Masks can’t hide fear forever, they’ll break sooner or later. We watch as she slips and falls, into the dark ocean, unbeknownst to what lies ahead. She reaches for us, time slows, and as we know it; we stop moving, breathing, and thinking. We pull our heads out of the water, gasping for breath. The waves grow taller until they become mountains towering over everything. They take a step, crushing everything in their path. She sinks, our minds grow into one and we all reach out, our arms stretch to the limit almost breaking. We try to help her back up, to bring her back to how she was, but she’ll never be the same, we’ll never be the same. We’ll always have this on our backs, weighing us down, pulling us back, like a prisoner in a cell.

Yes, we noticed the spots, and we saw how she walked now, of course, we knew something was wrong, and she did too—acting as if everything was normal. Maggie wasn’t always that way. She used to be normal. She cut her brown hair and now it stuck out. Her once bland clothes became colored and mismatched. Her outgoing personality became quiet and shy. 

  No matter what people say, we never kicked her out of the friend group, but she was weird now. She spent her time studying different skin diseases. Nonetheless, we’ll always be there for her if she ever needs us. We all agreed on it. We’ve known each other since we were in the 3rd grade. We couldn’t just leave her to her own devices. She needed us as much as we needed her.

It was finally going to be summer. After the long winter, we were ready to relax. None of us had time to worry about the future or school. Summer was the time for resetting yourself after the long year. All we wanted to do was live in the moment, but Maggie never responded to us. She never hung out. By the time school came back around we all were ecstatic to be in the 8th grade. We were finally going to be the oldest. But Maggie came to us wearing a mask of melancholy. 

She had a look in her eye that wasn’t there before, it wasn’t normal, “I have something to tell you,” she breathed. “I have an autoimmune disorder. It’s called Linear Morphea, which means that I have to go to the hospital to get treated.”

We looked at her with disbelief. She said it so calmly like she was already expecting this to happen. This must have been why she wasn’t able to see us this summer, this must have been the reason for how her leg looked now. We wrapped her in a tight embrace, we wanted her to know that we’d always be there for her. We knew that we couldn’t do anything about it, but at least we could be a support. 

The first week was stressful when she was gone. We were scared, we didn’t know what was going to happen. She had to go to a hospital an hour away, and winter was getting close, which meant snow was on its way. When it snowed here in Rapid City, South Dakota, it came down hard. 

When she came back from her first week of being treated, we could tell something wasn’t right. We saw that her arm was full of bruises from IVs. We had to cover up our feelings so no one knew we were hurting, like putting on a mask. 

After only being home for a month she had to go back for another week. Her second week going back to the hospital was less stressful than the first, but it was still uncomfortable without her in class. It felt like a piece of us was missing when she wasn’t here. We would always check our phones in case she texted or gave us any sign that she was ok. We only got a couple of pictures and texts now and then. 

“Give those to me!” the teacher snapped. We looked up as she quickly ripped our phones out of our hands. She walked away quickly shoving our phones in her desk drawer. We heard other people laughing at us. For the rest of the class, none of us could focus, we just kept thinking of Maggie. We’d occasionally look over at her empty seat, wishing none of this ever happened, but wishing never helped.

It was finally time for Maggie's last visit to the hospital, but there was an issue, a huge issue. Of course, winter had to arrive early and there was a storm. Power outages and car crashes were prone to happen during storms here. And Magie’s drive across the state had us more nervous than ever. If she got in a crash and didn’t come back, we didn’t know what we’d do. We watched the weather like hawks as the storm wrapped its icy claws around our city. The storm crept along slowly, growing in size. It’s snow blanketed the houses, making the city look white. Icicles hung from roofs, making it look like houses had sharp jagged teeth. The storm was alive, it was a real breathing monster. It grew and grew and grew until it stopped; it stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped thinking.

All we could do was hope, hope that she’d make it, hope she’d be ok, hope for everything to go back to normal. Our faces grew dark under our masks, slowly leaking out of them. We soon couldn’t stand the stress of it, and we became wrapped up in our worries. The waves of life grew into towering mountains, their shadow looming over us, haunting us. We didn’t know if we’d ever have the same group again. We wanted the summer back, where everything was alive, where everything wasn’t cold and dark. We wanted Maggie back. 

We never thought the day would come when she came back. She seemed happier. She wasn’t sad anymore. Seeing her like that changed us. We could finally take our masks off. The storm was still tugging at the edges of our minds, trying to bring us back to the winter. But we embraced her, feeling as the storm left our minds clearing them and unveiling springtime. The waves finally calmed and we could move again, we could breathe again, we could think again. We knew she’d be ok, and we knew we’d be ok. But the fear can finally leave. We can finally be calm and normal again.

Finally, spring was here and Maggie was getting better now. Spring, a new beginning, a new way to look at life. We’ll always be changed by this. We knew that she’d always have the sickness in her, but we’d always be there for her, Emma, Isis, Leigha, and Jaison, we’d always have her back. No matter what. We no longer needed our masks.