Mask Off

Fred walked through the park with the wrapped suit mother had paid for under his arms, sweating profusely in his bulbous jacket with lumberjack print. He always had trouble knowing when to switch from winter to summer attire, and this early spring was no different.

Some guy pushing a stroller passed him by. Fred tweaked the bushy red mustache sprawling out from underneath his mask. He couldn’t believe he was the only one left still wearing one.

“Fred!” the guy shouted.

The voice sounded familiar. Fred turned around. Steve wore flip-flops instead of his usual black leather shoes. He smiled so openly Fred could’ve counted the white teeth, enclosed by a black beard.

“Oh my God,” Fred said. “You have kids?”

Steve laughed. “Nice to see you too. Yes, say hi to Samantha.”

Fred peered at the sleeping baby’s bloated face and her onesie that read ‘level zero human’.

He snickered. “Nice.”

“Thanks. So how are you doing man? Long time, no see.”

“Fine. My army… I got all this paint. It’s going well.”

“So, are we going to see you again then? We could use an extra player in the store.”

Fred clenched the suit. Its plastic wrapping rustled. “It’s not a good idea right now.”

“Oh man, why?” Steve pointed at Fred’s face. “Because of-”

“Yes.”

Steve scratched his beard. “Man, isn’t that a bit too… hardcore, you know?”

“The hospitals are filling up again. It’s still a thing.”

“You’re scared of getting it?”

Fred unzipped his jacket. His mask didn’t stop a whiff of his sweat from reaching his nostrils. “Why would I want to have it?”

“I mean, it was weird man, the first time I went back to game night. But you know, we’ve got to get on with our lives.”

“My father…” Fred pulled at the ends of his mustache. “My father died of it.”

Steve walked up to Fred. “Oh God… Man… I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, if you want some distraction, us guys are always there for you. Just come along tonight.” Steve paused. “You can bring your mask with you if that’d make you comfortable.”

“And the ventilation? And the air filtration?”

Steve stroked his beard all over.

“There’s still a pandemic. My father died of it. We shouldn’t slack off. We’ve got to stay vigilant,” Fred continued.

“Man, your dad dying on you sucks. But don’t let it get to you like that, man.”

“It does suck.” Fred swallowed his bout of sadness like a sip of water.

“You know, like I said, some distraction would do you good. Help you to move on.”

Samantha sputtered. Steve softly rocked the stroller. “Maybe a bit out there to compare, but we didn’t wait having a kid.”

That baby would probably get it about ten times before she graduates from high school. Did Steve even realize this? Fred searched for a delicate way to put it, but ended up scratching his wet head.

Samantha broke the silence with a wail.

“Back to work, I guess,” Steve said.

She would get it ten times. Ten times. Fred couldn’t shake the thought. Maybe she wouldn’t even graduate from high school. She might become chronically ill because of it, incapable of attending or learning. Or Steve would die. Her father might die on her.

Steve lifted Samantha and raised her little hand. “Oh come, come, sweetie. Say hi to Fred.”

Fred waved at her. Would Steve send her to school unprotected in a few year’s time?

“Hi Fred,” Steve said with a childish voice, moving Samantha’s hand.

Fred snorted. Ten times. “I’ve got to go. See you around.”

He continued his walk.

“Fred! See you tonight?” Steve asked.

Back home, Fred threw the suit on the floor. He stared at his miniatures and cried.