I’d wondered if what Jason used with me was an adaptive face, a mask, something he’d created to hide the way he really thought about women. An adaptive mask is a stupid term, but I still remember it from Psych 101. It’s basically what people do in any given situation, wearing a mask of their idealized version, portraying how they’ve found it easiest to cope within their own life and subsequent relationships. Hence, I wondered if Jason’s mask with me was one we’d developed together; each reflecting our ideal selves to the other. Much like any image, though, time fades all things. So I wondered whether enough time, the mask would crumble back into his former patterns, regarding me with the same cold contempt in which I’d watched him hold his mother tonight.
Jason and Sam
