The girl in the mask

This chapter is the prelude. It shows how the two girls met and develops them as characters.

 

 

Empathy

 

“Empathy is a wonderful feeling to have. Without it I think there would be many more lonely people in this world.

Experience is empathy, and I will use mine to help people all over the world.”

~ Angela Michelli

 

Marissa

 

 

 

 

 

Angela Michelli is my best friend. She always has been.

I was twelve when I met her. She transferred to our school in the middle of the

semester. The teacher said she was from Italy, but she spoke perfect English. I knew there was something special about her as soon as I saw her. It wasn’t because she was extremely thin, or that her hair was such a light shade of blonde it was almost white. It wasn’t even because she wore a white surgical mask for some reason. It was none of these things. It was her eyes. From my seat at the front of the classroom I could see that this new girl had the most kind looking eyes. I could even tell she was smiling under that strange mask. Yet, her eyes held a deep sadness to them. Even though I was just a kid, I could understand she was very sad inside.

I wanted to be her friend right away. I knew that even then. I was tired of being involved with the tomboyish, delinquent, even bullying group of girls I’d befriended at the beginning of that year. I had fallen on the wrong side of the tracks, and I needed a way out. Befriending this kind, elegant, Italian girl would be my first step up.

That’s what I decided anyway.

Although she was pretty. Beautiful even. Her eyes were a shade of blue that almost

seemed violet, and from what I could see of her face, it was shaped nicely, her long, wavy, white-blonde hair falling down her shoulders, with long bangs around her forehead cascaded it elegantly. That’s what she was. Elegant. The girls in group three, who used lip-smackers, and read Teen Beat, would probably whisk her away to become a bubble-gum-pop-princess. Everything I hated.

I was tall, skinny, and had long, light brown, scraggly hair. Sometimes it would curl naturally at the bottom, but usually it was just straight and boring. I looked older than my twelve years though, (if you didn’t count my flat chest.), with a narrow face and large hazel eyes. I usually wore whatever t-shirt with a brand name I could find, and loose fitting jeans. I didn’t value fashion very much, but I did have to follow what was ‘cool’.

God, I was an idiot.

“My name is Angela Michelli. I’m pleased to meet you.” The new girl suddenly said, very
formally, with a touch of an Italian accent that seemed to be fading. I wondered how she knew English so well. Even though it was muffled by the mask a bit, I could tell that her accented voice was kind, and the English perfect.

Maybe I could learn Italian.

“Miss Michelli’s doctor needs her to wear this mask for the next while. She has been ill,

and this special mask will help keep her well.” Our teacher said, putting her hand on the girl’s thin shoulder.

She had been sick? I wondered what was wrong with her. What could make a kid like her

have to wear those weird masks I only saw when SARS broke out?

“Now, I expect you all to respect that, and make Angela feel welcome.” Miss Emerson, our terribly strict 6^th grade teacher said, particularly looking over at my group. “The gang of very bad girls”, was what she called us.

She was middle-age, with graying brown hair pulled in an old fashioned bun. Her nose

was too big for her glasses, and she was overweight.

No wonder she wasn’t married.

I scowled at her when she wasn’t looking. Stupid fat cow. I thought to myself. Which was a

name I only reserved for Ms Emerson.

The new girl did end up sitting with the Bubble-gum-pop group, but they mostly ignored

her to my relief. But at lunchtime my wonderful group decided to show her what it was like to be a new kid with a strange flaw at our elementary school. And I didn’t do anything to stop them.

“So what’s with the mask?” Erin, one particularly nasty and bullying girl grinned, stepping

in front of the girl so she couldn’t even sit down to eat lunch.

Savages.       

“You afraid of SARS or something?” Nicole added.

I grimaced. I wanted to stop them. Really I did. But I wasn’t strong enough yet to betray

my own group. I was weak. I needed my “Gang of very bad girls” to survive the wicked playground. I was just a follower.

“No, it’s not that….” Angela said, trailing off. She sounded a little confused, but not afraid or hurt that she was being picked on. She was so brave.

“It’s a doctor’s order. I’ve been sick, and he wants to make sure I don’t get sick again. So I wear the mask to protect myself.” She explained, a little shakily now as she realized the group of girls in front of her was not going to move anytime soon.

“Like from SARS?” Nicole snickered again.

Angela said nothing.

