Pins and Needles

Timothy got up before his alarm went off on Monday morning. As usual, he began his day by grabbing the black shoebox from beneath his bed and pulling out a perfect silicone mask of his face and a small sewing kit. He carefully stitched on the mask, attaching the outer edges before focusing on securing the smile to his lips. His restless, drowsy eyes were transformed into bright, unconcerned ones. His drooping frown became a reassuring smile. His mom knocked at the door.

“Just a second!” He rushed to finish the last stitches before unlocking the door and letting his mother into the room. Jane noticed a bit of dirt at the corner of his forehead and went up to wipe it off. Timothy turned away but not before Jane noticed the thread and small holes all over his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

She cautiously raised her hand to his face again. Her phone began to ring and Timothy noticed the tension in his mother’s eyes. Jane raised the phone to her ear, but she didn’t break eye contact with Timothy. “Susan, I can’t—now? You’re sure it can’t wait?” She hung up the phone and placed her hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “They need me at the office. We’ll talk about this when I get back tonight. Please.”

Timothy waited for the sound of her car pulling off before slipping on a beanie and heading downstairs.

He made breakfast for his sister, Harper—as usual. He drove Harper, then himself, to and from school—as usual. Straying from his routine, Timothy went up to his room, removed his mask and waited for his mom to come home.

Timothy was surprised when his sister knocked on his door instead. He let her in.

“What’s up, Harper?”

She looked at the floor as she spoke. “Well… school’s been pretty rough and some people can be really mean and I was just wondering if you could get me a mask like yours.”

Timothy bent down to be at eye level with his sister. “A what?”

“I’ve noticed,” she said, still refusing eye contact. “Mom is away a lot, but I’m always here. I’ve seen the mask, Tim.”

“You don’t need a mask, Harper.” Timothy held out his hand. Harper grabbed it and squeezed it tightly. “Listen, people can be horrible, but you shouldn’t change yourself for them. You have loads of people that love you for you.”

Harper looked up at her brother. “Then why do you need a mask? I love you for you.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I bet I can understand.”

Timothy pulled her in for a hug. “It’s not your battle to fight, little one. I got it. I promise.” He ruffled her hair. “Now go finish your homework.”

When Jane finally got home and joined him in his room, Timothy made sure to close the door behind her.

Harper planted herself outside of the door and pressed her tiny ear to the wood.

Jane slowly raised her hand to her son’s face. The scars that ran across his forehead nearly brought her to tears.

“You’re just so busy at work and Harper just started 3rd grade and I don’t want to burden you because…”

“You’d rather put yourself through this pain? This is greater than any stress I would’ve gone through, Timmy.” She hadn’t called him Timmy since he was in kindergarten. He felt small. He placed his head on her shoulder. They sat in stillness for moments. “You don’t have to be the strong one all the time.”

Jane reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She slipped it into her son’s hands. “A trade,” she said. “You get to keep my work phone at night. I get to keep your mask during the day.” Timmy tensed in his mother’s arms.

“When you’re ready.” Jane placed the box containing the silicone mask back under his bed. “It’s your choice, but I’m holding up my end of the deal. I promise.” She kissed him on the top of his head and started to walk out. “But be honest, son. Let me know when you’re hurting. No more locked doors.”

The next morning, Timmy slammed snooze on his alarm clock for the first time in 2 months. He exhaled. When you’re ready, his mother had said. He knew he wasn’t. He reached under his bed, but the shoebox was gone. He called to his Mom, but she’d already left for work. He ran downstairs to start making breakfast for Harper anyway.

“Hello, big brother.” Harper stood in the kitchen, covered in flour. Timmy looked at the plate of what he assumed were pancakes on the table. “I made them just for you.”

Timmy looked at his sister and smiled—he’d almost forgotten what a genuine smile felt like. It was warm, light. “Thanks, little one.”