Mask Love

Dear Mask,

One day, I’m gonna rip you off my face

Dear Mask,

I have such mixed feelings about you. I love how you protect me, even though it wounds my ego a little. As an American, I value my independence and self-sufficiency.

Like my grandpa used to say, “I don’t need anybody but my gun, my liberty, and my God.” But then you swooped in and guarded me as germ warfare threatened to attack my every nook and cranny.

At first, I thought you made me look stupid. I didn't like looking stupid. I like looking pretty and strong and fearless. I didn’t like looking like someone who was frightened by the media's paranoid fear-mongering.

Sometimes when you and I went out, people yelled at us, accusing us of being scared freaks, but we hung tight. I kept you on, if only because I take offense at getting spit on and yelled at. It makes me rebellious.

Some places, people embraced us, thanked us for helping them be safe and that made me love you even more. When I didn’t wear you right, these same people, who admired us called me a “maskhole.” I hadn’t heard the word before but I had an idea what it meant.

Baby, I hate how when I wear you, my face sweats. I can’t wear mascara without looking like a raccoon and all my lipstick is dried up and deemed redundant because of you.

I hate how I sound muffled when you’re on my face. I’m afraid one day, when I take you off, I’ll talk differently. Maybe I’ll talk too loud. Maybe I’ll speak too clearly, like a news reporter or somebody who desperately needs to get their point across. I’ve always considered myself demure, but you've made me project and enunciate.

I hate how you smell when you wear too much detergent. Your soap particles get into my nose and I feel like I am huffing dryer exhaust. It’s unpleasant.

I hate how you become less protective with every wash and I must always consider if this is our last time together.

I hate that I can’t go anywhere without you.

One day, I’ll take you off and I’ll miss you. I know I’ll touch my face and wonder where you are. I’ll be afraid, but I’ll be brave. I’ll be safe. I’ll remember what you did for me, what we meant to each other, how we helped save the whole goddamn world.

Do you remember when we first met? You were so clunky and awkward. I had to tie you at the back with those separate strings. You covered my entire face like I was playing peek-a-boo with the world. You were pink and had a little mermaid print. I was grateful to you. You had been a gift. You were a gift.

Time went on and it was clear you were not going anywhere, so I tried new things. Paper, glitter, artwork, cotton, satin, mesh. I kept you in a basket, so I always had got to choose your colors and your textures.

One day, I’m going to rip you off of my mouth and place you onto my eyes. I’m going to travel to Carnival and I’m going to wear bright red lipstick.