Ugh, not SARS again, I thought, as I watched them without moving a finger to help. I was a coward then too.

SARS was this strange lung disease that was brought to our city a few years ago from China by someone who had it on the plane. It put people in a panic, closing down hospitals ad clinics, and destroying the tourist industry, (because no one wanted to come here and get SARS.) So people started to wear the same kind of mask Angela was wearing now to protect themselves from getting the infamous disease.

But that was years ago, and our teacher had explained why she wore the mask to us. I wished my friends would just lay off. I wished I could do something.

“Hey, shut up, and leave her alone!” I would shout.

“Oh, but Marissa, we’re having so much fun.” They would plead, pathetically.

“Not another word!~”

Then I would walk away with the new girl, and we would become best friends, and the class would cheer, and Ms Emerson would give me straight As and get a nosejob.

Then things would be good.

That’s what I wanted to happen. But instead I sat there while they tortured her about her Italian heritage now.

“Is your father in the Mafia?

“Do you make pizza?”

“Heeeey~ Bambino!”

Now they’d seemed to have gotten to her. She hung her head, and turned to leave, and that’s when I got enough courage to do something.

“Wait!” I shouted, standing up at my now empty table.

Everyone turned to look at me, and so did the girl. Her eyes were filled with tears. It made me angrier and therefore stronger.

“Hey Marissa, what else do Italians do?” Erin asked me then, as if she’d just noticed me.

“They don’t do anything but make pizza, and join the mob.” Nicole laughed.

Then the girl ran from the room. I ran after her.
“Wait!” I cried again, chasing her down the halls. She wasn’t very fast, and I soon caught her arm, stopping her so she turned to me.
I’ll never forget how sad she looked. How her tears flowed, and her sad eyes glanced at me with pain and mistrust.
“Please, leave me alone!” She cried, trying to cover her tears with her other hand.
I let go. I didn’t know what else to do. She knew I was one of them. She knew. I had done nothing to help her. She probably hated me more than Erin and Nicole. I hated this. I’d wanted to be her friend in the first place. I hadn’t wanted this. It made me want to cry too.
“I-I’m sorry!” I shouted, stammering a little. Angela looked up at me.
“Why?” she asked, rubbing her eyes a little. “You didn’t do anything.” She sniffled. “You were the only one not making fun of me.” She sighed and hung her head. “Are they mean to you too?” Suddenly she looked over at me and asked. There was innocence to her question, and I realized she didn’t know. She didn’t know I was part of the group of girls who were mean to her. That I hadn’t helped her even though I very well could have.

Then it was me who started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I felt so bad and angry with myself.

“D-don’t cry.” She stammered through her own tears, coming over to me. “They’re just words. Although they hurt, they can’t really get you down.” She   smiled slightly, or it seemed like she was smiling the way her tear-filled eyes softened and crinkled at the sides.

She was comforting me! This was wrong! This was all wrong!

“No! You don’t understand!” I finally cried out, my own tears coming down my face now. “Those girls are my friends.” I told her straight out.

She stepped back. “Oh.”

“But they’re cruel. I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t. I-I was scared.” I paused, starting to cry more. “I’m sorry.”

Angela was looking down, away from me as I stood there crying. I felt like such an idiot. Erin and Nicole probably would make fun of me if they saw me like this.

“But you did help me.” Suddenly I heard her say much clearer and warmer than before. I stopped crying, and slowly looked up at her. The mask now hung around her chin, and she was smiling. I could see that without the mask in the way.

          “You’re helping me now.” She continued her warm smile still strong.

          “Thank you.”

She pulled the mask back over her face, and picked up her bagged lunch, which she had dropped when I grabbed her.

Stunned, I managed a ‘you’re welcome,’ before I fully realized what had happened.

Somehow my crying had made her be nice to me and comfort me.

I didn’t understand it, but that’s what happened.

So I went along with it.

In any case, now I could try to be her friend.

And now it looked like she wanted to be my friend too.

I watched as she slowly walked down the hall, and wondered what it was about her. I would always wonder that.

Angela Michelli could entrance me, as if she were a bearer of her own name. As she walked off into the sunshine that canvassed her hair like a halo, I finally figured out how to describe her.

Ethereal.

A girl almost not of this world.

 

That was how I met my best friend. My first and only best friend who would forever change my life.

