He nods. “My father never wanted to be a single dad. He was too busy with his restaurant to properly raise me, so my grandmother would help him the best she could. But she also had really bad COPD, and that made it difficult to chase me around. So, most nights, he’d take me back to the diner with him and run his shift while I ran around the restaurant.”
My fingers move through his hair and then back down the side of the beautifully scarred face he’s so ashamed of. How can he look in the mirror and not see what I see? The beauty. Behind his scars is a complex aggression and aversion to anything that could make him even remotely happy. It’s sad. So damn sad.
He briefly meets my gaze and tries to smile, failing instantly the second he speaks again. “As I grew up, I’d help him with tiny things in the kitchen, watching his movements, making sure I marked all of them to memory. I thought I was invincible back then, that I was just like him. So, while he had a really busy day, I wandered into the kitchen and decided I wanted some fries. I did everything he did, pouring the frozen potatoes into the basket and dropping into the fryer like he always did. I waited until they were done, standing on the stool that barely helped me reach the top of the fryer, but I misjudged how hard it would be to pull thefries out, and the stool fell out from under me, causing me to rip the basket out too quickly and hot oil and fries to rain down on me from above, straight onto my face.”
“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, Rich.”
“The worst part was, my dad was angrier at me for messing with his fryer and disrupting his lunch rush than he was about me getting hurt. I lived with my aunt and uncle after that. They were doing their best to take care of my grandma, and took me in after my father basically disowned me. He couldn’t look at my face without feeling too much guilt, and that guilt turned to hatred and disgust rather quickly.”
“Oh, Rich, I don’t know what to say.”
He laughs. “You don’t have to say anything, babe. Things happen that are out of people’s control. I’m just thankful that my aunt and uncle raised me the way they did. If it weren’t for them and my two best friends getting me through my teenage and college years, I’m not sure I’d still be here today.”
My hand travels across the rough skin, finding beauty in the contrast of new skin and the red uneven patches of scars that kaleidoscope across his face like mosaic art.
“It’s honestly not that bad.”
He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, honestly, Rich. These scars really aren’t that bad. I find them beautiful.”
“Well, I’m glad one of us does. Every time I look in the mirror, all I see is a monster staring back at me.”
“Have you ever tried taking off the mask and seeing how people react to you without it?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“And?”
There’s a long pause before he sucks in a deep breath and sighs. “It’s hit and miss. It’s always the awkward stares that get to me. How one minute people can be smiling and happy, andthe second they see me, they’re quickly crossing the street to get away. Kids are the worst. I don’t know how many times one has screamed just because I forgot to wear my mask that day. I wear it more for other people’s benefit than my own.”
“And women? How do they react to it?”
“Like they got aBeauty and the Beastfetish and are waiting for my scars to melt away into some handsome prince. Eventually, they get disappointed too. It’s the people closest to me that hurt the most. The abandonment I felt after my father disowned me. My mother ending her life just because he was straying on her. My first crush, who only went to prom with me because she lost a bet, was the same girl who took my virginity and crushed me afterward when she said she felt like fucking a charity case that day.”
“That’s awful.”
He looks at his feet. “I’ve gotten used to it over the years. It’s why I’ve grown so reclusive and stayed away from anything remotely happy.”
“So, likeDisneyland?”
“I’d probably punch a mascot if it came up to me.”
“Newborn babies?”
“Their cries make me want to grab an icepick and drive it through my ears.”
I don’t know why, but that makes me laugh. “What about Christmas?”
“I’m a total Grinch. Hate everything about it. Looooathe it entirely, actually,” I add, putting on my best Grinch impression. “That’s how I got my club nickname.”
“How can anyone hate Christmas?”
He shrugs. “When you’ve grown up the way I have, you tend to shy away from large gatherings of people and anything merry and bright.”
“That’s so sad,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“I’m a sad excuse for a person.”
