The Man Behind A Mask (A sequel to 'The Girl Who Loaned Me a Pencil')

As I sit in the silence and darkness beside the cold corpse of a man I once knew, 

I find myself wondering how such a close friend could hide such darkness. 

 

He stares back at me with glassy, soulless eyes, the ghost of a smile lingering on his pale blue lips, and wonders how I could possibly miss what has been right in front of me for so long. 

 

It is now that I am forced to question everything. 

 

Every smile.

 

Every conversation.

 

Every time I asked him how he was doing.  

 

Every time he smiled his plastic smile and said that he was “Fine” 

 

I tell myself that I couldn’t possibly have known how he was feeling inside.

 

I tell myself that there were no obvious signs.

 

I tell myself that if he needed help he would have asked.

 

I tell myself I’ll sleep tonight.

I remember the broken girl he could never quite bring himself to get over,

 

And though her name has faded into obscurity, I do remember the weeks and months leading up to the atrocities she committed.

 

I remember the bags under her eyes.

 

I remember the scars on her arms.

 

I remember the look of hopelessness and despair on her pale wasted face.

 

I remember the day he told me he wanted to help her. 

 

I remember the day I told him that I didn’t know how. 

 

And I remember the day she loaned him a pencil.

 

I watched day by day, alongside my friend, as the darkness grew in her and finally exploded.

 

And though we were helpless to stop it from consuming her, we both saw it happening right in front of our eyes, no matter how much we tried to convince ourselves that it wasn’t. 

 

I thought, now, after all that has happened and all I’ve seen...

 

I thought I had come to know what the signs of sorrow and desperation look like.

 

I never thought so many smiles could be faked. 

 

I never knew so much pain could be disguised behind such a thin mask.

 

I never pictured such a seemingly happy person feeling the touch of that darkness.  

 

Nor did I think it would come for me or those close to me.

 

Yet now, here I sit staring at the cold, merciless result of that ignorance.

 

Now that it’s too late to do any good, I find myself wondering…

 

Should I have known all along?

 

 Should I have kept a closer eye on him? 

 

Does it make me a bad person because I didn’t?

 

Would it have made a difference if I had?

 

Was I ever really his friend?

 

Did I even really know him at all?

In the weeks and months to come the life that was lost will fade into the background with a million others.

 

Even those who were closest to him will begin to forget the story that was told here.

 

They will go back to their everyday life, drinking Corona with their friends and pretending nothing terrible has happened.

 

Pretending like all of their souls haven’t just been gripped by the darkness and come away stained.

 

Then they’ll make posts on social media about how scared they are of the sickness that’s sweeping the nation. 

 

Meanwhile, none of them will offer any solution to the problem that is right next door to them or in their own backyard. 

 

Because the simple fact is that there is no brand of hand sanitizer in the world pure enough to wash away chemical depression,

And there is no light beer in the universe full-bodied enough to make you love yourself!!

We can’t allow ourselves to forget what happened here today.

 

We can’t forget the plastic smile of the man who lived behind a mask. 

 

Nor can we allow this deadly virus to go unrecognized or unchecked any longer. 

 

We can’t continue to let this evil contagion spread like the chaotic wildfire that it is.

 

Something needs to be done.

 

Some action needs to be taken.

 

I just don’t know what it is.

 

I’m just not the right person to ask for the answers.

 

I’m not a doctor or a scientist.

 

I don’t have a license or a degree.

 

I don’t have any formulas or solutions.

 

I just have this pencil,

 

And this page.

 

And this is not me offering an answer. 

 

This is not my attempt to make the world understand or even care.

 

Nor is it a list of my regrets. 

It’s a hope.

 

It’s a prayer.  

 

It is...

The Least I can do.