 

That day, after I finally told her my name, she told me that her father had died that past year, and that was why she had started to cry when those terrible girls, (who from then on I avoided as much as possible.) made fun of the father they didn’t even know.

She had lost her mother at five years old, and was now living with her aunt. I was shocked to find out she was an orphan. I had never met an orphan. To me, they didn’t seem to exist. I only heard about them in fairytales.

My own family was no great accomplishment, but I couldn’t imagine being completely alone.

But she was OK.

“Where I come from everyone wears masks.” She told me at lunch, happier now, but totally confusing me.

“They do….?”

She giggled. “Yes. At Carnival everyone must wear a mask or they could be arrested.”

“huh?”

“I am from Venice, a city that floats on the sea. And every year Venice celebrates Carnival. People come from all over the world to join the festivities and see the beautiful masks.” She reached out her hand, stretching her fingers against the light of the late afternoon sunshine, a far off look in her sad eyes. “The sights, the sounds, and the colours are beautiful.” She smiled. (I think) “You would love it.”

I blinked, trying to imagine the fantasy world she was describing to me. Could it really be real?

“I pretend my mask is part of Carnival, and I always can celebrate.”

“But aren’t you sick or something?” I asked.

Angela turned around and looked out the window, taking a deep breath before turning to me.

“Even the sick can enjoy Carnival.”

That first description of her home, and her life stayed with me, and it wouldn’t be until years later that I truly understood what she had been saying to me.

 

Angela wasn’t ever bitter or unkind about her misfortunes. She never even confronted the girls who had hurt her.

 

As for me, I worked hard to be rid of my bad-girl reputation, but it wasn’t something that could happen overnight.

Although Erin turned her back on me the moment she found out I was associating with the strange new girl, Nicole didn’t seem to mind so much. She even apologized to Angela, and she forgave her right away.

Angela was very quiet, so no one had any real reason to torture her after that first day.

 She was also absent a lot. Sometimes days at a time. I got the feeling that whatever had been making her sick before she started school was still causing her problems. She wouldn’t explain much to me, but because I was only twelve I didn’t question her much farther.

I visited her house many times, and met her aunt who was very kind.

Francesca Costa.

A beautiful woman, with a small build, like Angela, thick, straight brown hair that she usually wore down, and tousled to one side. Her eyes were large, and a chocolate brown colour that sparkled when she smiled, and her smile was large amongst her pale, round face.

Angela showed me a picture of her mother once, and Francesca looked exactly like her.  Angela’s mother had been ten years older then Francesca, and now she was twenty-six, the same age as her mother had been when she died. I thought it must be a little freaky being with someone who looked so much like her dead mother….. but Angela didn’t.

Angela’s family was really rich, actually. Her house was like a mansion.

 We would spend hours together at that house. Because outside of school, poor Angela wasn’t able to do much else. She was so tired a lot, that she would need a nap before dinner. But she fascinated me with the stories she told about her magical city. She had a new story everyday. I would sit on her white canopy bed and listen to her beautiful tales, and we would both be transported back to the place she grew up.

Everything about her was mystical in a way, especially her colours. I didn’t know if it was because of her illness, or something Venetians experienced, or if she was just special, but Angela could somehow see colours where there weren’t any colours at all. She saw black letters as multicolours, imagined names in her head with specific mixed colours like a paint palette, saw coloured shapes with sounds and music, and even could sense what people were feeling by the colour of the aura around their heads.

I thought this was the most amazing thing I had ever heard, and I never had any reason not to believe her. She even painted a palette of her coloured letters for me to see. She said she remembered things by their colours, and could literally feel music. She painted our names together to show me their colours, and I was disappointed to see that mine was a dark brown and maroon colour as a result of the two Ss in my name.

M A R I S S A

But hers was a lovely rose and daffodil colour that reminded me of spring.

A N G E L A

She said that my name was beautiful because it looked like the earth that she so dearly loved. That made me feel better.

Sometimes I would come to Angela’s house on a day she didn’t come to school to see if she was alright. It was rare I would get to see her though. Her aunt would usually say she wasn’t feeling well enough for visitors.

But sometimes, I would see her at the top of the big staircase in her house, and she would smile at me. Then she would come back to school, and seem like nothing was wrong.

She was secretive, but also very kind.

The school started to notice this about her too, and instead of treating her like an outcast, she had respect from most of the students and even the teachers, (who would always pester her about why she hung out with a Very Bad Girl like me.)

