Woman of Many Masks

4 names and only 1 woman who wears them.

  An open-casket funeral with barely any guests, at least any guests of substance. There were the usuals: estranged family members who regretted not connecting sooner, childhood friends who were in town for the news, and old schoolmates who'd pop in and out. The only thing was, none of these people really knew the deceased. Although, the same argument could be made for anyone she had ever met. As people went up to pay their respects, three people walked in, one after the other. Perhaps fate felt mischievous today and decided to pay them a visit. What was different about these guests? They were all carrying a letter.  

  The first one who entered was Maria. She was tall, with olive skin and tightly curled black hair. She had a rather nice face, but what made her stand out was her confidence. She walked in with focus like she knew what she was doing. Other guests assumed she was a friend of the deceased, but she hadn’t worn that title in a long time. As she entered, a large sign stole her attention, it had a photo of the deceased. She was young in it, perhaps only a teenager. However, Maria focused less on the picture and more on the name written below it. She lingered on it before she made her way over to the casket, letter in hand.

  Maria was friends with the deceased when they both studied abroad in Madrid. At the time, modeling hadn’t even crossed her mind. Then came Erica, at least, who she knew as Erica. The girl was shy and self-conscious, but ambitious. Maria admired her and soon enough they became friends. They were close for a little while, that was until Maria got her first modeling job. Afterward, the gap between them started to grow. Their interaction was now limited to occasional lunches and shopping trips. Even those were mainly about Maria’s modeling career, but Erica was loyal and supportive nonetheless. However, after Erica went back to the states, they stopped talking. There still were phone calls and emails but nothing significant. That was until one night when she received a call from a stranger saying Erica had been admitted into the hospital after taking too many sleeping pills. Apparently, Maria was the only contact on her phone. She considered going to visit her friend, but her big runway show was coming up, so she decided against it. She didn’t hear from Erica for years after that. That was until she received a letter:

Querida Maria,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I know you’re probably wondering why you’re getting this letter now or why you're getting a letter at all. Well, I have always been pretty old fashioned, haven't I? I’m sorry I let it get like this. Ever since I left Madrid, life has been hard for me. I just feel so lost and hopeless, but enough about me. I heard you’ve gotten big in the modeling industry. How's that going? We really should talk more. I miss going shopping with you, you always did look so gorgeous in all the clothes you tried on. I hope we can do that again someday. Maybe I should come to visit you in Madrid, or you could come meet me here in Chicago. Actually, scratch that, you’re probably busy and shouldn’t waste your time with me. Anyway, good luck with everything, I wish you success!

Un fuerte abrazo,

Erica 

  Maria placed the letter on the edge of the casket near her friend. One trip. All she needed to do was make one trip to see her friend and maybe she'd still be alive. She wished she cared less about her career and more about the women in front of her. Maybe that’s why she kept the letter this entire time. It didn’t matter now, it was too late.

  Next came Frankie, a man who stalled as he walked in as if he was afraid to get too close. He had curly hair, bright green eyes, and a look of aged innocence. His eyes were also drawn to the large sign at the entrance and a feeling of guilt panged in his chest. He had been sad when he received word of his ex-girlfriend’s death, but he grew even more distraught at the fact that he wasn’t more upset. This was his girlfriend, his previous other-half. He thought that he loved her, but looking at the name on the sign he realized he couldn't love someone he barely knew.

  Frankie met her 4 years ago at a friend’s house party. He remembered how she clung to the outskirts, afraid to step in. He found her interesting and beautiful, so he approached her. She introduced herself as Cassie, an aspiring writer. Now that he thought of it, that was still all he really knew about her. They went on dates and had fun together, and at the time that was enough. However, after a while, he began resenting her and their relationship, though she didn’t know it. He always wanted a deeper connection, but she seemed to shrink away at all his efforts to get to know her better. It was as if she locked her real self away long ago. Eventually, Cassie got a job with a publisher in New York and went over there to work on her novel. They stayed together, albeit the distance. However, at that point, Frankie was ready for something new, something exciting, something deeper. That was when he got her letter.

