The Man with the Many Masks
Somewhere in a medium-sized town in a medium-sized country, there was a man named Mark. Mark had a couple of masks to wear, and he used to wear them at work, at home, when he was with his friends, when he visited his family, when he did sports; or to put it shortly; always. His colleagues, friends or family had never noticed he wore them, because they were attached so well and he always used to wear the same ones to the same occasions. So his friends never saw him with another mask than with the one he put on when he was to see them, nor did his colleagues at work, or his wife at home. Surely there were situations in which he was surrounded by people from all of his social contacts, his birthday party for instance, and in that case he had to change the masks real quickly. They all looked, in fact, quite alike, so on the surface people did not really see the difference, which was, of course, of benefit in such tricky situations. The more alcohol came into play, the less accurate he was with changing the masks, but this also wasn't that much of a problem, for people would blame the alcohol for seeing a different Mark than the one they knew.
At a certain point in time, Mark awoke in his bed, after he just brought his 40th birthday party behind him. It had been a blast of a party with loads of alcohol and the corresponding loads of fun, though his memories of the night were veiled by a shade of pounding headache. He turned to his left, where he saw Sophie, his wife, who was still sound asleep. Besides the headache, he felt a whining stinging in his bladder, and so he had to get up to go to the bathroom. He felt a bit dizzy at first, but he managed to reach the toilet quietly, without waking up his wife. Quite astonishing it is, the amount of relief one feels after getting rid of a bit of fluid, he thought smilingly. He washed his hands and threw some water into his face. Then, looking in the mirror for the first time, a shock came over him. A pair of chocolate brown eyes were staring back at him, a nose slightly too big compared to the proportions of the rest of his face, and a stubble that reminded him he needed to shave surrounded his thin lips. He touched his face. It all felt normal, alive, human - but he didn't know whose face it was. He was panicked. Which Mark was casting his reflection on the mirror? Which mask was he wearing? It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't wearing a mask at all. Instinctively he looked at Sophie and then closed and locked the door of the bathroom. Thank heavens she wasn't awake yet. If he was so shocked by his own appearance, try only to think of her reaction, her being a woman. He sat down on the toilet and grabbed his hair. He tried to remember. Somehow he must have lost his masks last night, he figured. He had been wearing all of them, it had been his 40th, which is considered a milestone in most people's opinion, so practically everybody he knew had been invited and had shown up. He must have lost the masks in the turmoil of the party. He tried to remember the details, which hurted his brains, but eventually a vague memory formed into a clearer one before his eyes. Another wave of shock came over him. He really had thrown away his masks. Had he? He had! He couldn't remember at what point of time it had been, if everyone had noticed it, or just a couple of people, or maybe no one. Though wearing his pyjamas, he had never felt so naked before. The last time he went out without any masks to protect him must have been before he gathered them, he guessed, so that must have been when he had still been a kid. Or had he had some back then, too? One for school and one for at home? Had he wore one for kindergarten before he'd used the one for school? He couldn't remember. The fact that remained was that he now found himself locked up in the bathroom without any masks to put on. He heard how Sophie turned around. She was awaking. She would find the bed empty and look for him, soon she would find out he was in the bathroom and he had to come up with a real good excuse why he was locked up, for they usually would not even close the door to the sleeping room. He tried to think clearly. So he was here, without a mask, and he supposed they would be gone forever. So he had to live without his masks. That thought terrified him to the bone. He'd never been in a more alarming situation than he'd found himself in now. When people would ask him who he was, he'd answer 'I am Mark Fredriksson, I am married, we don't have kids, I have Swedish ancestors (for usually one or two eyebrows would rise when he said his last name) and I live at [his current address at that point in time]'. Or when he was somewhere for business purposes, he would say his name, introduce the company he was representing and tell a lot about his function in that certain company. Or when he was at the football club, he was 'Mark, central midfielder, number 12'. Now he was just Mark, sitting on the toilet. That thought lit a light in his disturbed mind. He indeed was 'Mark, sitting on the toilet'! Consequently, when he would stand up and walk back into the sleeping room and step into bed again, and caress Sophie, he would be 'Mark, loving his wife'. Well, that was something he could live with. That would mean that he was just Mark in every situation from now on. He was Mark without a mask, and he wouldn't need any from now on. How liberating! Before leaving the bathroom, he grinned to his reflection. He crawled back under the warm blankets and embraced Sophie.
