Post by Mariposa on Apr 4, 2015 9:38:45 GMT -5
Everyone loves a mask.
It is true. Different masks draw different attention and draws different people, but a common thread is that everyone out there loves a mask; some even go so far as to put one on, and not just in the literal sense. People watch movies with a man in a mask terrorizing people with a machete or another weapon. People put on masks one day a year and go knock-knock-knocking on the doors of strangers. Popular movies now are about people in tight clothing and masks. Children watch television programs with color coordinated people in masks fight monsters and bad men in masks. Everyone loves a mask.
But for me, it is different.
I wear a mask. But I do not do so lightly; I do not do so because I wish to be different, because I wish it to be a holiday every day. Everyone has something to hide, no? And a mask is good for that, but when I put the mask on, I am not hiding. It is only when I take it off that I am hiding. Because with the mask on, I am seen, I am known, I am acknowledged; when it is removed who then can tell the difference between me and some mujer de pelo negro on the street?
Mi nombre es Mariposa, y me pongo una máscara.
Holston, Pennsylvania is one of the last places I would expect to find myself in, but sometimes we cannot do anything about the path life lays out before us. It was not my decision to come here, to the town nicknamed ‘Wrestletown’, but when starting fresh, when putting some distance between the old world and the new, a small town several thousand miles away from the life you knew is a good place to begin. No one in Holston knows about La Mariposa, or if they do they are keeping quiet about it. I get looks when I walk down the sidewalk, when I go to the market, when I do anything outside the walls of my shared living place. But those are not looks of knowing, they are looks of confusion or of admiration. In a town known for its wrestling, is it any surprise that one drawn to it would be inversed in the culture of lucha libre?
Or perhaps they merely think me a freak. That is their right. But when I smile and wave to the little children who look at me like they do Hombre Araña, I should not have to worry about their parents thinking I have ill intentions. But that is to be expected at this point. To them, I am just some woman in a mask. I have yet to change that perception, but that is what I shall do. And hopefully without any incidents, there have been enough of those in Mariposa’s lifetime.
Even now, I am walking towards home, a plastic bag of breakfast supplies in my hand, and I can feel the eyes upon me, looking through the window of the coffee places and diners at the stranger in the blue and purple mask. Some might even turn to their waitress or companion and speak of me with a laugh in their voice, but that is okay. That is good, for now. That means they are not aware of me. Of Mariposa. It will be my job to turn those looks of confusion and humor into looks of admiration and respect. To make Mariposa mean something. Again. Something positive.
The great worry I have, apart from failure, is being unmasked, revealed; like a super hero has his or her identity, so do I. And this makes me nervous every time I return home. Some interested sort could snoop around if they were so determined, but fortunately the place is not rented under my name, but that of Salome.
“Bienvenido de nuevo. ¿Recibió los huevos?”
Salome is seated at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of water, her dark brown hair still messy and sticking to her forehead and neck; she hasn’t had a shower yet, and judging by the fact that she is wearing only an old faded t-shirt and panties, she has been wandering around in what she calls her pajamas. I wish Salome would be more modest; I do not need rumors so early from people who like to make assumptions. I do not presume to know the minds of others, but even in Mexico there are talks of the attitudes and beliefs of Americans.
“Sí. Y tengo alguna salchicha también.” The arrival of eggs and sausage perks Salome up, but not as much as my starting up the cookery and prepping the newly bought ingredients. “Vestirse. Estará listo cuando termine.” I say this as gently as possible. Just because it is early does not mean Salome should walk around without proper clothing on. I am positive she would walk around nude if I was not there to chide her.
“Voy a vestirme después del desayuno. Yo no voy a ninguna parte hasta más tarde de todos modos.” Salome responds in the light hearted, jovial manner to which she is accustomed. ‘Not going anywhere’ ‘After breakfast’, any excuse to keep her out of clothing for a little while longer. I decide to not argue this with her. For her quirks, Salome is technically the one who owns this place; I am just the one who cooks. I owe much to Salome, and I know she knows that too. I believe that is why she puts up with me and my more traditional ways.
“Fine. ¿Encontró un trabajo todavía?” From telling her to dress to harping on her about employment. It is not even nine in the morning and already I am being difficult. But she promised she had a job in Holston; it was only later that she meant my wrestling, which I should supplement with a part time job…perhaps without the mask though. Salome needs to work as well, but her references and past experience…it could be difficult, but the movies make a small American town out to be the perfect place for someone to bury their past.
