Life Behind the Mask

Over the past seven months, I've stopped torturing myself with the pros and cons of fillers and Botox and other costly promises of feigned youth. Masks do have their perks. I'm afraid, sometimes, of once again living unveiled; sure, I'd like to keep the wrinkles under wraps, but I've also become quite accustomed to relying only upon my eyes to convey what I'm really thinking. The windows to my soul have become ambiguous, and I like it that way. 

I live in one of those "Democrat-run" cities (redundant, I know), where people either mask up or give you an extra wide berth when they pass. I ran back up to my apartment this morning, a fistful of sweatshirt pulled over my mouth and nose, mortified that I had forgotten my mask. It rests under my chin when I dine out, doubling as a crumb catcher until someone approaches and it rises up to do its day job. We queue up for the elevator, cognizant of the two per ride limit yet still asking if someone minds if we join. Oddly, we've become increasingly polite while we treat others as if they have the plague. 

Twice this month I had intended to finally go east and see my mother, pandemic be damned. Twice, my trip has been cancelled, first due to forces beyond my control, and more recently because it just didn't seem right -- for me, for my mother, for all of us, really, who have tried so hard to follow the rules and don't want to make things worse for everyone else. One  inadvertent slip-up; a chance encounter; a missed hand wash; a lurking droplet. I'm angry that so many have been reckless, and I don't want to relinquish my right to self-righteousness. 

Through two or three degrees of separation, I know of people who have been sick, and I know of people who have died. It's difficult to believe it's real, though, when it hasn't hit home, but still, I can't erase the images of body bags stacked up in the streets of New York. Governor Cuomo and renowned scientists have slipped off the radar, and we are bombarded with images of a president who preaches to an adoring audience that can't quite grasp the concept of a common good. 

Come to think of it, as the circus continues in full swing and the virus spikes, the president and his enablers have removed their masks while their endless misdeeds have slipped beneath the radar. The rampant corruption, like the rule-abiders and community-minded among us, has become veiled, masked. What of the overt lies? What of the grifting? What of the damning tax returns we know about, and the lord-knows-how-damning tax returns we have yet to see? What of the voter suppression and the racism and the stories that Jeffrey Epstein neglected to take to his grave? What about, what about, what about? Out of sight. Like my wrinkles. 

There is so much wrong right now, and as much as I mask up and keep my distance and wash my hands, there is no end in sight. But the seemingly forgotten treachery, like my wrinkles, will out again.