Mask

In this climate of self-advocacy there rests too, a sticky film of victimhood, for who almost couldn’t whisper #metoo? Or, that’s how Karen was thinking this morning late after having been startled from sleep at just past three a.m. by yet another nightmare involving the ripping off of parts of her.

As instructed by her dream teacher, she not only wrote down her morning recollections, but her associations, what first came to mind, even if it didn’t seem related and how these seemingly nonsensical clues do eventually tie together, give another inch of rope into the cavernous unconscious truth.

What had brought them together was their unmasked pasts, the details too dark ever to share with others in the way in which these two came to love one another in only knowing #metoo can go much further than groping or lewd comments, but can happen when you are a child and your mind does funny things like reach arms around and automatically Papier-mâché and place a mask on your face you can’t ever remove. A little Vaseline in the eyes gives the world soft focus, causes one to sleep.

Before it all happened she used to say she was an alligator, rows of white teeth and a flowing, mink-tailed gown and gold crown like the guy on Sesame Street, he was a fantasy, cartoon character, not one of the puppets, but now which muppet was she? An Oscar the Grouch who stayed in his can suffocating in his own stink, or Big Bird loping around dumb to the past and always excited to meet another ugly worm?

Video Credit: Sesame Street: Alligator King/youtube