Mable returns from her simple chores and checks on Maria. She's sleeping soundly and there is no cause to be alarmed any further. Her caretaker would love to stay, but she has classes to get to. She picks up her friend's phone, unlocks it, and sets an alarm for exactly one hour from now. In this way her roommate will at least catch her study group. A final look in on her patient and she's out the door.
The rest of the day progresses in a normal, boring fashion. So, as narrator, I will use my power to skip ahead to the more interesting aspects. What's that you say? Why didn't I skip the last bit? Oh come now, it wasn't that boring. Well, agree to disagree. All the same we return to the scene of the crime, as it were, and our heroine of this piece, entering her apartment.
She finds the spacious room empty of inhabitants and the curtain pulled open on the bay window, letting in the light. She'd love to just settle down and relax, but she hasn't the time as she must- The door opens wide and in steps the still slightly inebriated woman from before who shuts it behind her.
"What are you doing?" Marie puts to her as she takes sight of her roommate while setting down her bookbag.
"What do you mean?" Mable queries as she feels as though lost for some reason.
"I mean you' date, don't you a'member?" Marie reminds her and drags her to the bathroom.
"You were conscious for that?" Mable wonders aloud as she is placed in front of the mirror and the harsh light turned on, all of her flaws on display.
"Of course not," Marie refutes the assumption as she breaks open a makeup case. "It's all over campus. Simon has been practically shouting it from the rooftops."
"So, if you know, then why are you dolling me up?" Mable protests as she grimaces against the multitude of brushes and applicators applied to her skin. "I'm not trying to attract him, I want to repulse him."
"And that's the wrong attitude," Marie rebuts and breaks out the lipstick. "You have to remember that our records, both yours and mine, are in tha' hands of Simon. If he decides you're not holding up your end of the bargain, then he could rescind it at any time."
"Are you telling me to-" Mable utters with a horrified expression on her face as she hardly recognizes the one in the mirror.
"Of course not," Marie cuts her off so as to get to the point and takes to brushing her hair. "No one is asking that of you, but you need to at least put in some effort. And who knows, I mean you've never been on a date before, which I still don't believe by the way, anyway, you might even like the attention."
Mable blushes. "But I don't have time for a relationship," she spits back as she prepares to wipe away the war paint on her face.
"Whoa there, take it easy," Marie advises her as she takes hold of her hands before any damage can be done. "Nobody said anything about a relationship, this is just a date. A time to get together with another person and see if you gel with one another. In other words, it's going to be boring and awkward and full of small talk. As for time, when do you think your magical moment is going to occur, because I'm here to tell you no magical moment is just waiting for you. You have to get out there and get it for yourself."
Mable seems lost. "But what if I…" she starts, but finds no voice to speak with as she endures further beautification.
"Fall flat on your face and make a complete fool of yourself?" Marie completes the thought before looking the girl in the mirror dead in the eye. "But that's just what happens when you open yourself up and show vulnerability. You just need to trust yourself."
Mable starts to tear up. She wonders if her mother would have been so forthcoming with the truth.
"Cut the water works," Marie orders her as she dabs the moist eyes ever so gently with a tissue. "You'll spoil my masterpiece. Now, look at yourself, really look at yourself. This is who you are. This is also who could be."
Mable feels her knees going weak from all the raw truth being heaped upon her.
"Okay then," Marie proceeds as she pulls her to the front door and opens it wide. "He'll be waiting for you at the fountain. So go on, and knock him dead." She closes it up.
Mable is now outside without… She turns around just as the door opens again and a small, stylish purse is thrust into her hands.
The nervous and anxious woman is all on her own and feeling more than a little intimidated by the scenario unfolding before her. She takes the stairs with an uneasy gait, but with each step she starts to regain her lost confidence. She tells herself this is nothing more than two people meeting up, and hey, they already know each other. At least, to a point.
She reaches the end of the stairwell and starts walking toward the quad. The first thing she notices is that it has been set up with all manner of booths for the various clubs to hawk their wares. The one time of the year when they're allowed to transform the campus into a 'bloody bazaar' as one professor is so apt to warn when catching students making exchanges.
The second thing she notices is the stone figure that peeks above the canopies of the central piece which is the fountain. The edifice made of carved rock depicts the moment that enlightenment, fashioned as though an androgynous being from above, visits the neanderthals who are blinded by the light of intelligence.
It is a more modern update to the one that used to be there, which was itself a reimagining and on and on it goes. The reason for which is that knowledge is ever fluid, as is our understanding of it. The recipients of this gift from on high, as it is seen, never change; only the gift giver is ever altered and the previous ones placed within a museum for continued perusal.
And yet, every time it is to be changed there is always a protest from the older members of the staff and honored alumni, mostly. They always behave as though this act will kick off the end times. And yet, it never happens, and the sun rises on a new day, while the fountain is altered and people's lives go on.
Mable spies her presumed paramour sitting on the lip of the water basin engrossed so heavily in his phone that he does not register her approach. "Okay then," she starts in and adopts a defensive position with crossed arms. "Can we get this over with?"
