Frankenstein Mask

I wore my Ben Cooper vintage Frankenstein mask year round. To school, the grocery store, the park. During the little league season, I wore it behind the plate. “Don’t cry to me if you get smacked in the face,” coach would say.

At meals, I lifted the mask ever so slightly to sustain my smallness. “Oh, honey,” Mom would say, “Take that silly thing off.” And Dad would slap the table, “Enough with this nonsense.” They expected me to give it up.

So did my ex-wife.

One time, a new co-worker asked me if Halloween was my favorite. “I hate holidays,” I said, “This mask isn’t for trick-or-treating. Instead, I wore a white sheet and cut crooked slits for eyes, and tell everyone I was a ghost.”

When I retired, I needed heart surgery. The doctor assured me my mask would be waiting. But I woke up, and it was gone, and no one had answers. So, I laid there—practically naked—searching eBay for a Ben Copper vintage Frankenstein like the one I had always worn. I have the scars if you don’t believe me.