We all wear masks. We don a particular persona for each individual or group, and use that to guide our expressions and actions. But no matter how deceiving a mask is, or how close it is to our real face, it is still a lie. In the early morning, I stare out the window, wondering what mask I will be forced to adopt today. I trace two fingers across my jaw, feeling facial hair prickle, as I imagine an emotionless mask plastered to my face. I pluck at an eyebrow so the mask will fit better. The overcast sky tells me that this is, indeed, the right kind of day to remain emotionless in front of my peers. The atmosphere is uneasy, a heavy tide of midterms and the disappointment of another football loss wafting through the air. I feel the corners of my lips twitch upwards into a smile, but smother it. If I were to don the mask of happiness today, people would think I’m up to something. I notice uneasily that my finger is tapping an uneven rhythm against the windowsill. When did I pick that habit up?
Outside, I watch as a boy and a girl talk to one another. I can’t hear what they are saying, but their faces say enough. If I can see through their masks, I will know what they are thinking. The girl speaks quickly, gesticulating with her hands in jerky motions. Her eyebrows slant inward, expressing anger. She finishes and turns her back on the boy. He scratches his head, looking dazed and confused. He extends an arm out to her shoulder, hiding pain behind a mask of anger. Why all the hand motions? Does he think a simple touch will speak on behalf of him? She shrugs him away and takes a step away. The boy balls his palms into a fist, closes his eyes, and yells something. Isn’t it obvious that the girl is looking for reconciliation with kind words, not touch?
The girl turns back to him, fire in her eyes. She waves about madly and then drops her arms to her side. The boy does the same, and then they stare at each other, each with an expression of anger written on their face. But then I notice something. Despite the fury stenciled into the boy’s strained muscles, flared nostrils, red ears, and quivering eyebrows, there’s something hidden in his eyes that speaks to something entirely different. His dark eyes hide behind them a certain pain. I recognize at once the feeling of fear. Despite the harsh words and enraged gestures, he is afraid of losing her. But he feels compelled to keep up his stubborn mask, expressing anger because that is what a guy like him is supposed to show in a moment like this. I look over to the girl, and see only anger in her eyes. Unlike the boy, her eyes hide the mask, while her face tells the truth. Her lips quiver, and dip once or twice into a frown, but remain in a resting position for the most part. Despite the betrayal she is experiencing, something within her wants to call out and ask for forgiveness. Her mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Her eyes drop to the concrete, and the mask of anger vanishes for just a second. I see the outlines of a tear glisten from the light of the overcast sun, but she quickly wipes it away. When she looks back up, the fabrication of fury has returned. I watch as the boy’s eyes dash about, finally settling on some distant point. Once the two refuse to look at each other, I know that it is over. The false masks have won once again. Without another word, the girl turns away and leaves, and the boy stays staring, fists still clenched. I look away from the window, putting the moment behind me. I walk to the sink and wash an expressionless mask onto my face before grabbing my bag and leaving for class.
Caleb Guice was born in an unassuming part of the state of Georgia and raised on a strict diet of Disney films and VeggieTales. He spent his most formative years living in the remotest villages of Thailand and navigating the bustling streets of Azerbaijan, and his intrigue for other cultures is matched only by his love for stories. On an unending journey, he seeks out new worlds and experiences through film, literature, and his own life. When not watching Netflix—sorry, we meant writing—he can be found competing in Smash Bros with friends and family, overanalyzing old movies, or meticulously crafting stop-motion short films. He is also seeking representation for his first novel. He currently studies Advertising at the University of Georgia.