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Beneath the Smiles

A few days with Bubba taught Mack that eventually, all masks crack. When the walls close in and freedom slips away, there’s no energy left to pretend. In the cold, the hard beds, under harsh eyes, the facades peel away, revealing the raw truth of being human, stripped bare. And she had to admit, it felt kind of nice, in an oxymoron way.

On one side, she was rid of the pretenses of being tough and wrapped instead in the unbearable weight of feeling everything all at once: vulnerable, outsmarted, helpless, scared, angry, hopeful, defensive, defeated, longing, indifferent, determined, outraged.

On the other hand, she realized that masks were necessary. If you wanted to survive, you had to wear one. Be quiet. Be small. Be agreeable. That’s how prisoners made it out. So she put hers back on, somewhat cracked, a little old, but still good enough to fool everyone. Especially the prison guards. She was not wrong though. A few rules followed, and a sweet smile later, and she was free.

She’d heard about a big music festival in Rio. That’s where she’d go next. The city met her with heat and noise and a thousand faces all pretending to be someone else. She fit right in.

Maybe that’s what the world really was, just people shifting masks until one finally fit, or until no one asked anymore.