactly what part of me was left? Will I excavate myself out of the watery darkness? Learn to walk again, like a body after a long coma — with atrophied muscles — not knowing how to move anymore, and piece myself back together again? Years and years spent living a lie, playing a part from a script I didn’t write. A script that I followed for so long that now I don’t know how to write my own story.

And now, as the rest of the team bursts through the double doors of the locker room, full of life and raucous laughter, I continue to stand here frozen. Of course, nobody notices me. I’m still totally invisible to them. Silent tears pour down my face and mix with the lines that you marked me with—tears of sadness, tears of release, and maybe tears of joy, too.

But slowly, I can feel the real me that I had long drowned slowly rising from the deep amongst the dancing bubbles and up to the surface, ready to breathe its own air this time.

And now I realize that with that one kiss, you may have destroyed a part of me, but it was the part of me that wasn’t really living anyway. And that same kiss may have also just brought the real me back to life.