—Your eye holes didn’t frighten so much as startle me.
—You think so?
—Sure. Don’t act so tall.
—Okay.
—You’ve got no eyes. My viewership has not encountered that before.
The one kept expecting eyes. He thought they would pop into those holes, out of nowhere, at any moment. The other could not deliver.
—It’s a feeling I had to get used to.
—Your eyes are useless anyway.
—Why would you say a thing like that?
—Do you see what I am?
—You’re an asshole.
—That’s not what I mean. Do you see what I am?
—Nope.
—Do you see what you are?
—Shut up.
—There you have it.
—Know something else? I don’t care what you 'are'...
—All your senses are pragmatic.
—...and I’m sick of you.
—The world doesn’t turn for you alone. My time isn’t yours.
—And your mouth is so snotty.
—Grow up a little.
—Watch it.
—Why don’t you do that backpack-around-Europe thing?
—Watch it.
He put both his hands behind his back and flexed his thighs, tottering back and forth. The one who did this was the one with hands, and a back, and thighs. The other was a mask, pressed of steel a long time ago. He looked a little rusty. The other’s tottering was bothering him but he couldn’t do anything.
When I was extremely young I had a werewolf mask I’d cajoled my mother into getting for me at the grocery store checkout. It was one of my favorite playthings because it allowed me to pretend I was Michael Jackson in the Thriller video. If you’ve never done this, I suggest you start right away.
On a certain day after school I couldn’t find the mask. I looked everywhere. Then I found it while throwing a banana peel into a trash can. The reason I found it while performing that particular act was that the mask was sitting in the trash can, where the banana peel was headed. It was not the mask I knew and loved. It was a pile of jagged pieces of the mask I knew and loved. My younger brother had gotten his finger stuck in one of the eye holes. With no apparent solution that would save both the mask and the finger, he had chosen the finger and cut the mask to shreds.
—You know what else is wrong with you?
—Shut up...
—No listen...
—Do you think I’m an asshole?
—No. Worse than that. I think you’ve been misled. But let’s just leave the asshole talk for later.
—Alright.
—Why don’t you put me on?
—I can’t.
—Why not?
—If you had eyes where those holes are, you’d see that you’re much too small. You won’t fit on my face.
—Oh.. I see other stuff that’s more important anyway.
—You’ve made that clear. I think I’m winning now.
—Maybe so.
They waited for a moment. The one with agency expected to hear more. He stopped tottering.
—For three weeks I’ve had a loomer of a feeling that I will not be alive for much longer. I don’t know its source, and it isn’t specific about the time or the place or the manner. I’ve had a horrible cold throughout this ordeal but I can’t say whether the two are related.
—What would you like me to do about it?
—Do you have any thoughts?
—No.
—They’ve recently begun to think that cells in the body, besides the brain, communicate with one another. That the essence of a person is not contained only in the cerebrum but throughout the entire body. I wonder how that bodes for my passing. If I will just leave my carcass behind and continue to rock&roll.
—I can’t say.
—Alright. I’m going.