MASKING UP

                                              MASKING UP

I opened my eyes from what seemed a deep sleep. Strangely, I was wearing, as I had been for almost two years, a Covid mask. Sometimes it seemed like an appendage, not just a covering, but a part of my face. But since I lived alone and when not in contact with others, I had never worn it at home.

In public everyone was donning one. Sometimes forgetting to put it on, they would frantically search for the extra one kept in a pocket or bag reserved for such an emergency. We all looked like we were ready to enter the operating room or, with plastic shields as well, aliens from another planet. I wondered, as I was sure others might, what someone looked like under the assorted coverings. If they had beautiful eyes it was apparent but as for the mouth, the chin, it all remained to be seen. Generally, we were all avoided looking at one another.

When seeing a mask-less face someone would point accusingly, as if they had caught someone committing one of the most heinous of crimes. Covid, that obscene word kept us all in a state of panic. As new variants emerged we were consumed in a constant state of agitation. Inside we were screaming but no one could hear, especially on supermarket lines where everyone was edgy and weary of seeking items no longer on shelves. Shopping had become one of the most exhausting chores of daily living in 2021.

I reached over and turned the TV on for the morning news. It was then I heard the president speaking. He was making an announcement that the Covid pandemic had come to an end and we could all remove our masks for good. I flipped to different channels to make sure I had heard correctly. Yes, it was so! Finally, we were free! I grabbed my phone to call my sister, a friend, anyone, I could share this news with, that is if they hadn’t already heard. I realized I couldn’t speak too well under the mask so I started to remove it. I walked over to the mirror, anticipating the wide smile my lips would be open in and my reflection that would smile back. But something was wrong—I couldn’t get it off! It didn’t feel like gauze or fabric but instead like some hard composition akin to plaster. I kept trying to tug at the elastic around my ears but it too was hard and unmovable. Oh my god, my mind was racing. What had happened? Had it become a part of my face? Would it ever come off? I told myself that was ridiculous. I began running back and forth in circles, unable to control the sense of panic. I couldn’t think what to do next. I couldn’t even take a Valium. How would I even eat or drink? I would be dead in 3 or 4 days!  

Finding my phone, hands shaking, I dialed my sister and when I heard her voice, tried to speak. Help! I was screaming. Can you hear me—it’s me! I could hear her on the other end, Who is this? Is here anyone there? Finally, I hung up, knowing she could not hear me. Everything that came from my mouth was like muffled groans. Wait, I thought, trying to calm myself, maybe it wasn’t plaster, just some weird but pliable material that could be cracked. Grabbing a knife, I began trying to chip away at it. All that happened was a few minute flakes fell to the rug. I went to the mirror again and stared long and hard at what had now become my face. 

I heard a knock at the door and ran toward it. It was Fed-ex with a delivery. I was going to be saved! I opened the door and the delivery guy was standing there, mask-less and smiling. Hey, didn’t you hear—no more masks! So don’t be afraid. Go ahead, take the damn thing off!  I began to wave my arms like some sort of lunatic. And he waved too, heading toward his truck and shaking his head as if he was baffled. All the world was free—except for me…

Then I heard it—a strange but familiar voice in my head. We all wear masks of a sort. You can be free, if you really want to, if you’re not afraid of what others will see. At that point I was exhausted and depleted from all the anxiety that I just fell down on the bed. In a short time I was dreaming—weird dreams where I was in a theatre putting on different masks, trying to find the one that seemed most like me. Nothing seemed right. Nothing could change that I was no longer young, beautiful… The mask had been covering up my real face and the distress at how I had aged over the years. 

When I awoke this time I wasn’t sure if I had been asleep all along. The mask was no longer on my face but on the bed next to me. I touched it, and it was soft again, the white K95 I had always worn and I held it in my hand before I crumbled it and threw it in the wastebasket. Looking at it in there I wondered how something so tiny, so innocuous could have dominated our lives for 2 years? Then I was sobbing, relief so great it consumed me. When I looked in the mirror I saw myself—double chin, wrinkles and all, and it was like I was seeing myself for the first time and when I smiled the smile reflected back to me.

I noticed a scent of smoke permeating from somewhere outside and when I looked out the window the street was filled with people, screaming, laughing, throwing matches into wastebaskets lined up on the sidewalk. They were burning masks! Having a mask burning party. Like in the sixties when women everywhere were burning their bras. It seemed a tribute to a time when there would be change and a tribute to freedom.