“He encontrado muchos puestos de trabajo , pero no uno que me ha contratado.” Well, at least Salome can maintain a positive attitude about not finding employment. I suppose it would be good for me to help her out, if only to give her something to do. Even if it is just dropping potatoes in a fryer, not a dignified job but the world needs ditch diggers too.
The tostadas are done and now I’m preparing the sausage and eggs. I do not want to harp on the job thing too hard, we are still in the transitional phase, and Salome, despite her lack of morals when it comes to the flesh and her enjoyment of having lazy days, will find a job. I know she will. She will go crazy staying inside all day.
“Usted sabe que puede tomar la máscara de aquí , ¿no?” Salome followed up, not with her laugh but with actual consideration to be had. She’s looking at me, specifically my handling of hot food and grease while wearing something that doesn’t grant perfect vision. And she is right; I could take off the mask here, where it is safe. Salome is the only one who knows my mask – my mask being the face behind the face I always wear.
But I do not wish to. I have not yet earned that right. I am Mariposa, and I will always be Mariposa so long as I am out and about.
“Usted sabe que usted puede poner en la ropa aquí , ¿verdad?” I fired back with another jab about her clothing and I shoot her a smirk, to which she responds with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders. That is the universal code of ‘dropping the conversation.’ Perhaps it worked, because Salome’s next move was to stand up and leave the kitchen, but not before giving me, or rather the back of me, a quick hug.
“Usted debe iluminar . Para alguien que se llama mariposa no está muy claro. La Mariposa pesado .” She snickers in my ear, leaving the kitchen before I can get a word in. The next thing I heard was the sound of the shower. Success.
I cannot help but to smile at that, as I begin to prepare the final stages of today’s breakfast of champions. At least here, I am not strange. At least in here, I am with someone else wearing a mask.
Mariposas de una pluma ...
*In Order of Appearance:
-'Black haired woman'
-'My name is Mariposa and I wear a mask'
-Spider-Man
-"Welcome back. Did you get the eggs?"
-"Yes. And I got some sausage too."
-"Get dressed. It will be ready when you're finished."
-"I'll get dressed after breakfast. I'm not going anywhere until later anyway."
-"Fine. Did you find a job?"
-"I found many jobs. But none that hired me."
-"You know you can take the mask off here, right?"
-"You know you can put on clothes here, right?"
-"You should lighten up. For one called butterfly you're not very light. The Heavy Butterfly."
-Butterflies of a feather...
It is true. Different masks draw different attention and draws different people, but a common thread is that everyone out there loves a mask; some even go so far as to put one on, and not just in the literal sense. People watch movies with a man in a mask terrorizing people with a machete or another weapon. People put on masks one day a year and go knock-knock-knocking on the doors of strangers. Popular movies now are about people in tight clothing and masks. Children watch television programs with color coordinated people in masks fight monsters and bad men in masks. Everyone loves a mask.
But for me, it is different.
I wear a mask. But I do not do so lightly; I do not do so because I wish to be different, because I wish it to be a holiday every day. Everyone has something to hide, no? And a mask is good for that, but when I put the mask on, I am not hiding. It is only when I take it off that I am hiding. Because with the mask on, I am seen, I am known, I am acknowledged; when it is removed who then can tell the difference between me and some mujer de pelo negro on the street?
Mi nombre es Mariposa, y me pongo una máscara.
Holston, Pennsylvania is one of the last places I would expect to find myself in, but sometimes we cannot do anything about the path life lays out before us. It was not my decision to come here, to the town nicknamed ‘Wrestletown’, but when starting fresh, when putting some distance between the old world and the new, a small town several thousand miles away from the life you knew is a good place to begin. No one in Holston knows about La Mariposa, or if they do they are keeping quiet about it. I get looks when I walk down the sidewalk, when I go to the market, when I do anything outside the walls of my shared living place. But those are not looks of knowing, they are looks of confusion or of admiration. In a town known for its wrestling, is it any surprise that one drawn to it would be inversed in the culture of lucha libre?
Or perhaps they merely think me a freak. That is their right. But when I smile and wave to the little children who look at me like they do Hombre Araña, I should not have to worry about their parents thinking I have ill intentions. But that is to be expected at this point. To them, I am just some woman in a mask. I have yet to change that perception, but that is what I shall do. And hopefully without any incidents, there have been enough of those in Mariposa’s lifetime.
Even now, I am walking towards home, a plastic bag of breakfast supplies in my hand, and I can feel the eyes upon me, looking through the window of the coffee places and diners at the stranger in the blue and purple mask. Some might even turn to their waitress or companion and speak of me with a laugh in their voice, but that is okay. That is good, for now. That means they are not aware of me. Of Mariposa. It will be my job to turn those looks of confusion and humor into looks of admiration and respect. To make Mariposa mean something. Again. Something positive.
