Masks
When Harold Jenkins puts on a tie in the morning, does he don a mask? If he chooses corduroy over jeans, is he looking for protection? Tying his laces in a double knot, does he feel secure? What about when he pulls his hood up, even though it isn’t raining?
Harold Jenkins takes a left down the boulevard. He chooses to walk in the cracks between sunlight; occasionally the awning of a shop-front covers him. He takes a sidestreet to avoid the bustle. Is that a mask? Once every few minutes he’ll cover his mouth with his hand, making it look like he’s rubbing his nose, and when he does that he can utter some words unseen. He will start to touch the top of his head soon, repeatedly. In choosing to trim his moustache this morning, he forgot to comb his hair. He trimmed his moustache because the way it covered his upper lip was tragic and not comedic. So now his hair is unkempt; it sits on his head awry. That’s why he put his hood up.
He wore his best shirt today. That’s a mask. He also wore a relatively new pair of pants. That’s a mask, too. As are the socks with little dinosaurs on them.
When it starts to drizzle- a steady, tedious kind of nuisance- people keep their heads down and don’t see Harold Jenkins anymore. Drizzle is a bit like a mask. The wind can act like a mask.
When he smiles to himself, even though no one can see because it’s drizzling and they’ve got their heads down, it’s still a mask. It’s for himself. When he laughs, even if really quietly, that’s still a mask, too.
The headphones over his ears are a mask. His gloves are a mask. His glasses, they’re a mask. His eyelids are a mask for his eyes. His pursed lips are a mask for his teeth, and his teeth are a mask for his tongue, and his tongue is a mask when it makes an impatient click.
His sighs aren’t a mask.
Occasionally, he peers out from under his glasses, and then you can see that his eyes are blue.
When it’s cold, like it is this morning, he puts his hands in his pockets, even though he’s already wearing gloves. He walks with a bent back. He is enclosed. And his coat is zipped up tight.
There’s a crowd ahead, with a hundred people hiding in it.
“I hope no one sees me,” he thinks.