Hey Frankie,

I know this whole long-distance thing is hard and trust me I don’t love working here in New York. Well, I suppose a part of it's nice. If you want, you can completely lose yourself among all the people here. You can become someone else or no one at all. I know you said you wanted to visit, but maybe that’s not the best idea. The studio apartment I have here is barely the size of a closet. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to come back to Chicago soon.

 

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Our impromptu road trips, late-night talks, and movie marathons. I miss it, I miss being with you. I always thought I should keep a distance from the people in my life, but maybe it’s time to close that distance. I’ve been struggling with making headway for my novel and even had to get a second job as this guy’s secretary. I don’t want this life. Maybe I’ll come back and we can finally start our life together. How does that sound?

With Love,

Cassie

He placed that letter in the casket and cringed at the next memory that popped in his head. It was made up of fragments more than anything else: a drunk phone call, a breakup speech, and a lot of tears. Looking back, he wished it could have ended differently.

  The next man, Randy Walker, walked in cautiously, double-checking his surroundings to make sure no one was watching. Each step he took was filled with paranoia and a look of guilt was blatant on his face. It was different from the guilt Frankie wore. This guilt was not rooted in regret or love, it was shame. It was a guilt that had been eating him up these past two years. He took a quick look at the sign before him, but his eyes had no time to linger. He had lost that right. He took a deep breath as he headed to the casket, carrying a letter that was now dirtied by his oily hands and the countless nights spent reading it.

Dear Mr. Walker,

I'm writing you this letter in supplement to my resignation. However, this letter is not for HR or the company, this is to you personally. I can’t even begin to describe the anger that I feel when I think of you Mr.Walker. Although, if I’m being honest, I am angrier at myself for letting it get that far. I was running away, running away from my old life, from Frankie, from Maria, from Nikki. I was in a bad place, so I let your comments go. 

They bothered me. Yes, they definitely bothered me, but not enough to say anything about them. I never liked confrontation, so I didn’t confront you as my boss. Then you started getting physical. Touching me on the shoulder or the thigh near the copier or in the breakroom. I was your secretary, not your pet. I was going to say something then, but I had just broken up with my boyfriend and was having a minor identity crisis of sorts. I decided I was going to let Diane be invisible. I ignored the touching that now escalated to the waist or above the chest, even though it kept bothering me. I ignored the comments about my figure and how you compared it to your wife’s. 

Then two weeks ago, I went to a bar and drank a little too much. I was hurting, I was in pain. I saw you there, and you decided to use the alcohol to your advantage. I left my drink and went to the restroom, but I forgot my bag so I came back early. I saw what you were doing to my drink. You were ready to take advantage of me, your employee. In a way I’m grateful. I’m grateful I was able to escape the situation before it was too late. I’m grateful to escape you.

Goodbye,

Diane

  Diane was not his first victim, but she was his last. The words said in her letter echoed at him. He remembered the last girl, the one he took it all the way with. She committed suicide. Now here he is at another funeral. He looked into Diane online after a night of too much drinking. That night, he found her real name and obituary. He contacted her mother after that and practically begged her to invite him to the funeral. This death wasn’t his fault. Still, he felt a sense of horror when he looked at her body. Maybe if he had left her alone, she would've been fine. Now his kill count was two. After returning the letter, he reluctantly made his way over to a corner where the other two were standing. 

  As the three stood together awkwardly, a woman from across the room began to approach them. It was easy to tell from her appearance that she was the girl's mother. The one who organized the funeral and the one who invited the three of them. 

  “You three showed up. I’m glad,” spoke the women softly. “My daughter has been a hard one to track these past 10 years and you three were the only ones I could get a hold of from that time. I saw you all brought a letter, she was always old fashioned."

  “Thank you for inviting us Mrs.Pete- Jones. I’m sorry about that.” Frankie rubbed his temple in frustration. What kind of guy doesn’t know his ex-girlfriend's real name?