At first, I wondered why too. We didn’t have much in common, and I certainly wasn’t kind and smart like she was, (she made straight As!)

But she was always there for me, and I always tried to be there for her. Even though she had a lot of hardships, I tried my best to help. But sometimes I was at a loss at what to do.

Like one day after she had been absent, we were having free reading time. I was engrossed in a manga, (instead of the required novel we had to read. ‘A little Princess’ made a very good hiding place for my intense Japanese comic.), so I wasn’t really paying attention to anything, when Miss Emerson, (who always was concerned about Angela’s frail health.) called out my name.

       I was afraid she’d found out I wasn’t reading a novel, but instead she asked me to go find Angela. She said that Angela had asked to go to the bathroom awhile ago, and hadn’t returned. She wanted me to go see if she were alright.

       I looked over at Angela’s seat, and sure enough she was gone. I hadn’t even noticed she left. She excused herself from class a lot too, sometimes not coming back, but she always let Miss Emerson know.

       I felt a little worried, and hurried to the girl’s bathroom.

I found her there, crouched in a corner at the back of the bathroom, and she was crying. No matter how many times I asked what was wrong, she couldn’t answer me through her cries that shook her whole body.

I knelt down beside her, not knowing what to do, and she suddenly held onto me in a hug that was like she was a baby, and I was the mother. It was so strange to me that I almost pulled away.

My family was never very affectionate. Especially my mother, who had never even told me she loved me. So I didn’t know what to do, but hold her too.

“It hurts, Marissa! It hurts so much!” she cried.

“What does?” I asked over and over again. “Angela, what’s wrong with you?!” I cried, feeling close to tears myself.

Why couldn’t she tell me?

She couldn’t tell me anything.

I didn’t know what to do.

I had no idea.

“Angela, lets go to the school nurse.” I finally said, pulling away, feeling tingling from where she had held me. She nodded, blinking away her tears.

I helped her up because she was all shaky, and would sway to one side if I didn’t hold her.

It scared me.

I had to hold her all the way to the nurse’s office, and she clung to me like a child.

Before we reached the little infirmary, she stopped, and weakly looked up at me.

“You’re my best friend, Marissa. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” She said, and I couldn’t say anything back. I felt choked up with emotion, and silently continued to lead her to the nurse.

She would say these exact same words years later, and I still wouldn’t answer in enough time.

The nurse took Angela in right away, and thanked me before closing the curtain.

I ran down the halls, hardly noticing or caring that I was now crying too.

 

It was only a few days later that Angela came to school smiling like I’d never seen before. I had only seen her smile once, but this time she was glowing. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was visible.

 

She no longer wore the mask.

I was so happy for her that this time it was me who grabbed her in a hug, and refused to let go. She continued to smile brightly, and all the teachers and even our class were happy for her.

“We can finally see your face.” One of the boys said, and she smiled at him, making him blush.

 

From then on Angela was never sick again. Sure she would get a cold, or flu, but nothing like what I’d seen when I first met her.

 

We got to hang out together more, especially when summer came. We spent the whole vacation together. Eating ice cream, playing volley ball, (our favourite sport), and swimming. I grew closer to her then I ever had to any friend before. She was just such a kind, fun and vibrant person, now that she was no longer ill.

Angela was already twelve going on thirteen, while I had only just turned twelve, and was still small and skinny. But she was starting to grow up, and the boys were noticing her. After that summer she became very popular with the boys, and was always the object of someone’s affection. But she was shy, and eventually became just a secret crush for the boys to pine over.

Angela and I grew up together, her always a step ahead of me in everything but height. I grew even taller when I was thirteen, and was one of the tallest girls, (I was already taller then all the boys), in the class.

Angela stayed thin and petite, and would always look younger then she was. As I entered junior high, my reputation slowly dwindled as I began to see less and less of Erin and Nicole, or any of the other Very Bad Girls. Although I had stopped being friends with them in the sixth grade, I had always still seen them in elementary. But they just became another face in the halls when I got to junior high.

I was in junior high also, when my forever feuding parents finally decided to get a divorce. They announced it to me the year I turned thirteen, and was finishing the seventh grade. After a bitter court battle over none other than me, they officially divorced by the time I reached eighth grade.

The court battles only made me angry with both my parents, the divorce was what hurt me. My mother had won custody over me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of living alone with that cold, uncaring woman.

