The Faces You Wear

It wasn’t the first ball Arthur had been to. He wanted it to be the last. Affairs like this were routine, particularly when they were among the court of Queen Elizabeth. There was a lot that was expected of him, even though all Arthur had to do was be visible to the public. There was always a loose expectation that he should dance, but he never wanted to. Usually, he managed to avoid it.

The clothing was fancy. They were heavy things, hot, and they stuck to Arthur’s skin. They were tight, making each breath heavy, but that might just be his chest. It got hard to breathe when he was nervous.

He was one of the first ones out of his room, but he wanted to run back in almost at once. This wasn't what he wanted to do with himself. He’d rather be walking through some back alley or wandering upon the hills. This was cramped; this was against his own nature. But he let his breath out, smoothing the pants with his sweaty palms. It was a hot night. Summer was in full swing, but that never stopped the upper-class. It was just another chance to show off and feel like all this mattered.

“Gloomy thoughts again, Arthur?” asked an amused voice behind him. Arthur jumped, looking back at his father. He didn’t color, but he wanted to. His father always seemed to catch him at the wrong moments. He knew full well that must disappoint him. There was no way he wanted a son who looked for any excuse to escape his responsibilities.

“I’m fine,” he answered, “just a little hot.” Not a complete lie.

He waved a hand toward his final destination. “I should be going,” he said with a smile. It was amazing just how hard it was to act as if he cared.

Someone at once attached themself to his side when he entered the ballroom. An older man, looking like he wanted to get some sort of information from Arthur. Or perhaps tell him some information, to get it to his father, no doubt. Arthur tuned it all out, leaving his expression behind him to save his place.

Extricating himself from the conversation was the best thing he could have done, so at the clearest opportune time, he did just that. He headed off along the edge of the room, looking around for a familiar and friendly face. This wasn't forthcoming. As it was, if he was seen too long with any one person then he would be considered a boring noble. This was apparently worse than not turning up at all. It made him want to scream. Most of the conversations were gossip, which he couldn’t get his head around. Then there were a favorite pass-times.

Matchmaking.

‘Wouldn’t you like to meet my cousin?’

‘Won't you introduce us to Arthur?’

It was like he was a personal ticket to his father's money.

“Arthur!”

Oh, God. Not again.

"Johannsson!" Arthur exclaimed, a winning smile on his face as he turned. "I didn't expect you to be here. What a pleasant surprise!"

It was the same as it always was, Johansson trying to get his attention for something infuriating. Often this involved one of his sisters or an older brother, who, Arthur knew, was just there so Johansson could show off that he was on a first-name basis with the host’s son.

Am I worth nothing for myself? Arthur thought. He was still smiling like a wooden puppet and nodding along to whatever Johansson was saying. And what he was saying was something along the lines of how wonderful this dance was and how important Arthur’s father was and how Arthur must be so busy, but could he please find just a moment of spare time to come over …

And so forth.

Arthur walked after the other man, though every part of his brain that wasn’t controlling his legs wanted to run in the other direction, back to his room and his books and the occasional friend who cared. These people didn’t care about him.

It was one of Johansson’s sisters again. At least it was one he’d met before. He wished they had some identification, some feature to tell them apart. He was sure Johansson had the ability to pull relatives of every age out of the woodwork. They all seemed to be carved from the exact same mold as Johansson.

Arthur tried. He always tried. Each time he expected to at least enjoy the conversation. But it never seemed to get anywhere. He could talk politics and an array of other subjects, but they never brought any joy to him. Sometimes he asked one of the sisters to dance just to break up the monotony of it all.

His smile broke this time. He blinked, and it fell from his face like shattered glass. This wasn’t the first time it slipped, usually there were just fewer people to see him stutter. Johansson looked at him curiously, now really meaning it when he asked, “Arthur, are you alright?”

Arthur wasn’t, but he reclaimed the broken pieces of his smile before too much damage was done. His heart fluttered against his ribcage, trying to break away from him just like his smile had.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just the heat. It’s sweltering.”

Then there were a few chuckles and inwardly Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as the attention returned to gossip. It left time for him to beat himself up about not having a backbone.

Carefully, he started paying attention to the music, nodding at appropriate times to anyone he talked to. It was several minutes of this, his heart still rattling around in his chest, before he got to a corner. It wasn’t very private, but he could press his back to the wall and breathe for a second.

Several hours passed. He ended up dancing with someone’s daughter. It was the easiest way to stop her from trying to take an interest in him. Instead, those several hours passed like a thawing of Winter. Slow, oozing, with the seconds coming like the drip of an iced-over waterfall. And like all waterfalls there came the cracking outflow of water as soon as the thaw became too much.

The first sign of such a thing was the pulling at Arthur’s gut. He didn’t think he’d felt his heart stop racing since this night started, but at least for a while, it had gone back to almost normal. Not so anymore. He found himself trying to take deeper breaths, excusing himself from conversations. It was only, finally, as the night waxed, that he could escape with some of the first guests. It was another black mark but being able to return to his room made up for it. But he couldn’t help wondering what his father would think?

He pressed his back to the wall, finally able to breathe, finally able to string two thoughts together. His fake expression dropped away, letting some of his real feelings of panic show through. The horrible idea that he was meant to be out there was worse than thinking he was out of place among them. He wanted to fit in, of course he did. He wanted to be useful to his father, and respected, and a dozen other things. But those people had pressed against him, choking him in more ways than one. They were horrible things. He wanted to be so much better than this.

Slowly, he slid down the wall, wishing for the thousandth time that it would be the last public event he ever attended. He never wanted to be like those people; they all just tried to make themselves more powerful, even if that meant pulling someone else down or buttering up someone else. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, still breathing with stuttering steps.

Never.

Never like them.