  “Don’t worry dear. I know my daughter wore many masks in her lifetime. To be honest, I’m at a loss for what to call her now myself. That name up on the sign over there doesn’t feel quite right anymore. I thought I lost her years ago. Then after 10 years, I receive a letter from her, a few weeks later she gets in a car accident and dies.” her mother spoke with her fists slightly clenched. It was hard to tell whether she was angry at the situation or at her daughter.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Maria. Her gaze shifted to the floor. How long had it been since she saw her friend? 5 years? 6? The fact that she didn’t know just frustrated her more.

“Look, I don’t know what your relationship was with my daughter,” she looked over at Mr.Walker who avoided eye contact, “but I do know she wasn’t perfect.” The three nodded at her comment. The woman they knew wasn’t perfect, all three versions of her. Still, they had all made their own mistakes as well. What hurt most was that no matter how much they wanted to correct them, the deed was done. She was dead.

“I-I’m sorry,” spoke Mr.Walker. However, uttering those words gave him little relief. They had fallen on deaf ears and sounded like another cookie-cutter condolence that the older woman had probably heard enough of that day.

“Me too.” spoke to the older woman. She gave the group a parting smile and made her way up to the casket by herself. She had been successful at repressing her tears up until then, but looking at her daughter this time around made it too difficult. Soon a steady stream found its way down her cheek. 

“If only I could have been a better mother.” She looked down at her daughter and started thinking about all the times she chose work over her family. When her husband died, she had to work even more. This left Nikki, her dear daughter, an aimless latchkey kid. She didn’t think it was all that bad at the time. Now looking at the body put to sleep in the casket, she realized that maybe she should have helped her daughter find herself. She took out her own letter from her purse and placed it next to the body.

Hello Mom,

I know it’s been a while since I’ve talked to you, years in fact. It’s been one heck of a ride, I can tell you that. I made some bad choices and tried to become someone else. Well, I tried to become many different people if I’m being honest. Everywhere I went I was someone new. Erica, Cassie, Diane they were all me, but at the same time some stranger. I expected that by adopting a new name, I could let go of my past and finally become someone else. In reality, I was just running away from the real me. 

  I don’t even know who I am anymore, but I want to figure it out. I’m ready to become Nikki again. I don’t want to wear another mask, I want to be free. I want to be a full human being and not just some character. Erica was supportive, Cassie was sappy, Diane was non-confrontational, but I am more than just that. I love you mom and I’m ready to come home. I hope this letter finds you and I'll find you myself soon.

Your daughter,

Nikki 

It wasn’t her mom’s fault though, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. She just wanted to escape, to be different, to be someone she'd be proud of. She just wanted to be free, but freedom isn’t easy. It’s obvious but elusive. It’s enticing, yet terrifying. Freedom grants few certainties. Still, she wanted to find it but looked in the wrong place. 10 years and many names later, she learned the hard way that you can’t find freedom behind a mask.

Author's Note

Anything and everything. I really appreciate more constructive criticism so don't worry about being nice.

Reviews

[A M John]

A very touching piece. I really liked it. I noticed a few minor tense issues, i.e. using present and past. In the first paragraph, *The only thing is...* should be *The only thing was,* and *as people go up* I think should have been *as people went up*. In the paragraph where the mother approaches the casket *she had been successful in repressing her tears up until now* should be *up until then.*

Where you the three want to atone for their neglect you say *the deed was done and she was dead.* Splitting them into disinct sentences may give it more force. *...the deed was done. She was dead*

Another very very small thing. At the end of the paragraph after Mr Walker's letter you write *where two others were standing.* I would have changed to *where the other two were standing,* because *two others* made me think there was an additional two on top of the original three attendants. I'm sorry if this sound petty, but I really am finding it had to find very much wrong with this.

In the paragraph with the mother speaking to the three, you say *the woman they knew wasn't perfect, all three different versions of her.* I feel like *all three version of her* would suffice as it is evident through implication that they were all different.

I think that is all. These things are really fairly minor. Your pace is good, the narrative voice is careful and considered in expressing regret and sorrow without being overly sentimental or saccharine, and it's accessible without being patronising

Overall, a very nice piece of writing.

[veewrites]

Thank you, you provided some great feedback that I can act on. I have always struggled with tense, so thank you for helping me out with that. You made a lot of good points, thank you!