Relativity

I’ve been staring at this boy, not because I like him, but because he’s been wearing this mask since the first day of school, and literally nobody cares. A black face mask, kinda similar to the Phantom of the Opera’s mask but a full one.

Usually, masks are portrayed to conceal one’s identity. We call these “social masks,” and everyone wears them to play a certain type of personality. And when you remove your mask, it’s a sign of revealing your true identity—especially when it cracks for a more dramatic effect. Then everyone, still wearing their masks, looks at you like you’re some alien.

I try spinning a pen and fail. The pen falls to the ground and rolls over to him. That may sound like he’s my seatmate—no, he’s three or four chairs away from me. It’s just that my pen has a mind of its own that it starts to defy common sense. Take note that the boy is still wearing his opera-esque black face mask, listening attentively to the teacher. He looks at the pen as I observe him. Finally, after fifteen minutes, I stand and pick it up, and sit back in my chair since he doesn’t care.

Lunchtime comes, and my friends come over to shoot the breeze with me. I’m a bit extroverted, so you could say this has already been planned from the start—a typical story between an introverted boy and an extroverted girl (or the fact we’re the opposites makes it typical); but no, I can’t even grasp his personality.

Plus, as per the creator of introversion and extroversion himself, there’s no such thing as a pure introvert or extrovert. Such a person would be in the lunatic asylum. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that this boy is wearing a black mask every single day, and there’s no chance that he’ll ever remove it unless I ask him.

And I did. “Why are you wearing that weird mask?”

He looks at me as though he finds it surprising. “You’re the first one who ever noticed me.” He removes his mask—just like that. There’s no dramatic tension, no teasing—just a sudden removal of the mask. He’s been wearing this mask for like six months now, and now he’s going to reveal himself so suddenly?

Then I saw his face for the first time.

Just your typical baby-faced guy, so he’s kinda cute, I guess?

He looks at his black mask and hands it to me. “Here, try wearing it. You’ll see why I’m wearing it.”

I take it and stare at him. He smiles and walks away. Wait, is that it? Where’s the meaning behind this? What’s the point of this mask? There’s only one way to find out. And that is to wear this black mask myself. However—I’m a bit scared, so I decided to go back to my class and inconspicuously hide the mask.

The next day, I look into the mirror and wear a black mask. My parents and siblings don’t care as if they can’t see the mask—I’m not sure anymore whether it’s physical or not. But the more I touch it, the more I think it’s the former.

I go to school, as usual, go to my class as usual, and sit in my seat as usual. Nothing too special is going on right now—my classmates are dealing with their own businesses. Not until when the unmasked boy comes into the room, everyone says, “Morning, Jake!”

“Morning, everyone!” The unmasked boy beams as he goes to his seat. The classroom suddenly feels cartoonish or unnatural.

The teacher enters the room with a grin and says, “Good morning, students! It’s going to be a great day!” He swings his arm. “Before we dive into our discussion, why not stand up and tell how you’re feeling right now? Sounds good?”

“Yes, teacher!” says everyone except me.

“Alrighty! Now, let’s start at the first row. Hannah, how are you—”

So it goes like that, one by one—everyone just says the same thing like “I’m happy,” “I’m joyful,” “I’m grateful,” or even “I’m the happiest person alive.”

I’m going to remove my mask, but the unmasked boy stops me. “Wear it till class dismissal,” he says. I genuinely wonder if this is going to be worth it, disturbed by the unnatural optimism of classmates and teachers.

“Olivia, how about you? How are you feeling right now!”

I stand up.

“Uh… I feel fine, I guess?”

Then everyone falls into silence.

Gulping, I look around to observe each classmate who’s looking at me as if I’m alien. The teacher’s stare is the worst, and it’s creeping me out. It goes like that for five minutes until the unmasked boy breaks the ice: “Teacher, she’s wearing a mask. She doesn’t want to be called out, so give her some slack!”

“Oh… I see. I see! Well, then. Next! George—”

I sigh and sit. I look at the unmasked boy, and he’s smiling at me. Unable to tolerate his annoying smile, I stand and approach him, and grab his hand. I drag him along as I leave the classroom. Nobody cares. Now we’re back to where we first talked.

“Okay… What’s with this mask?”

“You’ve now found the ‘why’ you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, but—everything just doesn’t make sense right now. This isn’t what I expected at all. Why is everyone so giggly and jumpy all of a sudden?” Not only that, the classroom has gotten brighter and more surreal too. I thought this mask was like some typical social mask that you wear to pretend or to conceal your identity—but instead, everyone goes nuts.

“Do you want to remove it?” the boy asks.

“And what’ll happen if I do?”

“You can only know if you do.”

I remove my mask without hesitation. As I doffed my mask, everything got a little less bright. But the boy still looks the same. I give the mask back to him, and he wears it. He adjusts it a little so that its symmetry perfectly aligns with his face. “Let’s go back to the classroom, shall we?”

I don’t respond. I follow along. And when we enter the classroom, something stops me. Someone is crying. When I realize the choking sobs belong to one of my friends, I approach her and ask what’s wrong. Cryingly she says that her sister died in a car accident. She adds that she misses her already, and she’s been bottling it up all this time. The teacher just sits there, remaining quiet. The classroom has gotten gloomier and darker, in contrast to the cartoonish and surreal one I’ve seen.

One by one, my classmates begin to cry. Even the teacher looks like he wants to cry. Now the classroom is just like some care center for babies—only the masked boy and I aren’t crying. Everyone starts revealing their darkness, their auras filling the room with malaise.

“What…”

I look behind at the boy.

He’s been standing by the doorway as if to observe the entire classroom and me. I’m not too sure what’s going on—but I know it has something to do with that mask. He also doesn’t seem disturbed by the globs of darkness overfilling the room.

He removes his mask and waves it.

“Do you want to wear it again?”