Unmasked

by L.P. Graham

Splatters of stars zoom by our living room window as our space train zips from destination to destination. In the distance, the familiar and sentimental burnt orange surface of Mars beckons to me, calling me back to myself. I’m not sure if it will be a successful mission, but I am ready to launch, successful or not.

My gaze involuntarily shifts to the souvenir we, as lovestruck college students, confiscated from the rusty planet’s ruins fifteen years ago. I caress the wooden mask’s cheek, tracing the blood red line that swoops up the dark stained wood. Once at its edge, my fingertips trail down the jagged surface until my thumb brushes the luscious sapphire lips.

I can’t help but think how I performed similar actions in bed with my husband, Olie, for the last time a few hours ago.

My thumb snags on the aged wood. I jerk it back. A splinter protrudes from my thumb like the poisoned dagger my marriage has become.

I’m not entirely sure when it became a toxic relationship. I have so many great memories. Even now, we have moments I enjoy, that I love. But, somewhere along the way, those became few and far between. I find myself reliving the memories, grasping for them as a swimmer gasps for air. So, I can breathe. So, I won’t drown in ‘the now.’

An argument ensues, usually over something petty and meaningless. Angry, hurtful words spew from both our mouths. Then, just as quickly, we have make-up sex. The happy times return with the waves of orgasms – those memories and moments helping me survive.

At some point, I realized I was no longer in love with him, only with the memories of him. Of us. Of what we were. Of what we could have been.

He doesn’t know yet that I’m leaving. I didn’t even know until last night while he reviewed our plans to rob the inhabitants of this space train. It’s been our way of life – living on train after train. We rob the unsuspecting travelers until we gain enough funds to venture to another site, another dig. Always searching for the next big find. Our findings have been placed in museums across the galaxy. Of course, we always keep mementos of each location. Most of them would not have much value. But, it’s not about the money. It’s about history, our history and the history of the galaxy.

I’ve told him before that I want to stop these escapades, but he can’t seem to let go of the thrill of it. Each time, he tells me this will be the last time, but afterwards, he begs for one more, and I give in. I’m tired of fighting against it, and I’m tired of giving in. I hate him for breaking promises. I hate myself for letting him.

He doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t know me.

Well, he doesn’t know me anymore. Not the way I need him to. He knows my favorite foods and drinks. He can read my body language and tell when something is bothering me. He knows how I used to think and feel about most things, but like all people, we have both changed. Although I think and feel similarly, the whys have changed. I can’t seem to make him understand why I need him to know the whys. That knowing the whys is part of knowing me. But instead of listening, I’m told I’m wrong for feeling the way that I do.

So, I’ve stopped telling him how I feel about things or why I feel the way I feel about things. Big things or little things. I’ve stopped talking, truly talking. To him. To myself. I no longer know or understand myself. So, maybe it’s wrong of me to expect it of him.

Maybe, I’ve become someone who only sees the negative side. Maybe, I'm the toxic one.

The mask’s hollow eyes judge me. I judge myself. Divorce wasn’t supposed to ever be an option. But, I didn’t know then what I know now. When I was thinking of marriage, people would say, “Don’t settle.” No one would say that motto would need to continue throughout the marriage as well. When we married, I wasn’t settling. But, now, if I stay, I am settling. I can stay and be content. But, I don’t think I can stay and be happy. Not without a change on both our parts. I don’t think he’s willing to change. Maybe, I’m not willing either. I want too much.

I stuff the mask in my brown tote. Despite its judging eyes, it must come with me. I carry this tote with me on action days. Olie won’t think anything of it.

The mask was our first discovery together, what bound us together for so long. I was a senior at the university and had gained a grant to explore an archaeological site on Mars. It was believed to be the ruins of one of Earth's first settlements.

My professor wanted me to take a team. The boy with a mop of curly dark hair and a dimple in his left cheek won my heart during the one-week trip on the space train. His passion for history matched my own. He did not laugh often, even then, but when he did, my heart swelled. It was contagious. I acted a fool many times on that trip in hopes that I could see a smile or hear a chuckle. Occasionally, I was even rewarded with a belly laugh that ended with his gleaming eyes on me.

When we swept away the rusty soil from the mask, I couldn’t help myself. I took his face in both my hands and planted a kiss right on his lips. Before I knew it, we were entangled in each other’s arms, the passion of history and true love colliding into one. We found about ten other artifacts that day, creating hypotheses for each, storytelling another pastime that we shared.

As the bell rang for dinner, and time came to log our findings, we huddled close. He wrapped his arm around me and whispered in my ear. “Let’s keep the dark mask for ourselves as a reminder of this.” He waved his hand between our hearts.