'Where have you been all that time?', she asked sleepingly.
'Searching myself', he answered, realizing only in that moment how true that answer was.
At a certain point in time, Mark awoke in his bed, after he just brought his 40th birthday party behind him. It had been a blast of a party with loads of alcohol and the corresponding loads of fun, though his memories of the night were veiled by a shade of pounding headache. He turned to his left, where he saw Sophie, his wife, who was still sound asleep. Besides the headache, he felt a whining stinging in his bladder, and so he had to get up to go to the bathroom. He felt a bit dizzy at first, but he managed to reach the toilet quietly, without waking up his wife. Quite astonishing it is, the amount of relief one feels after getting rid of a bit of fluid, he thought smilingly. He washed his hands and threw some water into his face. Then, looking in the mirror for the first time, a shock came over him. A pair of chocolate brown eyes were staring back at him, a nose slightly too big compared to the proportions of the rest of his face, and a stubble that reminded him he needed to shave surrounded his thin lips. He touched his face. It all felt normal, alive, human - but he didn't know whose face it was. He was panicked. Which Mark was casting his reflection on the mirror? Which mask was he wearing? It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't wearing a mask at all. Instinctively he looked at Sophie and then closed and locked the door of the bathroom. Thank heavens she wasn't awake yet. If he was so shocked by his own appearance, try only to think of her reaction, her being a woman. He sat down on the toilet and grabbed his hair. He tried to remember. Somehow he must have lost his masks last night, he figured. He had been wearing all of them, it had been his 40th, which is considered a milestone in most people's opinion, so practically everybody he knew had been invited and had shown up. He must have lost the masks in the turmoil of the party. He tried to remember the details, which hurted his brains, but eventually a vague memory formed into a clearer one before his eyes. Another wave of shock came over him. He really had thrown away his masks. Had he? He had! He couldn't remember at what point of time it had been, if everyone had noticed it, or just a couple of people, or maybe no one. Though wearing his pyjamas, he had never felt so naked before. The last time he went out without any masks to protect him must have been before he gathered them, he guessed, so that must have been when he had still been a kid. Or had he had some back then, too? One for school and one for at home? Had he wore one for kindergarten before he'd used the one for school? He couldn't remember. The fact that remained was that he now found himself locked up in the bathroom without any masks to put on. He heard how Sophie turned around. She was awaking. She would find the bed empty and look for him, soon she would find out he was in the bathroom and he had to come up with a real good excuse why he was locked up, for they usually would not even close the door to the sleeping room. He tried to think clearly. So he was here, without a mask, and he supposed they would be gone forever. So he had to live without his masks. That thought terrified him to the bone. He'd never been in a more alarming situation than he'd found himself in now. When people would ask him who he was, he'd answer 'I am Mark Fredriksson, I am married, we don't have kids, I have Swedish ancestors (for usually one or two eyebrows would rise when he said his last name) and I live at [his current address at that point in time]'. Or when he was somewhere for business purposes, he would say his name, introduce the company he was representing and tell a lot about his function in that certain company. Or when he was at the football club, he was 'Mark, central midfielder, number 12'. Now he was just Mark, sitting on the toilet. That thought lit a light in his disturbed mind. He indeed was 'Mark, sitting on the toilet'! Consequently, when he would stand up and walk back into the sleeping room and step into bed again, and caress Sophie, he would be 'Mark, loving his wife'. Well, that was something he could live with. That would mean that he was just Mark in every situation from now on. He was Mark without a mask, and he wouldn't need any from now on. How liberating! Before leaving the bathroom, he grinned to his reflection. He crawled back under the warm blankets and embraced Sophie.
'Where have you been all that time?', she asked sleepingly.
'Searching myself', he answered, realizing only in that moment how true that answer was.
