Sage Heart
I'm in the mall's Food Court, staring down at the sealed box of doughnuts on the table in front of me. The brunette girl from the cafe gave it to me out of gratitude, even though I told her she didn't have to.
Should I remove my mask so I can eat a piece? Self-consciously I tug at my mask, but decide against it. I can just eat the doughnuts when I get home. Hiding my face is an inconvenient challenge, and I have to admit, even to myself, that there are instances when I want to take it off, along with my pretensions and inhibitions, but I know it's a big risk in doing so.
I'll do it when I'm ready, though I'm not sure if that day will ever come, I at least have to try living my life without concealing half my face in public. It's been four years, after all.
I'm contemplating if I should go to the bookstore when this guy approaches my table and brazenly takes the seat next to me. His dark hair is cropped short, he is wearing a short-sleeved shirt over a long-sleeved sweater, and I feel irked by the obnoxious smile pasted on his face.
"Hi, miss. Are you alone?" he asks me, propping his arms on the table.
My eyes stare at him coldly. I'm sitting by myself. But regardless whether I answer yes or no, I can sense that this stranger isn't the type to respect my personal boundaries. He's openly staring at my face, at my medical mask, and I abhor the way he's leaning too close to me.
"Do you mind?" I can't resist sharpening my tone. "Yes I'm alone, and I'd like to keep it that way, so please leave my table."
The guy clucks his tongue, then sports a mischievous grin. "Hot and feisty. You're just my type." He scoots his chair closer, and I move back in reaction. Impervious to my response, the guy continues to hit on me with his lame lines. "You know, a woman is like an artichoke. You have to do a bit of work before you can get to her heart."
I can feel my jaw drop at his attempt to seduce me.
"Well?" he coaxes. "I'd like to hear what your thoughts on men are now."
"Men, huh? Let's see." I lean back in my chair, fold my arms over my chest, and raise an eyebrow at the dark-haired intruder of my peace and quiet. "A good man is like a fine wine. They all start out like grapes. You gotta STOMP on them and keep them in the dark.. until they mature into something you wouldn't mind having dinner with."
The guy looks speechless. He opens his mouth, closes it, then pushes his chair back, no longer meeting my wintry gaze as he shakes his head, walking away from my table to bother another table of two unsuspecting girls.
I mentally count to twenty before standing up and scooping the box of doughnuts into my arms. As I'm walking around the mall, I slow down my pace as I pass by a pale guy sitting on a bench by his lonesome self. His hair is deep brown and he's wearing a printed shirt and faded jeans. My eyes squint at his chest. It's glowing a strong yellow (sick). Although I can already tell how he feels because his head is bowed, his bangs drooping over his face, and his hand is clapped over his mouth while the other hand is clutching his lower stomach.
His heart is glowing more yellow by the second. Why won't he go to the men's room if he feels so ill? I rush towards him and drop my box of pastries on the space next to him.
"Do you need help?" I ask the stranger.
"Yes, please," he gasps, sounding ready to collapse on the tiled floor.
Carefully, I carry the box in one arm, use my free hand to grab his arm gently, then drag him over to the nearest bathroom.
"Oy! This is the men's room! Get out, lady!" exclaims one of the men standing in front of a cubicle.
