“Adrienne Becomes” by Jane Turula

Adrienne is small. Her delicate features are the image of youth itself. Her face is soft, like a bright, glowing putty, which has yet to take form and harden. She is numb. Adrienne is new; she has no interests, no favorite words. She has no deep thoughts upon which to dwell, no favorite breakfast food, no favorite friend. Adrienne has nothing to speak of in the other direction, either—no enemies to hate, no places to detest, and no foods to chew up and spit out in disgust.

We find Adrienne walking through her campus. It is raining, and thunder rolls throughout her scene. The smell is deep and mulch-bound, not unlike what one would imagine smelling in the home of an earthworm. Adrienne’s skirt is too long; each step up the stairs increases the dampness around her ankles. She doesn’t know what to think of this, she only knows that another person may find this uncomfortable. The umbrella shelters her in the same way a safety blanket shelters the child from monsters. Adrienne undergoes the rain.

Adrienne enters the classroom. I will not dwell on this area, for I know little of what is done here. I do, however, know that Adrienne pulls a mask out of her bag, and covers her face with it before she walks in. The mask is not like her face. It is smooth but hard; bright, but not incredibly so. Adrienne with the mask on does not seem to resemble Adrienne at all.

After an indefinite amount of time, Adrienne returns to the open world. The smell now is changed. It is not different, but rather, it is deeper. Adrienne previously thought that she would like to take her mask off after its purpose was served, but curiously enough she does not do this now. She steps down the steps. She looks at the sky. She keeps her umbrella stowed away. Adrienne’s eyes may have a hard time seeing through the mask, but for her it makes the experience more worthwhile. 

We now may observe our dear companion at a later time. She has managed to wear her mask throughout the whole semester, which is unusual compared to many other tired students. Tonight, however, she has an event to go to, and would like to let loose. Adrienne believes that her delicate face will be less intimidating than the hard shell she had grown so accustomed to wearing. Adrienne takes off the mask.

And what do we see? A startling scene, perhaps, but less so once the eyes become adjusted to it. Adrienne has taken off her mask, but what’s underneath is almost the same. Her face is now molded into a fine shape. Smooth, firm—but not rock-hard—and her eyes have sunk into their proper places. But this is not the only thing that has changed. If we observe the mask in Adrienne’s graceful hand, we shall note that during the few seconds it has been away from her face, the mask has taken on a form closer to Adrienne’s previous face. At this moment, I wonder if the mask had always been changing, just not fast enough to note, but this curiosity remains mostly unknown. 

Adrienne used to think that if this were to happen to someone, that someone may think ill of the transformation, feeling lost. Adrienne, at one point, considered that she may take on the same thoughts as this someone. Surprisingly, Adrienne does not. She looks at the mask resembling what she used to be, as well as the face of hers in the mirror resembling what she has become, and feels a stirring pride where before there was nothing. Adrienne has learned, in this moment, something we cannot simply know ourselves. 

Adrienne steps outside, and feels the evening sunlight sweep across her skin. She has left her mask in her room; she will not need it tonight. Adrienne, smooth and strong, dances with people she will now call her friends, in a garden of roses and macchiatos. The smell is pleasant, but even more so now that Adrienne has learned to understand the concept of pleasantness. Her professor stirs his coffee at a table nearby. He wonders to himself how someone who has changed so much could look even more like herself than she did before. It makes us wonder what it means, simply, to be.

What did we see in our encounter with Adrienne? Some may argue it was simply a loss of originality; a furthering from one’s true state. Rather, I find that this experience has shown the opposite. Adrienne’s mask will be used forever, and ours will be, too. But, Adrienne differs from many. She understands that her mask will always be like her, even when she is more like the mask. The two faces change, but ultimately, they are of the same person. And whatever face she dons in public will follow her to the private world, where it becomes a little more intense; a little more real. Perhaps something is lost, but what is gained in its stead is more true than anything before. In this way, Adrienne is becoming Adrienne.

Jane Turula is a second-year majoring in Entertainment and Media Studies and minoring in English from Athens, GA. This pupa has never tried to publish before but writes compulsively. One could say it is genetic—she is of the third generation of UGA academics who have a hard time wriggling themselves away from literature. She has a lot of ideas and would like to see them put to good use. Perhaps, one day, you will even see her try to film them. Alternatively, she could place her musings in the UGA admissions packets she puts together as a student worker at Terrell Hall, but this would most likely get her fired.