The blackmailer continues to work his device. "You kept me waiting," he comments on her tardiness without looking up. "I was starting to think you stood me up."
"The thought had crossed my mind," Mable lays the undesired truth at his feet. "But then, you currently hold our continued attendance in your hands, don't you?"
Simon carries on with his distracted behavior. "You make it sound as though a mark on your record will see you out on the street," he highlights the absurdity of the argument while his thumbs continue to fly.
"Perhaps not," Mable admits and narrows her eyes. "But if I can keep it off our records, so much the better."
Simon still keeps his head craned, as though his phone is the only thing worth paying attention to. "And what are you willing to do to earn my favor?" he breathes luridly while continuing to ignore the focus of his split attention.
Mable snatches the device from his hands. "If you're going to be disgusting, at least have the decency to face me!" she barks at him and holds his precious implement in a crushing grip.
Simon holds frozen, his hands locked in their previous position. "What the hell did you do! You…" he snaps at her before sharply looking up and having his entire breath taken away.
"Go on then," Mable challenges him, but finds herself on the backfoot from the sudden onrush of unadulterated focus. "You? You what?"
Simon turns sheepish and looks in another direction. "I've, I've never seen you so, so…" he searches his vocabulary for the right word as he looks toward her once again. "Aluring."
The single word meant to summarize Mable's entire person hits her like a punch to the gut. "I'm really not so, so," she stammers a bit as she recovers from the phantom blow. "I just, I just…"
An uncomfortable silence passes between them, filled with the sounds of milling people in an outdoor market.
"Can I, can I, have my phone back?" Simon musters through as he holds out a hand. "I'm not really myself without it." The possessor hands it over and an immediate difference in confidence is noticable. "Thanks, I know I should try to ween myself off of it, but it's my, it's my… Well, to continue the juvenile motif, my security blanket. You look hot, by the way."
Mable gives an awkward smile and sits down next to him and they both just remain that way for a long moment.
"It's okay," Simon speaks up after a fashion while adjusting his seat. "You don't have to go through with it. I'll keep the absence off both of your records."
Mable absorbs the promise. "It's okay," she repeats the words and takes his hand away from the device. "We both have come with false identities." She puts a hand to his face.
Simon looks up from his device and suddenly feels alienated from his distraction box.
"But maybe, just maybe," Mable continues and keeps her hand steady. "Maybe we could start over, at another time. And both of us could leave behind these masks we're wearing."
Simon gives a horrified look to his device.
Mable places a hand on the contraption and gently pushes it away. "You will be you," she speaks to him as she stands up and turns toward him. "And I will be me." She turns on her heel and walks away, trying like mad to remain sultry and mysterious.
She is able to maintain this bravado until she is certain she is out of his sight. She then sits herself down and takes the time to breathe. She looks to the moon and allows herself to just feel for a moment. She wants to know what it is that has hold of her insides and is squeezing her like an accordion.
There is a warm sensation within her heart where normally there is only cold indifference. Does she have feelings for Simon, or is it merely the strange uniqueness of the circumstance that has her feeling as such? Whatever the case, she has resolved to pursue it, but right now she has another concern. A warm sensation in her body. She has to pee.
Mable finishes with the bathroom and cleans the makeup from her face before noting, through the open window, that it has started to rain. Being the only one in the apartment she decides to indulge herself. She prepares first by changing her clothes into her evening, sleep wear and reaching under her bed to pull out the ornately carved box that holds her greatest treasure.
She brings it with her to the window and sets it on the wide sill. She unfastens the simple latch and pulls open the doors. Small peals of thunder are accompanied by crackling bits of lighting which light up the damaged article that stares at her with blank eyes. The combination of these elements causes her to ruminate on the matter.
A mask is normally employed to hide one's face and identity, but there is another purpose behind masks, channeling another persona. In this case, one who can jump into dreams and alter their course. But this one also serves another function. A reminder, a gift, given to her by a dear friend with her final breath.
Mable's loss cuts deep to this day, and it took her years to cope with her friend's violent end, even now the memory carries with it a sting. What's worse, it was impossible to make others understand the pain of losing a person, who was only ever inside of you, according to all the doctors. They simply could not know what it meant to lose that part of yourself, if that is all it was.
She didn't even find the gift Liza left behind for her until a year had passed, but to her credit she spent several months in a psychiatric hospital. Why is it that one so young as our Mable should be interred in so serious a place? Quite simply, after that night's events, she was inconsolable and developed a moderate case of depression.
It affected every aspect of her life, her appetite, schooling, play and especially her mood. There simply was no telling how she would behave throughout the day. One moment she would be happy and laughing, the next deeply upset and balling her eyes out. It worried her parents who were afraid that the behavior could be just the symptom of something more severe.
As such, she was enrolled in a psych program that determined a stay in a psychiatric wing would benefit her recovery. She was diagnosed with having a slight psychosis that affected her sleep and caused her to envision the same woman night after night. But being so young it was decided that simple therapy was all that was necessary.
