False Face

I stretched my neck to look at the entrance as I heard the cheerful voice that woke half of the office every day. Just looking at his face stirred something deep inside me, a silhouette of an emotion I couldn’t name. Or perhaps, I knew what it was, only that I didn’t want to acknowledge it. That emotion was envy!

When I was little, my mama would always tell me stories, and once she had said, ‘People are like the weather; some are like sunny days—warm, bright and welcoming. Many you will be like thunder, bleak and scary. Someone you might bump into someday would bloom colorful flowers inside you, and some would be like cold December nights.’

Now I understand what she really meant; this one person who I see every single day at work somehow reminds me of warm sunny days, even in December.

Mr. Nelson works as a banker and is mostly meeting a lot of people every day. The best thing about him is, well, what people best like him for, is the way he has a smile playing on his lips at all times. I have known him for quite some time, and never have I seen him without his signature smile. He never even frowns. I sometimes wonder if he never had any problems or bad days because I am one of those people who have bad days at least three times a week.

So, he has his morning routine to which even we are accustomed to after working with him for years. Mr. Nelson walks into his office with his bright, cheerful smile and greets each and every one of his co-workers, including the junior staff. Then, he gets his coffee from the coffee maker and sits at his workstation. During his work hours, he leaves the office at noon, which is the lunch-time for the staff. Nobody knows exactly where he heads, but I think he goes down to his home, which he mentioned is just down the street.

With the kind of joy his persona carries, I bet he has a great married life. I can picture him sitting down on the table in his cozy kitchen while his wife and children share tiny stories from their day and the entire family eats together. Some people are fortunate indeed. I wish I were in his place.

The massive old clock placed on the southern wall of our office looks as sad as I am, but I have no time to pay any attention to its mood. I should rush down to the bank’s cafeteria and get myself the stale sandwich I eat every day in the cold surroundings of my tiny cabin.

Now you see, why I envy Mr. Nelson? I eat my lunch alone; I don’t have any friends in this place, and my girlfriend broke up with me two months back. Ever since, I find myself in different bars by the end of my day, and after getting drunk, I go home with the first person who seems interested, regardless of their gender.

I think I am lonely!

**********

I carefully opened the door, ensuring that I was as quiet as a cat, not wanting to wake Mrs. Timna from her slumber. I smiled at the thought of her sprawled on the coffee table, dreaming beautiful dreams of catching birds and fish. Oh, I think I just cracked a joke to myself, as quiet as a cat—I mean, after spending many years with Mrs. Timna, I have undoubtedly taken numerous of her habits as well as cat jokes. Well, so that you know, Mrs. Timna is my cat.

Mrs. Timna and I have a lot in common, well, I will come to that story later, but I am very grateful for her existence. She is old and moody, but she understands me and is always there for me.

Quietly, locking the door behind me, I took my shoes off near the stairs and kept my briefcase on the edge of the last step. I smiled once again as I spotted her in the exact position I had imagined. Once I was sure that she was fast asleep, I grabbed the briefcase handle and ascended the stairs like a ninja, not in speed but with no noise at all. It had become a habit now.

As I reached my room, I took my jacket and my tie off and pulled out a pair of freshly laundered pajamas from the closet. It had been a long day, with back-to-back meetings and countless reports. My face had begun to hurt badly now. Rolling my shoulders back and moving my neck left and right, I walked to the huge mirror at the corner of the room.

Letting out a deep sigh, I stared at my reflection. The gray hues in the hair and receding hairline dashed in front of my eyes all the years that had passed by. The blue eyes crinkling at the edges had no life in them, but nobody really paid any attention to them, as long as they were creased at the edges by the smile plastered on the face. The smile, yes, the smile, big and warm showing the set of perfect teeth.

A shudder ran through my spine as I slowly peeled my stare from the reflection. Was that how I appeared to everyone?

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, and when I opened them, I was ready to be who I really was. I covered that smiling face with both my hands and when I moved my hands back, the mask came off. I still was Andrew Nelson, but I was not the Andrew Nelson people were familiar with.

The gray hues, the receding hairline, the set of pearly whites, everything was the same, yet there was something very different about the man in the mirror. There were no more pretenses, no mask. I suddenly felt weary, extremely exhausted—the drudgery of carrying the mask regularly was getting to me.

