Mystery Masks

“Throw them out!” Dad bellowed.

“Good night, sweetheart,” I whispered to Camille. I tiptoed to the door and tried to guess when both of my parents would pause for air. I slipped out into the hallway and then gently pulled the door shut. After taking a deep breath and calming myself, I marched down the hallway and into the living room.

I loudly whispered, “You both need to keep your voices down. She’s finally asleep.” They stopped and stared at me like I grown five new heads.

Then they erupted into shouting at the same time while pointing fingers at each other. Mom shook two plastic wrapped disposable masks at Dad. In return, Dad flushed red with veins visible in his neck as he shouted his opinion.

I gritted my teeth. I yanked the masks from Mom’s hands. She gasped and unsuccessfully grabbed for them. Dad growled, “Get rid of those. They might be laced with something that will make us sick.”

As Mom pulled on my arm, she said, “We have no reason to believe that. I’m still your mother. Give those back to me, Paul.”

“Please, both of you stop shouting.” Calmly as possible I asked, “Where did these come from?”

Dad marched over to the coffee table, scooped up a yellow envelope, and then held it out to me. “Where do you think? Look at the writing on this package. I’m probably going to get sick from handling this.”

Some of the writing looked like Chinese. So, I wondered if my parents ordered some masks and forgot. China does do a lot of manufacturing and that is likely where many of the non N95 masks would be shipped. The wrappings crinkled in my hand as I looked them over. “Did you order some masks?”

“No, we didn’t,” Dad snapped.

Mom shot him a sharp look. “It’s my turn, if you don’t mind.”

She turned back to me. “We didn’t, but they are obviously factory sealed. Someone was feeling sorry for us because the outbreak has gotten so bad in our city. They’re only trying to help.” Dad growled and slapped his forehead.

“How about we error on the side of caution and get rid of them? They aren’t washable and we don’t know where they came from or why. If you need masks, say so. I’m sure I can get a couple for each of you during my shift tomorrow at Farmers to Families.”

Dad nodded, but Mom pulled on my arm again. “Those are perfectly good masks. It would be a waste to toss them,” Mom argued.

“One or both of you getting sick would be a tragedy. I’ve already lost Twila to the virus. I don’t want to lose either of you. I’m going to get rid of them and get you three each. All right?”

Mom gave me a sheepish nod. Dad pursed his mouth like he was fighting emotion.

“Good. No more arguing. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

We said our good nights. I peeked in on Camille. She hadn’t moved. I dropped the masks into a plastic bag and knotted it. Then I washed my hands before picking up a clean bag, slipping it over my hand like a glove to scoop up the bagged masks. I put it in my room so Mom wouldn’t be tempted to save them before I could get rid of them tomorrow.

For good measure, I washed my chapped hands one more time. Then reluctantly used a small bit of Camille’s baby lotion to soothe their dryness. As I get ready for bed, I pray for good dreams to replace the recurring nightmares of my family dying.