She looks out the window at the rain pelting the glass as her tears begin to stream down her face. But with the sorrow and the pain comes the sweet memory of the time they spent together. The tea party, the zoo, riding unicorns, so many wonderful memories. But those beautiful memories, those delightful memories, were twisted into nightmares the day he showed up.
She can feel the anger welling up inside her. He is the reason her friend is dead. He came down out of nowhere and tried to break her. Mable's fists tighten and she has to use a meditation technique to bring it under control. She doesn't dismiss it, she gathers it, refines it, forges it into a weapon that she can use to fight back the nightmares which will eventually lead back to him.
Using yoga and meditation exercises she's able to enter a half-conscious state that allows her to remain alert, even when asleep. In this manner, she can come and go as she chooses in the land of dreams. Mable pushes all of that aside, tucks it away, for a later time, for when she has need of it.
Mable gently removes the mask and ties it around her head, just tight enough that she can feel the contours. She walks to the center of the room and goes through her exercises as she limbers up her body for a long period of sitting. Once she feels properly prepared, she settles herself on the floor in the lotus position and focuses her mind.
She is nearly to her state of zen when the door opens. "There you are," Marie declares as she walks inside. "I've been looking all over- Oh come on. Can't you hold off on your meditation to talk to me? I swear, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're staying that way all night." She sets her things down. "Hello. I'm not going away. Talk to me."
"I'm trying to concentrate," Mable speaks through the mask which keeps her from being understood and maintains her discipline.
"I can't understand you and I'm not going away," Maria puts forward and sits herself down in front of her seated friend. "So, talk to me."
Mable opens her eyes and takes note of her impatient roommate. "Fine," she sighs as she lifts the mask to the top of her head. "What do you want to know?"
"What do I want to know?! What do I want to know?! Everything!" Maria poses her own question which she answers and gives wild hand gestures to emphasize her words. "What did you do?! What did you talk about?! Did he go gaga over your look?! Are we still in trouble?! I mean, give me something!" She is breathless.
Mable blushes. "It went, well," she summarizes and looks to the floor.
"It went well?!" Maria repeats in the form of a question while staring daggers upon her reluctant friend. "That's all you have for me?! I want details damnit!"
"Details," Mable gasps as she is taken aback by the sudden explosion of emotion. "Well we, that is he and I, or we…"
"Will you stop acting like a school girl, which I quite admit you are, and spit it out already!" Marie bursts quite frustrated as she clenches her fists. "And you especially should tell me about our collected fates."
Mable twists a curious look. "You do remember that neither of our scholarships were in any danger, right?" she queries and returns to a more relaxed disposition.
"Of course I do," Maria throws back with some indifference. "It's not about that. It's about knowing what I have to play with. You know, in case I need to take time off."
Mable nods her head. She's most certain she's able to understand what is being asked of her. "To put you at ease," she opts for mercy and physically lessens the intensity of the nervous energy crackling between them. "We are perfectly safe. Simon has assured me that he will not mark us absent for this morning's lecture. As for the two of us, we agreed to try again when neither of us is wearing a mask fashioned by someone else."
"Says the girl wearing a literal mask," Maria points out as she stifles a laugh.
"Yes, but it is of my choosing," Mable defends her extraneous article and straightens it on her head. "It is part of me, but the makeup and clothing you had me wear-"
"Are you saying this is my fault?!" Maria shoots and slams her hands.
"No one is at fault!" Mable fires back with a slightly more aggression than what is displayed by her friend before returning to a more even timbre. "It just means that neither of us was who we are when we met. So, I broke down the barriers that bound us and resolved that we should meet again under our own speed."
"Wait a minute," Maria takes control of the conversation as surprise twists with horror in her face. "Are you saying you like him? Creepy Simon, not the pieman, who watches the world through his phone alone?"
Mable takes a moment to allow the insult poem to wash over her and can hear her own voice added to the rest who recite it should she have ever cared enough to be part of it. "Fair as that may be," she prefaces her statement and scratches at her knee. "I think there is very much to like about him, the real him, that is."
"You know he just watches porn all day, right?" Maria sticks to the common, outward observance of the individual and crosses her arms.
"All the more reason to break him free of the illusion that such programs infest upon the mind," Mable reasons and looks to the ceiling. "Show him that real women have far more layers than these actresses would have them believe."
Maria starts to speak, but finds she has no words. Instead, she reaches forward, takes hold of her friends hand and gives a nod. After which, she rises from her place and takes to the kitchen. "I think you're setting yourself up for stark disappointment," her voice carries across the expanse as dishes clatter. "But I trust you know what you are doing, else…"
Feeling that the important part of the conversation is over, Mable returns to focus her mind as she relaxes her body and resets her mask. She feels the displacement as she takes control of the hand which she orders to lay flat so that her astral projection can sit atop and ride into the dreamscape. A wild ride to be sure.