Hardly able to breathe, I bit my lip in hesitation, but found myself nodding. His lips crushed into mine again, and all doubts about right and wrong vanished.

We married soon after graduation with plans to continue doing what we loved with the one we loved. Traveling and exploring the galaxy together had been exhilarating at first until we struggled to gather the funds. We each threw blame at the other.

Instead of succumbing to defeat and finding a new adventure to enjoy together, we schemed to raise the money ourselves. The idea snapped into place as we sat in a luxurious dining car, filling our bellies with Beef Wellington and risotto. Jewels glistened in the candlelight, and lavish technological gadgets lit the faces of the wealthiest people in the galaxy.

We shimmied back to our rooms and began practicing the art of pickpocketing. I was to be the distraction while Olie lifted. The possibility of getting caught added to the excitement, and although there were a few close calls, we succeeded every time.

Each time the train stopped at a new station, we would find the underground market and sell the items for top price. We were careful. We only took what we needed to sponsor the dig. Once the dig was complete, we would ride back to Earth and sell the artifacts to the highest bidding museum. Sometimes, we would make enough to sponsor the following dig. We never stole for our own benefit, only for history. That was how we lived with ourselves. And probably why we were so successful. The robberies were not consistent enough for us to get caught. We also made sure to use different train lines for each robbery.

This time, we are traveling on the Carion Hyperion, our third line in a month. We still need about a third of the sum to support the dig on Gliese 667CC. Tonight, Delta Aquarii, the most popular opera singer in the galaxy, is performing – a white tie event. The royals from each of the seventy inhabited planets are attending.

Olie had made it clear that we were not to lift anything from any of the royals, as our own invitation had come from Kepler-22B’s king and queen after our discovery of a piece of pottery solidified her legitimacy to the throne.

I sigh at the recollection. The happiness on her face when we read the findings had made me wish for that kind of happiness. That was when I had realized how unhappy I actually was. She had known her place as queen was her destiny.

I no longer know what my destiny entails, or what I want it to entail. I am stuck in this perpetual spinning wheel of robbing and digging. Until tonight.

I plop down on the chaise, resting my head against the window sill. I let my tote slide to the floor. The mask’s weight causes it to topple over, spilling its contents. I pick up the picture of Olie and I, encased in a tiny silver frame. Olie wears the mask, jumping around me like a chimpanzee. My head is thrown back in laughter. We were so free then.

The letter I have written to Olie sticks out from under the mask with its judging eyes. My calligraphy writing swirls to the edges of the envelope. I have written my goodbyes on papyrus, a tribute to our first love. I have asked him not to search for me. I know if he found me I would surrender to his pleas to return. I’m not strong enough to say no. Maybe if I were, we could survive as we promised ‘til death do us part.’

As I stuff the items back into the tote, the door to our small compartment swings open. Olie saunters in, grinning like a jester.

“What are you so happy about?” I ask. I don’t really care, but obligation requires inquiry.

“You are looking at the new stand-in for the performance tonight.”

“What?”

“One of the men who doesn’t sing has become sick. He’s in the sick bay. The medic has said he cannot perform tonight.” He spreads his arms as he spins around. “I happened to overhear the director ranting about it and offered my services.”

“So, what about the plan?” I need to know how this will affect my escape. The train is supposed to make a pitstop at a waystation for any passengers who plan to switch trains. My plan is to jump onto three different trains, taking the final train to its last destination, no matter where it ends. In theory, Olie’s preoccupation should make things easier for me.

“Well, I know how you hate these highfalutin things. We could postpone the plan until later, and you could do whatever you like tonight.” He sat on the chaise next to me.

I stare, mouth agape.

When I don’t respond, he laughs. “What’s wrong, Liv?”

I stumble through my reply, “I…I…Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just didn’t expect you to say that.” He is right. I do hate all the fancy things. I suppose that’s why it has all lost its appeal. All of it, the clothes, the pizazz; it is all fake, all an act for me. I have been living a lie. And somewhere during all of it, our love has become a lie too.

Or, at least I thought it had.

Olie is talking again. “...and I realized I didn’t know what you would do if given an opportunity to choose.” He lifts my chin with a soft touch. “Do you know?”

I shake my head. I can’t speak. My throat tightens with each passing second.

He nods in understanding. Slapping his thighs, he stands as he says, “Well, I have to go practice with the cast. From what I’m told, I just have to creep out on stage and lift a watch from Delta’s love interest.” He winks. “I think I can handle it.”

“I’d say,” I say with a nervous laugh.

