Masks have become an essential part of my outfits. I don’t mean essential like a nice belt or a pair of shoes that I just have to wear, but essential as in survival terminology. Society has a dystopian feel now, like I’m in a Godzilla movie and can’t enter the radioactive zones; but instead of the gamma rays coming out of machines, they’re coming out of people.

I get on my purple Schwinn bike and fasten the white straps of the light blue mask across the lower half of my face. It’s the same one I wore yesterday, and I think it looks better when it’s actually covering my face instead of hanging from my chin, like it often is on other people in my neighborhood. I think they do it to wipe off whatever grime they have on their chins, because that’s definitely what a mask is meant for. They especially like to have their masks lowered when they see their friends, because it’s just not the same when you can’t see them face to face. With their friends, they smoke and drink, and I admire their courage but from six feet away.

Speaking of drinking, I pass by a bar with twenty people huddling around a table meant for four. “Sure, we have health guidelines,” they say, and I guess we’ll all continue to believe them until the gamma rays start to create our own Godzilla. The drunkenly laughing people look at me like I’m the odd one, but I think my mask looks stylish. It’s letting me live, of course, but more importantly, it’s covering the one pimple that decided to show up on my face this morning.

I start to circle back when I meet my own people, or at least, I think I meet my own people. At second glance, I see that they’ve cut holes in their masks, as if they were ripped jeans! I’m not sure what’s worse, wearing it as a chin guard or tearing it up. Oh, I’m sure they’ll enjoy it when they’ve entangled with the gamma rays for today.

And finally, there’s the one man that everyone tends to avoid. He usually sleeps on a bench or on a cardboard box on the ground, and he wears clothes that have a few holes in them. No one really likes his styling choices, but I love his outfit, mostly because of his mask. It’s holding it all together, and Godzilla won’t hurt people like him. It’s always the people you least expect who end up making the most sense.

After biking past the man, I return to my own block. You’d never think that a block like this could coexist with the one inhabiting a busy bar. Nowadays, there’s never a person in sight. I haven’t seen anyone in months, and I’m not sure if it’s because the gamma rays have gotten to them or if it’s because they aren’t willing to complete their outfits with a mask. Regardless of that, the lack of human presence makes it okay for me to unfasten the white straps of the light blue mask across the lower half of my face. I thank it because it let me live, of course, but more importantly, it held it all together.

Written in August 2020