Masked

Charlie awoke startled, drenched in sweat, and gasping for air. Her blaring alarm yanked her from her ominous nightmare, and she was nearly grateful until she realized there was something even worse than what had unfolded in her dreams… it was Monday morning. The sun’s weak rays were creeping into her bedroom, prodding at her as she found herself wishing she hadn’t woken up at all. Like clockwork, the debate between Jekyll and Hyde began, “what if I stay in bed and call in sick? What if I don’t call at all? What if I never bother showing up again? Oh come on, you’re better than that! You have responsibilities!”. She begrudgingly inched her way out of bed and toward the bathroom to begin the laborious task of creating her mask.

A little foundation and a little powder to her face, some colorful eyeshadow and mascara applied to her long lashes, her hair fresh and curly, a cute outfit, and a plastered smile, “great…here we go”. As she tackled traffic on her way to work and fought back tears, she listened to her “ The Beatles” soundtrack, hoping their jovial vibes might bring her some peace that morning; naturally, she found it unsuccessful. She pulled into the parking lot at her office, double-checked her makeup to make sure her choked-up tears didn’t spawn mascara goops in the corners of her eyes, and waltzed into work like a confidant, glowing, swan.

Her coworkers always admired her friendliness, her enthusiasm, and the effortless smile she wore to work every day…Charlie couldn’t help but smirk and think, ” My god if they only knew”. It was all she could do to get through the day without stabbing herself with a pen, knowing Mr. Hyde was boiling on the inside, ready to explode. She wanted to rip off her mask, scream at the world, and let it be known she was hurting, miserable, and boiling with rage, “that would cost me my job wouldn’t it…do I care? I guess…”. When 5:30 finally hit, Charlie flashed her smile at her coworkers, wished them a wonderful evening, and glided toward the exit and through the parking lot before she finally collapsed in her car. That uplifting smile faded instantaneously as Mr. Hyde ripped through her chest like a graphic scene from the 1979 movie, “Alien”. Tears began to stream down her face, her drive home was filled with unhealthy levels of road rage, cuss words, and crumpled tissues. Mr. Hyde was on a rampage and there was no stopping him; rage exploded out like a firework, with sparks hitting anyone in close proximity.

Charlie finally stumbled into her apartment and crumbled to the floor sobbing; her mask melting as mascara ran down her face like a dirty river and her curls were now unruly, her dogs hesitant to greet her. She was tired of hiding and dreamt of the day it would all be over; the day she would no longer have to fake a smile, the day everyone realized she wasn’t the happy person they knew. The walls appeared to close in on her and shadows lurking across the room encouraged hellish thoughts; she continued to cry, bawl, as all the pain flowed through her, Mr. Hyde unleashing himself.

To all my readers wearing a mask...

Yours truly, AA