Page 44 of Mine

“I want a real answer.”

I couldn’t tell him the truth to his face, not when he was looking at me like that. So I turned away and sat back down on the couch.

“I never wanted anything, okay? We were poor.”

“That doesn’t make sense. It sounds like you would want everything, then.”

“Why?” I frowned.

“You said it yourself: you had nothing.”

I shook my head. My chest tightened as I thought about it.

“You don’t understand. That was why. I couldn’t beg my mom for candy when we were all eating bread for dinner. I couldn’t want anything. One time on my birthday, I asked my mom if I could have a Barbie. A Barbie! That shit costs like twenty dollars new. And I saw the look on my mom’s face when I asked. It was so much hurt in that look.”

Rien was staring at me. I could tell. I could feel his gaze on me, like I felt his fingers all over me last night. It was a palpable stare, and I shifted in my seat.

“I didn’t realize it until later. What it would have cost her to buy me a Barbie. What it cost her just to buy the bread we ate. And when I realized it, I stuffed all that want so far back inside of me that I never wanted anything at all.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. Everything she had done for me and my sister! There was no way I could possibly repay her for all she had done for us.

“You did want things, though. You just didn’t tell her.”

“No!” I looked up. “That’s what I’m saying. I stopped wanting anything. Inside. I convinced myself that I didn’t want happy meals, or toys, or even a soda from the 7-11. I convinced her that my favorite lunch was mayo on toast, because that’s all we could afford. I saw the look on her face when my sister whined about what we ate.

But it wasn’t just her. I convinced myself. I buried every single want I ever had deep down, burned away all the desire. I covered it with concrete and cinder blocks and locked it away for good.”

A sob rose in my throat and I cut it off, biting down on my tongue. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not him. Not now. What happened to keeping myself locked behind a mask? I was failing, miserably. He had torn down all of my screens and now I was sitting in front of him as exposed as if I was naked.

Rien came over and sat on the couch. He put his hand on my knee. I wanted to shake him off. I wanted to pull him into an embrace. I wanted to kill him.

“You’d make a good serial killer if you decided to change careers.”

It was such a strange comment that I burst out with one short laugh. Rien pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “Why?

“Concrete and cinder blocks? That’s basically how you get rid of a body.”

I bit my lip. He smiled at me and kissed the top of my head. I couldn’t help it; I leaned into his arm and savored the pressure of his lips. His warmth.

“So that’s why you want to be an actress.”

I nodded, wiping the tears from the corner of my eyes.

“Yes. Because every character has a motivation. Every character comes with a set of goals, desires, dreams. It’s wonderful to slip into a part and not have to think about anything except that one motivation that keeps you going. Pretending to want something is almost as good as wanting it.”

“You don’t have any motivations at all?”

“No. Never.” I twisted the handkerchief in my lap.

“I don’t believe that. It’s a mask, that’s all.”

His face flinched when he saw my expression.

“You think this is a mask I’m wearing on top of my real self?” I asked. I balled the handkerchief up, blotting the tears angrily from my cheeks. “It’s not. It’s all there is. It’s a bunch of masks, one on top of the other. There’s nothing underneath.”

“That’s not true.”

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