For as long as I’ve existed, I have run a mask shop. It isn’t a very good mask shop. Oh, my wares blend in well enough with skin. The expressions with the eyes and mouth work just fine—that’s the whole point of a mask after all. I wouldn’t have made it far in the industry if those failed. I carry a variety of shapes and sizes, to fit every face. The strings that loop around their wearers’ heads do not break, and the masks themselves are machine washable. They just… aren’t very elaborate.
They don’t have decorative noses with nostrils that can flare. There are no raisable brows or battable lashes. The material they are made of is too hard to allow the wearers to wrinkle their fake skin. As such, while they do sell, they don’t sell for much money. I could not change this even if I wanted to. To sell them is my purpose.
My customer base is primarily made up of those who don’t really care about masks. Most people see them as a fundamental part of their identities; my customers tend to think of them more like pieces of clothing. They have to put them on when they engage with society, of course. Otherwise people will freak out, but when they’re alone at home? Shoes by the door, coat on the rack, mask on the floor. These customers also usually don’t engage with society much. If they did, it wouldn’t take them long to get a more expensive mask just for the sake of easier social interactions.
The rest of my customer base consists of people who can’t afford anything better.
My philosophical and economic position in all of this is irrelevant—that’s not why I am telling you this.
The reason I’m telling you all this is to show that I know my business very well. I have a great deal of experience and I would like to think I am naturally talented in it. I’m good at small talk and convincing people to buy something and my store’s decor is very tasteful. I have put up with many customers who are rude, entitled, or outright just having a bad day and struggling to hide it. I am a consummate professional about all of it. I don’t know whether I would have chosen this job specifically if I had a choice, but I think I would probably still be some kind of saleswoman. That’s about as much as you can hope to like your purpose in this world. Most of the time, I go home when The Watch says it’s time, tired but satisfied.
This is not most of the time.
I am actively struggling not to have a panic attack, standing across the cash register from the one person, in all the world, who doesn’t need a mask at all.
Her real eyes look straight through my fake ones, figuratively and maybe literally. Her face is the real one, the one from which all masks are based. She is taller than she looks on the posters. Her head is not far too large for her body anymore. It has been a long time since she has visited the world; she must have changed while she was away. I know it’s her, though. I know it in the pit of my stomach. I know it in the rhythm of my heart. I know it the same way I know how to breathe.
Her face makes the most expensive mask in the world look like cheap garbage. Oh, the detailing on her! Her lips are chapped, but only slightly, and there is a subtle dark ring underneath each of her eyes. This is the Mother of the World, maker of everyone, she who writes our fates. Who created this realm on a whim and will, when the time comes, destroy it on a whim. Who spends most of her time in a reality too complex for me to comprehend, interacting with those who are as powerful as her. Visiting us only rarely, when she has nothing better to do.
I blink my mask’s eyes, hoping she will disappear. Just a trick of the mind, a sign I need to get some sleep. The Mother of the World does not disappear. Even before I open my eyes again, she is there. In front of me. Staring. It was a foolish thing to try: I do not see with the eyes on my mask. What I truly see with can never be turned off.
If the Mother of the World wants something of me, I have to do it. If I don’t do it well enough, she could decide the world is better off without me. I feel sweat sliding beneath my mask. What did I do to deserve this? Hairs on my arms raise. Please, I don’t want to die. My stomach sinks to my knees. I try not to follow its example. Why is this happening to me? I need to calm down. I take a shaky breath, in and out. I can’t afford to freeze up, not now. I need to do something. That might make it worse. Say something. That might make it worse. Anything!
In the end, I rely on my usual customer procedure. I twist my mask’s mouth into a smile and mimic the noise of a throat clearing. “Hi, welcome to You Ask, We Mask. What can I do for you today?”
“Get me a mask.” Her voice is not loud or deep, but there is power in it. It is the voice from which all voices were molded.
Under ordinary circumstances, that would be an unhelpful answer that clears up nothing. Everyone who comes in here wants a mask. Considering she could ask anything of me, though, this does narrow down the possibilities, but doesn’t stop it from being confusing. A mask. A mask? She has a real face, she doesn’t need a mask! If she did need a mask, for reasons beyond my understanding, she could at the very least get a better one, from a fancier store! Money is not the concern of a person with the power to create a world from nothingness. Why would she be here?! Is this a test? If so, why is she making me take it?
Okay, calm down. It might not make sense, but that’s okay. The most important thing is, it’s easy. She wants a mask, everyone who comes in here wants a mask, and everyone who goes out of here leaves with one. If I get her what she asked for, she won’t hurt me. I can do this, all I have to do is pretend she’s like any other customer. Sure, she thinks of me as a mere speck of dust compared to her, but so do plenty of my customers. All that’s changed is that this one happens to be right. That doesn’t affect anything. I’ll do my job all the same.
“Certainly! Do you have anything specific in mind? You can look around the shop to find something you like, or if you prefer I can just grab one I think will fit you.” I tilt my head to the right, in the direction of the masks that would fit her.
“I don’t really care about the details, I don’t plan to be using it for long. Just get me something that won’t fall off or cut off my circulation. And make sure it’s not itchy.”