The great worry I have, apart from failure, is being unmasked, revealed; like a super hero has his or her identity, so do I. And this makes me nervous every time I return home. Some interested sort could snoop around if they were so determined, but fortunately the place is not rented under my name, but that of Salome.
“Bienvenido de nuevo. ¿Recibió los huevos?”
Salome is seated at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of water, her dark brown hair still messy and sticking to her forehead and neck; she hasn’t had a shower yet, and judging by the fact that she is wearing only an old faded t-shirt and panties, she has been wandering around in what she calls her pajamas. I wish Salome would be more modest; I do not need rumors so early from people who like to make assumptions. I do not presume to know the minds of others, but even in Mexico there are talks of the attitudes and beliefs of Americans.
“Sí. Y tengo alguna salchicha también.” The arrival of eggs and sausage perks Salome up, but not as much as my starting up the cookery and prepping the newly bought ingredients. “Vestirse. Estará listo cuando termine.” I say this as gently as possible. Just because it is early does not mean Salome should walk around without proper clothing on. I am positive she would walk around nude if I was not there to chide her.
“Voy a vestirme después del desayuno. Yo no voy a ninguna parte hasta más tarde de todos modos.” Salome responds in the light hearted, jovial manner to which she is accustomed. ‘Not going anywhere’ ‘After breakfast’, any excuse to keep her out of clothing for a little while longer. I decide to not argue this with her. For her quirks, Salome is technically the one who owns this place; I am just the one who cooks. I owe much to Salome, and I know she knows that too. I believe that is why she puts up with me and my more traditional ways.
“Fine. ¿Encontró un trabajo todavía?” From telling her to dress to harping on her about employment. It is not even nine in the morning and already I am being difficult. But she promised she had a job in Holston; it was only later that she meant my wrestling, which I should supplement with a part time job…perhaps without the mask though. Salome needs to work as well, but her references and past experience…it could be difficult, but the movies make a small American town out to be the perfect place for someone to bury their past.
“He encontrado muchos puestos de trabajo , pero no uno que me ha contratado.” Well, at least Salome can maintain a positive attitude about not finding employment. I suppose it would be good for me to help her out, if only to give her something to do. Even if it is just dropping potatoes in a fryer, not a dignified job but the world needs ditch diggers too.
The tostadas are done and now I’m preparing the sausage and eggs. I do not want to harp on the job thing too hard, we are still in the transitional phase, and Salome, despite her lack of morals when it comes to the flesh and her enjoyment of having lazy days, will find a job. I know she will. She will go crazy staying inside all day.
“Usted sabe que puede tomar la máscara de aquí , ¿no?” Salome followed up, not with her laugh but with actual consideration to be had. She’s looking at me, specifically my handling of hot food and grease while wearing something that doesn’t grant perfect vision. And she is right; I could take off the mask here, where it is safe. Salome is the only one who knows my mask – my mask being the face behind the face I always wear.
But I do not wish to. I have not yet earned that right. I am Mariposa, and I will always be Mariposa so long as I am out and about.
“Usted sabe que usted puede poner en la ropa aquí , ¿verdad?” I fired back with another jab about her clothing and I shoot her a smirk, to which she responds with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders. That is the universal code of ‘dropping the conversation.’ Perhaps it worked, because Salome’s next move was to stand up and leave the kitchen, but not before giving me, or rather the back of me, a quick hug.
“Usted debe iluminar . Para alguien que se llama mariposa no está muy claro. La Mariposa pesado .” She snickers in my ear, leaving the kitchen before I can get a word in. The next thing I heard was the sound of the shower. Success.
I cannot help but to smile at that, as I begin to prepare the final stages of today’s breakfast of champions. At least here, I am not strange. At least in here, I am with someone else wearing a mask.
Mariposas de una pluma ...
*In Order of Appearance:
-'Black haired woman'
-'My name is Mariposa and I wear a mask'
-Spider-Man
-"Welcome back. Did you get the eggs?"
-"Yes. And I got some sausage too."
-"Get dressed. It will be ready when you're finished."
-"I'll get dressed after breakfast. I'm not going anywhere until later anyway."
-"Fine. Did you find a job?"
-"I found many jobs. But none that hired me."
-"You know you can take the mask off here, right?"
-"You know you can put on clothes here, right?"
-"You should lighten up. For one called butterfly you're not very light. The Heavy Butterfly."
-Butterflies of a feather...