‘Fake it till you make it!’ a chirpy voice rang in my ears, and I shut my eyes again, tightly this time. Whenever I heard that voice, I wanted to run away to a place where nobody could find me, not even that voice which once lightened up my life.

‘I can’t do it anymore,’ I begged, but there was nothing more that the voice had said. A scratching noise brought me out of my train of thoughts; Mrs. Timna was scratching the wooden door. It was her unique way to get attention. I turned over to her robotically and nodded before I walked towards the stairs and then down to the kitchen.

I found my kitchen to be the coldest and scariest place in the entire house. It reminded me of all my losses. I dragged my feet towards the shelf on the corner and filled Mrs. Timna’s bowl with food. I then looked back and found her sitting on the last step of the staircase. As our eyes met, I gestured at her bowl with my hand, and she narrowed her eyes. Without giving me a second look, she slowly reached the bowl and began eating. So, it was dinner time for Nelsons.

I opened the refrigerator and peeked inside. There were cartons of milk and eggs, some bread, and a few cans of cooked beans. I took out the beans and pulled a plate from the drawer before I heard a meow. It occurred to me that I had forgotten to fill the cat’s water. I put the can and plate in my hands on the dining table placed in the middle of the kitchen and went to get the bowl laid near the stairs.

The reflection looking at me got my attention again as I filled the container from the tap. Those lifeless eyes and the wrinkly face that hadn’t smiled in years. It was so different from Nelson, who left the house every morning. ‘Fake it till you make it,’ I reminded myself. After putting the water bowl in its place, I dragged a chair and sat down on the table. The can of beans was already open—I had eaten some at breakfast. They were cold and bland, but whatever I ate tasted like cardboard now, so it did not matter.

I chewed carefully, making sure that I did not look around or absorb any details of the cold space I once called ‘kitchen’. However, the more you ignore something, the more it screams for attention. The first thought that crawled into my mind was, ‘why do I still have five chairs around the table?’

The question erupted a war inside me, the war that I fought almost every other day. ‘What is wrong with having five chairs around the table? I asked.

‘Nothing wrong, but it slows down your process of healing. Remember what the shrink said? Get rid of the things that remind you of them.’

‘Everything reminds me of them. The world reminds me of them; how do I get rid of it? Put it on fire?’ The spoon fell onto the plate with a loud clatter as I balled my fists in agitation.

‘What do I do, Caroline? What do I do? Do I put everything on fire?’ I put my forehead on the cool surface of the table and began sobbing.

**********

It was a beautiful morning, eight years back. My wife Caroline and I had planned to spend the day at Eldorado Canyon State Park since it was July the 4th. The girls were super excited. Did I mention that we had three girls? Triplets, to be precise, who had turned 11 a few weeks back. They were perfect; healthy, smart, and confident. The best time in my entire day was dinner time when we all sat down in our cozy kitchen, and their laughter filled the tiny space.

So, as the sun rose on that ill-fated day, I loaded the van, and we drove off for the park. Girls were in the back giggling non-stop, whispering Lord knows what to each other. Caroline was in the passenger seat, and I was driving. The park was 2 hours away from where we lived, and we had almost driven halfway when I felt a flat tire. After informing Caroline that I needed to check it, I opened my side door. Even before I could step out, there was a blast, or at least it felt like one, and everything went dark.

I came around after what felt like a lifetime to me; every cell of my existence burned—burned and ached. I had lost track of time, and where I was, the only thing that mattered to me was my family. Two doctors were leaning on me, and one of them started sputtering as he realized I was awake. I couldn’t understand what he was saying but focused on his moving lips anyway, hoping that he would give me news on my family. I focused and focused until a fog enveloped me, and I was in the dark once more.

The darkness continued to swallow and spew me back over the period of weeks. Each time I wanted to talk, I was pushed into nothingness. I was helpless, so helpless I could never muster that feeling into words. Finally, after seventeen long days, I was stable enough that the doctors helped me sit up with the help of pillows. I was desperate for news, but something inside me kept yelling that I was not ready to hear what was coming. It was right.

A police officer walked into the room as soon as the doctors had checked my vitals. He coughed slightly before addressing me and asked if I was feeling alright. He pulled a chair next to my bed without even waiting for my answer and sat down. The way he looked at me with a serious expression, my heart sank somewhere in the pits of my stomach.