He leans down to kiss my offered cheek. He pauses, waiting for me to say or do something. I look up, and at that moment, he looks sad. I wonder if he is as unhappy as I am. This is it – my opportunity.

He pivots toward the bedroom. Just as he is about to disappear through the door, I call out to him. “Olie?”

He turns.

I inhale deeply. “Are you happy?”

He shrugs, not looking me in the eye. “Sometimes. You?” He peeks at me from under his eyebrow.

I turn my head slowly from side to side. “I want to stop all of this. I want to find myself again.” I take a step toward him. “I want to find us again.”

“Me too. But, I don’t know how to stop.”

My heart skips a beat. “Together. We stop together.”

“We don’t have anywhere to go. This is all we know.”

“We’ll figure it out. Listen, the train stops at a waystation tonight. Let’s take the stuff that we have and use it to start anew. We can take the first train to its last stop; let fate choose for us.” My voice sounds high-pitched even to my own ears. I can’t believe I am telling him my plans. I can’t believe I want him to join me. I still want to fight for us, but I can’t do it here under these circumstances. He doesn’t say anything or even move. “Olie, what do you say? Meet me at the waystation? Leave all this behind?”

He cups my face in his calloused hand. I lean into it, hoping beyond hope. His voice is rough as he says, “Alright, Liv. I’ll meet you there. After the performance.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll have everything packed.” I reach up on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck.

I stop, realizing it is the first time I have initiated contact in a long time. Slightly embarrassed, I step backward.

I side-step back to the chaise and grab my bag. “I’m glad I don’t have to wear that dress I bought. And those heels.”

“I’m with you. However, now I have to wear a jester’s outfit. I even have to wear makeup.”

“Really?”

“Hmm…mmm. White paint with blue dots on my cheeks. And the hat jingles. It’s supposed to be authentic for the time period, but I think they may have missed the mark with the paint.”

“You must be the comic relief.”

He dances a little jig. “Of course, I am.” He glances at his watch. “Gotta go. I’ll see you tonight.”

Before I can second guess anything that just transpired, I start packing. We don’t have much. Most of what we do have are mementos that stay in a trunk, so they can be easily taken from train to train.

But, that would change. Everything was about to change.

The train pulls into the waystation. Air pops and wheezes as the pressure equalizes. Smells of cinnamon waft in as the doors open. My stomach grumbles. I have time to grab a b-bun before Olie arrives.

I sit on a bench, savoring the sugary goodness, watching others unload and load their items and then themselves. Men in tuxedos and ladies in long evening gowns begin to emerge.

Olie will be here soon.

I lick my fingers and wipe them on my trousers. I shuffle to the ticket stand and buy two tickets for the train heading out to the farthest destination. I don’t ask where. I don’t ask how much. I don’t want to know any of that. I just want to go. With Olie.

The ticketmaster says our train, train number three, will leave in thirty minutes. I go back to my bench to wait for Olie.

The conductor walks down the lane, calling out train numbers. “Train one leaves in five minutes! Passengers for train two should be boarding now! Train three, take baggage to the carrier!”

I had hoped Olie would show before I had to move, but he is nowhere in sight. Surely, he won’t stand me up after all this.

“Train two leaves in five minutes! Train three boarding now!”

Still no Olie.

I clamber over to the carrier, checking in our items – the trunk, the suitcases with our clothes. I cling tight to my tote, the mask’s weight grounding me.

I stick my hand inside and rub its rough exterior.

He will come, I tell myself. He will come.

“Train three leaves in five minutes!”

I climb the steps to board the train, looking over my shoulder with each step.

Bells ring in the distance. “Wait! I’m coming. Liv, I’m coming.”

Olie trips over his pointy jester’s shoes right before he reaches me. He gets to his knees and holds up something in his hand – folded papyrus. My letter!

He is out of breath. “Liv…is… all of this true?”

“You weren’t supposed to read that. How did you…?”

“I was going to bail on you. I thought you would come back to the room when I didn’t show. But, this,” He held up the letter. “This was on the floor. I picked it up and read it. Is it true?”

I step down in front of him. “It is.”

He bows his head, still breathing heavily. And, he is…crying.

I lower myself until my eyes meet his. “Olie, it is true, but I also want you. I want us.” I close my eyes. I don’t want to see his reaction as I say the hard part, “But, only if it’s what you want, too.”

There is a long pause. I fear he has left. But, then his hand is brushing my lips and the other is on my hip and pulling me close. “Liv, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

I open my eyes and see all the love I feel, reflected in his own. My arms slide around his neck, and I kiss him as I should have been kissing him all along.

Together we stand, side by side. Together we climb, hand in hand. Together we will live, day by day.