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I have begun to write this. It is fragments of the novel I hope to write one day. |
| It was an unspoken rule that some things are meant to be hidden; that secrets must be hushed beneath the unstable foundations of home. I was never told to "not tell" but somehow I knew there would be consequences for such a betrayal. I learned early on to wear a mask; a costume whenever I entered the world. I was taught to exude fantasy rather than expose reality. There were several dances I had with others who never saw my true face. Some I would allow to get a little closer but anytime I was at risk of my mask being removed, I would bow out of the dance and move on. My secrets could not be revealed. After all, there were unspoken rules. My mask eventually molded itself to my face, latching on and deviating me from myself. I couldn't detach from it even if I had wanted to, because the mask that I was taught to wear metamorphosized into my identity. It's ironic, really, that the day my mask was ripped from my face and I was forced out of my costume was the day of the year where masks and costumes are acceptable. It was on Halloween. The ghosts, goblins, and monsters had already gone in for the night. The sun had set and tricks and treats were put away until the next year. Masks were removed and scary faces were replaced with chocolate smiles and sleepy eyes. Little did I know that there was one monster still lurking in the shadows, drunk on evil spirits. The first place my mother had thought to call was my house. "Hello?" "Daniel tried to burn the house down!" "What! Where are you?" "I'm at the police station. Daniel tried to burn the house down!" Her voice was streaked with shock and panic. This was not a trick of Halloween. My knees buckled beneath me. I shook uncontrollably and felt the room become hazy and smaller. This was not the time to fall apart. I put my mask back on; the one with the brave face, and I drove to her. I don't remember how I got there or what I passed along the way. When I burst through the doors of the police station, my mother was sitting at a Detective's desk. Her hair was strewn about, flying outside of her ponytail. She looked up at me with wet eyes and trembling lips, looking like a broken child. However, this was no child. This was my mother. Her forehead creased and she contorted her features into a canvas of confusion and pain. That face will resonate in my mind forever. I knew I had to be strong for her. There was no time to digest this event. I know I had the image of her story engraved in my mind as thought I had experienced it myself: In a drunken rage, Daniel had sprayed lighter fluid all over the floor and bent down to flick his lighter. Simultaneously, my mother picked up the phone and dialed 911. Daniel positioned himself in the doorway, and she was on the opposite side of the room. He would've have been able to make a quick and safe escape, but she would have been destined to burn in an abyss of deceit. Luckily, Daniel was too drunk to initiate success. I could've lost my mother that evening and I would've spent my days plotting ways to eradicate the monster. It would take several months before my mask with the brave face would be ripped from me. It would come unexpectedly, and it would disguise itself as a tornado, blowing apart my consciousness. My brave face would be stripped, and I would be exposed. Uncontrollabel fits of fear and irrational thoughts would replace the mask. |
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