Don't Let the Mask Slip

{tw: abusive relationship}

(song used: River by Sarah McLachlan)

I can feel you watching.

Down below, the audience lays in shadow. You’re nothing but a silhouette, but your gaze slashes into me like a laser beam to judge my every breath.

The stage lights brighten so you can see me better. I tuck my shoulders in and pull the mask over my face. Now you like what you see. The person on the stage in the size two designer dress, microphone in hand.

I close my eyes because I can see even better that way.

Your eyes on me, always.

The music begins. A gentle tune that casts a hush over the audience. One that prepares me for my moment of perfection, like you always did.

My palms feel slick, but I tighten my hold on the microphone and pull it up to my lips.

The first note swells out of me, like a raft rising on a frothy wave. I don’t hear it, but I feel it, the notes carrying themselves across the stage to where you sit, so that you can snatch them out of the air.

It’s coming on Christmas…

My chin points down to my chest. You always hated that. The next few notes float toward the ceiling, hover above your head, as I tilt my face upwards. My hair brushes against my back, my shoulders, softer than your touch.

Oh I wish I had a river…

My heart palpitates so faintly I can barely feel it. But it’s singing out the rhythm with me.

I could skate away on…

Do you see you’re the reason I’m standing here like this? The notes become tighter in my throat. Please see. Without you, there is no mask.

Who am I with no mask?

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly high…

Remember the list, that first day? Everything that I can become. You showed it to me.

You said you could love me. You said you could help me.

Is this the person you like to see, after all?

Oh I wish I had a river

I could skate away on…

My knees want to tremble, but I hold my head so still the mask doesn’t waver.

The mask, the mask. Remember last Christmas? I kept it on every day that month. Until I realized I had bought you the wrong kind of music by mistake. You wanted the vinyl. I wasn’t forgetful. I went back for the right one, because I remembered, but then dinner was late. You hated when dinner was late. You also preferred pork roast but I ordered pizza instead. It ended up in the trash.

Remember? I’m not that person anymore. Look at me now. Is this perfect enough?

Two months ago I went to get my nails done. Cherry red. Remember when I brought some home, and it ended up on the rug, like a mosaic of blood?

And last month, I missed my alarm. I was lazy and forgetful even then. You yanked me out of bed, your hair uncombed and your frown feral as a wolf’s as you screamed how you can’t help me anymore.

What about now?

I would teach my feet to fly high…

My voice crescendos to a perfect pitch, and I imagine myself floating up with it, away, drifting over the audience like a bird free to fly.

I end the note, and even through the ones that come after, I know that was it. The person who sang that, on this stage, must have finally satisfied all your requirements. Right?

I made my baby say goodbye…

It’s coming on Christmas…

Thickness surrounds my voice. Tears sting beneath my eyelids, and I feel like I’m drowning in them, like I could just sink into a puddle on the stage right now. Maybe I could become a river, and the mask I’ve fastened on so tightly would just… drift away… and no one would notice.

Maybe not even you.

You and your eyebrows that would pull together in disdain as you looked me over, declaring my eyes too squinty. My dress too tight. This very evening, before I left you to take my place on the stage.

Before I said goodbye.

What if there are no more requirements? What if there doesn’t need to be a mask?

What if I just soar away right now, leave the person on the stage behind, somewhere you can never find me?

Remember that one Christmas, some years ago, there was pizza and laughter, speakers and sweatpants, my squinty eyes and my swaying hips?

I remember.

My chin dips and my knees tremble. You hate that, I know. But look. See me flying? Away from the stage, right now? I’m circling the Christmas tree, with its dazzling light bulbs, I’m brushing the pulled back curtains, and I’m swooping down toward the lights.

I land back on the stage to finish my song, this time my heart shouting the words.

I could skate away on.

The audience begins clapping before the music even ends, the sound like a buzzing in my ears. I feel your hands tightly pinching each other in your lap, your mouth a line.

My eyes open, it’s too bright to see you in the crowd, but I know you’re there. I know you’re watching.

But do you see the river on this stage, my mask pulled down, the freedom in my heart? Did you see the way I soared for a moment?

That was me.

Are you looking, really looking?

Did you hear me mess up, when emotion got the best of me, when I was forgetful? Did you see the beauty in that?

Thank you for helping me, but you were right all this time. You can’t help me anymore. Not after the person you knew is left standing on the stage, chin high, guarded by fear and falseness.

The person you knew was too afraid to soar.

On my way out, I drop the mask into your lap.