“Oh, worry not, I would never sell a product that itches.” I give my warmest smile and fast-walk to the shelves to find a mask for her. The cheerful yellow carpet is soft on my feet, it feels good to walk after standing in place for hours.
Though my store is small, I have filled it with many shelves to fit many masks. After all, when your product is not very expensive, you have to sell a lot of it. It was difficult to arrange them in a way that made the store seem more cozy than cramped, but I did. The shelves are made up of various cubbies. Each cubby contains a stack of one type of mask. They are divided up by eye color, eye shape, eye size, lip color, lip shape, lip size, mask color, mask shape, and mask size. There are plenty of options in each category, leading to a huge range of choices. Some masks have entire shelves devoted solely to exact replicas of them. Others sit in one dust covered pile in the bottom right cubby of a shelf at the back of the store.
The mask I am looking for is one of the popular ones. Plenty of people want to resemble the Mother of the World, so masks that look like her and would fit her are the most popular type of mask by far. Even those whose heads don’t fit her masks often wear them. Personally, I find the practice creepy. If masks are a tool to express emotions, why not focus exclusively on getting expressive ones? If masks are a way of expressing who you are as a person, why would you choose to instead express someone else? Still, I want to make money, so I sell them.
I sift through a pile of the masks, making sure the one I select isn’t in any way damaged. I don’t agonize over it for too long, though. I can’t keep the Mother of the World waiting. I hold my selection with the most care I have ever held anything with in my life. I look at my feet while I walk back to the Mother of the World, moving slower now. Rushing and stalling at the same time. I return to my stance behind the register and hand her the mask with a cheery, “Here you go!”
She stares at it for a long moment. Whatever this test was supposed to be on, I’m not sure I passed. She looks back up at me. Her lips haven’t moved from their default position, but in her eyes there’s… confusion? Surprise? I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.
“Is this… an exact replica of my face?”
Calling it exact is giving it a bit too much credit. There are mask makers who dedicate their every spare hour solely to producing the most realistic Mother of the World masks they can. I don’t get it, but I respect it. This is a cheap thing bought in bulk from a factory that can’t even make noses. Still, whoever designed this kind did a good job. Her eyes are the exact same color as the ones on the mask.
“They’re a very popular mask design.” I try not to make my voice sound like I have an opinion on the matter. I don’t want the Mother of the World to end up disagreeing with me and being upset about my opinion.
“Creepy.”
I start to smile, before remembering that that means she’s unhappy with what I got her. “I’m so sorry, I’ll get you a different one right away.”
“Nah, it’s fine. Just… Can you take the eyes out of it? I can’t see anything with them in the way.”
“Certainly!” I take the mask back and, in a practiced motion, use my right thumb and index finger to pop the eyes out into my left hand. They’re removable for washing purposes, but most people don’t know that, let alone know the motion for getting them out. I handed her back the mask, “Would you like the eyes on the side?”
She smirks, and I realize I probably phrased that poorly. Oh well, at least she found it funny.
“Sure, they might come in handy someday.”
I give them to her as well. She slips them in her left pants pocket.
“That will be 4.99, thank you.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I was almost through, I had gotten her a mask, made the necessary adjustments, made her smile. It was all going to be perfectly fine, and then I had to ask her for money? She gave me life and I couldn’t even give her a mask? She was going to kill me and I was going to deserve it, all because I was treating her like any other customer and not paying attention to what I was saying. Just spitting out the same words I always did. Stupid!
She puts a hand in her right pocket and withdraws a handful of coins. She holds them out to me. “This is enough, right? I don’t remember how your currency works.”
I count them up in my head. It adds up to 5 rems, 3 enwuns.
“That is more than enough, thank you. Here’s your change!” I handed her a few coins back.
“Thanks.” She slips them back in her pocket.
“Is there anything else you need from me? If so, I will do my absolute best to assist you.” Please don’t kill me, I’m loyal.
“Anything at all, huh?” She sounded amused, like she thought I wasn’t being serious.
“Of course! You made us for the express purpose of helping you with whatever you want. Each and every one of us wants nothing more than to assist you however we can.” I say it a bit too loudly, a bit too fervently.
“Right. I did that. Maybe I’m the creepy one, or I was as a kid, at any rate…” She trails off.
I have no idea how to respond to that. Am I supposed to defend her, tell her she is not, was not, and will never be, creepy? But that would be disagreeing with her. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t even know what a kid is!
So I say nothing, I just try to look understanding.
She sucks in a breath and lets it out as words. “…Do you know a place I can stay?”
What?
“Somewhere cheap, just for a bit. I can’t go home until I collect some things from this world. It’s a long story.”
I blink. Okay. That’s weird for more than one reason. I need to respond to her, though. “Just for context, how long is ‘for a bit’?”
“That’s yet to be determined, but probably less than a… how do you measure time here again? I’m sorry, it’s been a while since I visited this place.”
That’s an understatement. It’s been decades, and even that last time was for a brief length of time. Some conspiracy theorists think she’s dead. I’ve never even met her, but I missed seeing her picture in the newspapers. They used to take a new one for it every time she visited. I can’t keep getting lost in thought, I need to answer her question.
I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Do you mind having a roommate?”
Artwork by engin akyurt on Unsplash.