‘Mr. Nelson, you were in an accident,’ the officer began. I knew that I was.

‘I am sorry to inform you that the girls could not make it. They had already expired the moment help arrived.’

My ears began to ring, and my head felt as if it was going to explode. Why was I alive then? What was the point?

‘My wife? Caroline?’ I looked at the doctor.

‘She is waiting for you,’ was all that he had said. I, later on, found out that’s he was on life support, and they wanted me to bid my goodbyes. I wanted to scream at them and tell them that I’m not too fond of goodbyes. Caroline knew it well; why did she make me do it then?

The human mind is such a strange thing; sometimes, you want to recall something, and it won’t come to you, and when you want to forget a specific memory—it never leaves you. Even after eight long years, I remember every detail, every single moment of how I signed the papers and received the dead bodies that once were my family. I clearly remember the funerals and what people told me over and over again. That it shall pass, and one can not die with the dead. I wanted to tell them that I wish I was that lucky and could die with the dead, but no, I wasn’t. I had to live and endure the pain of their loss all my life.

On the day of the funeral, a woman walked up to me. She was olive-skinned and had wildly curly hair. I had never seen her before, but she said she had been there on the day of the accident. She was the last person Caroline had spoken to. There was a message Caroline had begged her to pass me on.

‘Fake it till you make it.’

A chuckle escaped my lips as the woman passed this on to me. I was furious at Caroline. In her last moment, she had to say something without any context? As the time passed, I began making notes and tried to recall the past, day by day, moment by moment, in order to crack the meaning behind her message.

I could find none.

It drove me crazy, and I began to hallucinate and see shit that was never there. My friends and social workers advised me and pushed me to start seeing a therapist. So, I did.

He helped me address all my issues and complaints, especially with my wife. He told me that it was not her fault, but neither was mine. If I wanted to move on with life, I must forgive myself and her.

I continually visited him months after months. On the surface, I looked better, less robotic, but on the inside, everything was rotting. I was losing my will to live. I made plans to end my life numerous times, but something always stopped me.

One similar night while I was walking home after buying some rat poison, I saw a cat sitting next to her dead litter. I could tell the kittens were dead because clearly, they were run over by a vehicle. Their bloody remains lay on the concrete. The mother looked lost, and I saw myself in her. I picked her up quietly and promised her that I would come back to bury her family. That was how I met Mrs. Timna. We had so much in common; we both had lost families and did not know what to do with ourselves anymore.

She turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Time passed, and we both helped each other heal. We didn’t talk much; we never cuddled, neither did I pet her, but we were always there to accompany each other. We were no more alone.

Once when I got into bed, Mrs. Timna jumped in, too. That night, I slept peacefully after what felt like forever. In my dream, I was in a vast meadow; there was a lake. It looked like I was in the park we were heading to on the day of the accident. The girls were playing with a football, and their shrill laughter filled the air. Caroline was sitting on the grass, and near her laid our picnic basket. She looked like a part of the sky in a sky-blue linen dress.

She smiled as she turned her head to look at me and extended her hand. I smiled back and took it as I sat beside her. Her smile was so radiant, so bright like the sun; it almost blinded me.

She entwined her fingers with mine as she went on, ‘I know you are sad, and nobody can help you get rid of the sadness. I know that you miss us, and there is no way you can stop yourself from missing your family. I also know that nothing I can do or say will help you feel any better, Andrew. I can only ask you to try. I know you hate faking feelings as much as you hate your goodbyes, but I will still say, fake it till you make it.’

She then planted a feather-light kiss on my lips.

I woke up with a start and started weeping like children. The dream had felt so vivid, absolutely real, that I could trade anything to have it again. After crying for hours, my heart found peace. I knew what I had to do. I trusted Caroline and her wisdom, so I decided to take her advice.

As I walked into my room to sleep, I walked to the mirror one last time. The blank face of Andrew Nelson stared at me. Lifeless eyes, no smile, and definitely no will to live. I covered the face with my hands, and once I removed them, there was another version of Andrew Nelson smiling in front of me.

‘Fake it till you make it,’ said the reflection with a warm smile. I nodded and turned to get some sleep. Faking anything is a tiring job, after all.