My father had always been a little silly, and good natured. He gave me a great childhood, but my mother was the exact opposite of him. She was prim and proper, neat and tidy, and very strict. I was already rebelling against her at eleven years old. The worst thing about my mom was she could never get close to me. Not only did she never say she loved me, but she’d never hugged or kissed me either.

My father had always tried to lighten the mood when things were tense. He did it for me, and I knew he loved me, just from the hug I would get once in a while. With my mother, I could never be sure.

It hurt me to be unloved.

       The day after I had been told of the new living arrangements, I came to school and told Angela, (who had been worried about the out-come, and me all through the court battles), speaking as if I were telling her about a movie I had seen on TV. In public, and with a straight face. 

I didn’t want to let myself get upset over this.

Especially in front of her.

Divorce was so common these days, and it wasn’t like my parents were dead like hers, they were just separated.

I had no right to cry.

       “Well, the good news is I’m not moving anywhere.” I told her, smiling, but she frowned.

       “I’m so sorry, Marissa.” She said, sincerely.

       “Its alright, its alright. I’ll see my dad on the weekends, and you know, just stay out of mom’s way.” I said, waving my hand.

       I had told Angela straight out about how strict, and cold my mother was, but I think she had figured out that I felt unloved.

That was something I could neither hide, nor admit to her.

       “What’s the difference, anyway? I hardly ever saw my dad before…… now things are just going to be the same.” I muttered. Angela tilted her head to one side.

“Dad’s not moving far. Just up town. Near the children’s hospital. I can see him whenever I like…. He just won’t be across the room from me……” I trailed off, as Angela looked at me with sympathy.

It angered me.

       “I’m fine.” I muttered, never having any reason to be angry with Angela until now. “I don’t care!” I actually shouted at her. “I don’t care that my parents are divorced just like half the class, or that my mother’s a heartless b***h, or that I have to take the damn subway to see my father, alright! I don’t care!" I cried then, and I found myself really crying. The tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how much I wanted them to. So I ended up stumbling out of the school, and crouching on the grass, with my knees to my chest, and continued to cry my pain filled tears.

And Angela stayed right beside me, never leaving my side, even when the bell rung.

 

 

 

 

 

            That was the least she had ever done for me. Just being my friend showed me that I was not unloved. I had a friend who cared for me. None of those girls from the sixth grade could ever compare, or fill the void in my heart like she could. I was so glad to have a friend like her. I would never go back to my old gang-ridden days. I had joined them to feel needed, and accepted, but I didn’t need that anymore. I forgot everything about then. My bed rep, the snotty teacher whose name I couldn’t even remember, and even my best friend’s chronic illness. She was just so vibrant and cheerful now that it was hard to believe she had ever been any different.

 

 

            But all that was about to change.

Author's Note

I'm not too sure how to deal with this editor. The paragraphs got a little messed up. Please ignore the formating for now I guess. Again, this is a 2nd revision and hasn't been touched for a year. Its pretty rusty ;)

Reviews

[obsidianxv]

I have to say that I've enjoyed reading this part of the story much more like this than I did reading the strip, as it comes across as far more moving and powerful in your writing. probably because for the first time I have been able to read the story right throught without the irritating frustration of waiting for pages to upload which is the curse of DD. I still see your lovely pics in my mind though as I read this, so it's the same sort of pleasant experience I get reading the book of a film.

[*BiTeMEiDaReU*]

wow. That is a good story, so far. just like alex, if you work hard, there is no doubt that you will be an awsome author. and i will be the first to buy your book! p.s. sorry about your mom, i bet she was a great person. also, please read and review my story, i am holly.(i am an ameture so don't laugh at my story.)

[ShadowWolf]

A most enjoyable story!

[Emily Elizabeth]

WOW! This is just as good as the Manga! You seriously know how to write- I was on the edge of my seat even though I knew what was going to happen! I especially loved the part about the colours- that was such a neat idea! Very cute, too! Marisa and Angela's relationship is absolutely lovely and heartwarming, just like two best friends should be. Can't wait to see more!
P.S Do you like 'A little Princess'? It's such a cute book, and Angela kind of reminds me of the lead character!

[L.V. Ana]

Usually I just copy/paste from my word document and it comes out perfectly. Maybe it works differently for different people.

This is a really -really- good piece. I love what you've done here. Brilliant work; keep it up, please.