This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “And I Disappear” Down in the Dirt, v192 (the 2/22 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Ice that Was the Down in the Dirt Jan.-April 2022 issues collection book		get the 420 page Jan.-April 2022 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Running Out of Time the 2022 poetry, flash fiction, prose, & art collection anthology		get the one-of-a-kind poetry, flash fiction, prose, artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Behind the Mask

Ciara M. Blecka

    Maybe retirement had made her forgetful. It seemed like she wasn’t much use to anyone anymore. Cooking big family meals wasn’t so much of an issue anymore because their home had become an empty nest a long time ago. The hustle and bustle of the life of a working girl had become the ho-hum trickle of time passing as she knit booties for her grandchildren and watched old game shows from the seventies as she recalled when Richard Dawson was the ultimate ladies man. In Vienna’s day, she had been a woman’s woman, woman about town, and she couldn’t help but feeling like as the years passed, time had robbed her of everything that made her feminine.
    Worse than that, she had forgotten her dentures when she went to the grocery store for the usual staples (bread, milk, eggs) this afternoon! She had been absolutely mortified--that was, until she realized she had her mask on.
    “One benefit of the pandemic,” she chuckled to herself. Lord almighty, if she would ever get used to the “new normal.” It was so strange the way things were nowadays. Wearing a mask, one-way aisles, and talking to cashiers tucked behind plexiglass! It was as if she were Alice fallen down the rabbit hole. She wanted to get out of the store as quickly as possible, as her cloth mask was hot and cumbersome, hard to breathe in, and it always rode up and poked her in the eyes. But, she was struggling to reach a particular loaf of wheat bread that was high on the shelf. She had always been a short, petite woman, and osteoporosis had ensured she shrunk even shorter in her old age.
    “Good morning, ma’am,” a tall gentleman with a sparkle in his eye said, tipping his stiff all-American cowboy hat at her. He gave her a wide smile and straightened his belt. “Need a hand?” he asked, easily securing the loaf for her. He handed her the loaf, clearly not concerned about the six-feet rule. He wasn’t wearing a mask. And his belt buckle prominently displayed an American flag.
    “Thank you,” she said, smiling demurely and giving him the little blinking eyelashes. She was still a flirt. He seemed so confident, so secure in his freedom. Why couldn’t she have the same confidence? She had once! She always cared so much about how she appeared to other people and she would never take off her mask because she was a rule-follower. She had always wanted people to be attracted to her. As a woman, what made her worthy was her appearance. But now her appearance was just an old wrinkled dowager. But this patriotic American was able to effect an appearance just by standing behind his principles even though he, too, was a senior citizen.
    She ended up standing behind him in line. The sign on the door of the grocery store had expressly stated that you weren’t allowed in the store without a mask. Yet, the cashier didn’t confront the man about his lack of mask. He walked with a swagger and was whistling to himself. Instead, the cashier said, “Ford, how’s that son of yours?”
    “He just finished his essay for his residency application,” Ford said with a smile, slowly putting his purchases on the counter. He was buying all healthy food except for gourmet coffee and Godiva chocolate. “Everyone has a vice, don’t they, Glory?” He winked at the cashier. She had the grace to blush.
    Vienna was trying not to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d always been a busybody. “Is your son a doctor?” she asked Ford.
    “He’s studying to be a surgical oncologist,” Ford explained.
    “My daughter has breast cancer,” Vienna admitted. “I manage a charity for breast cancer research. We host a 5K every summer. Your son should join us.”
    Ford smiled. “My dear, you have the feminine mystique about you.”
    There was a little boy behind her in line with his mother, and the two of them were wearing the standard medical masks. The young boy pointed at Vienna. “Mama, why is that woman wearing a designer mask?” he asked her.
    The woman was in scrubs and her long dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun. She had bags under her eyes and wrinkles even though she looked like she couldn’t be any older than her early 30s. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and just a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Their cart was full of kids’ junk food and a few pieces of fresh produce. She was wearing a nametag that said “Betty.” She sighed and in a tired voice said to her son, “Some people think they need to be fashionable.”

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...