Faceless

I don’t like clowns,” I said, scooting closer to my brother in the bleachers at the circus. I was 8 and he was 10, and I clung to his arm. “Their faces scare me.”

“They are just wearing a mask of makeup, they aren’t real,” he assured me.

“I know but their faces have giant smiles that look evil instead of happy,” I said. “It’s like they’re lying.”

“It’s just pretend. Don’t be such a baby.” He shrugged me off his arm.

“I’m not a baby!”

“Whatever,” he said and threw popcorn at me.

I made a face and stuck out my tongue at him.

“Careful, if you do that and someone slaps you on the back, your face will stay that way.”

* * *

The Pandemic of 2020 introduced the government mandate to wear masks in an attempt to prevent the spread of Covid. We were to wear a mask covering our mouth and nose anywhere we went.

After the government induced Stay Home order was lifted, parks were reopened and my kids and I were antsy from being cooped up. On our way over to the local park, I stopped at a red light and looked over at the car next to us. A woman in the driver’s seat was wearing a mask, alone in the car. Likewise, I passed other cars on the road, and most of the people in them were wearing masks. I shrugged.

When we got out of the car, the playground was roped off with caution tape. This was a safe neighborhood, so I was shocked to find a crime scene, and I approached a woman stretching using a park bench and asked her what had happened.

Turning to me to answer, she too had a facemask covering her mouth. Her hands went to her hips, her head cocked to the side, her eyebrows converged inquisitively.

“Nothing happened,” she said, her voice muffled. “The city just wants to protect our children from spreading germs on the playground equipment.”

She looked from me to my kids and shook her head. “You better put on your masks before security tells you to leave.”

I opened my mouth to say I thought we didn’t have to wear masks if we were outdoors, but she took off jogging before I could get the words out.

Feeling foolish and chastised, I pulled out the crumpled mask from my back pocket and complied. It was uncomfortable and felt restrictive, and I wondered how the woman could breathe wearing one while she ran. My kids’ followed my example, and their glasses fogged up.

Since my kids couldn’t play basketball or swing on the swings, we took the picnic out of the car and took it to the grassy area. The picnic tables were taped off too, so we spread out a blanket on the ground. As we silently took out the sandwiches to eat, I looked around and saw other families out sunning themselves on blankets too. One family was throwing a Frisbee to each other, and a father and son were tossing a football back and forth. It was almost a relief to see normal activities…except everyone was wearing a mask.

There were two ladies sitting in folding chairs next to a taped off park bench. Their knees turned towards each other, they had their face masks pulled down onto their chins, and I watched them as they animatedly talked using hand gestures.

A woman and her child walked hand in hand past them, walking their puppy.

“But they’re not wearing masks!” the little boy whined loudly, pointing his finger at the ladies.

“Johnny, it’s not nice to point,” the mom hissed, pulling his hand. “I don’t care if they aren’t being safe. You still need to wear your mask so you don’t get sick. How would you feel if you got sick and then you got Grandma sick and she died?”

The child’s shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground.

Along the same path passed a mother and her baby in a stroller. The baby was screaming. The mom stopped a couple yards from the two ladies by the bench and crouched down in front of the stroller, unbuckling the baby and picking her up. The baby continued to scream, and the mom pulled the elastic to see if the diaper was soiled. She shook her head and held the child to her chest and swayed.

Seeing the bench was off limits, the woman looked around for somewhere else to sit, then pulled the yellow caution tape off the bench enough to make room to sit down.

The ladies in the folding chair stopped their chatter and gasped.

“You can’t sit there,” one of the women said.

The mom ignored the lady and started cooing at her baby in her arms, never taking her mask down from her mouth. The child continued crying.

“Ma’am,” a security officer approach the mom. “I’m sorry, but that bench is off limits. You can’t sit there.”

The woman ignored the officer.

Another couple was coming by on the path and slowed up, seeing the commotion.

The man and his son throwing the football stopped and walked over to the bench. Standing 6 feet from her, the man said through his mask “Lady, the officer is asking you to move. It’s not sanitary to sit on a public bench.”

The woman still didn’t look up. She had her baby cradled in her arms, rocking side to side, her head bent over.

More people came to see what was going on, no longer 6 feet apart. Curiosity got the better of me too, and I stood up to get a better view.

“Excuse me,” an old lady from out of nowhere hobbled past the group, her cane tapping people’s ankles to get them to move out of her way. She broke through the crowd and put her hand on the woman on the bench.

The mom looked up at the old woman, tears running down her cheeks, one eye black and blue. Her mouth was still covered with a mask. It was bright white with a red-lipped smile spread across the cloth.

Without saying anything, the old lady sat down next to the mom and gently took the baby from her arms. The woman was not wearing a mask, and she smiled at the mom, then down at the baby.

“What a beautiful little girl you are!” she crooned. “I have a little granddaughter just your age.”

The old woman’s smile broadened and her eyes beamed as she talked to the little baby. She held the baby up to her face. “I have so missed holding my own granddaughter, everyone too scared I will die if I see my family. You are such a precious thing, the only thing really worth living for.”

The baby stopped crying, and reached for the lady’s wrinkled face. The baby cooed and the old lady kissed the baby’s fingers, trapping them in her lips. The baby laughed.

Suddenly the woman with the puppy broke into the group, stopped short when she saw the grandmother holding the baby.

“How dare you!” she screamed. “Mother, that is dangerous and disgusting. You wonder why I won’t let you near my Samantha. Give that woman back her baby!”

All the masked faces silently turned towards the woman with the dog leash in her hands, her little boy cowering behind her, his face buried in her waist. Then the faces turned back to the grandmother.

The old woman obeyed, handing back the bundle of joy to the mother. Without looking at her baby, the mom automatically accepted the bundle and continued to stare at the grandmother.

“Come on Mama,” the grandmother whispered, pulling herself up with her cane. She held out her hand and smiled down at the woman on the bench. The lady took her hand to stand up and she buckled her baby back into the stroller. The crowd dispersed and the two women walked together down the path. The mom took off her mask to reveal more bruises, but a smile stretched across her face.

I watched the dad and son resume playing catch, and the two chatting women continued their gestures in sign language. The boy with his puppy was dragged away, and the other families went back to their picnic blankets to relax in the sun.

And no one was wearing a mask. Instead, I saw them barefaced. But they had no mouths, no noses, no wrinkles, no makeup. Just smooth blank faces with staring eyes. My brother had been right: if you keep doing that and someone slaps you on the back, your face might stay that way.

Stay safe.