Cassandra and Casanova

 

The sunlight waned while Cassie Stevens sat by the window, watching the sunset and dreading this night more than any she could remember.

Her stepfather's voice thundered through her bedroom wall. He and Mom were fighting again. Cassie flinched at the sound of a slamming door and pulled the pink plastic bonnet of her portable hair dryer over her ears to drown out the noise.

When the time came to unroll her hair, she stacked the soda cans in the shape of a pyramid, turned on the radio, and brushed her long red hair.

A soft knock, followed by her mother's voice, interrupted her favorite song, "The Sound of Silence."

The bedroom door cracked open.

"Come in, Mom," Cassie said, seeing her mother's reflection in the mirror.

"You're not dressed yet?" Lydia asked as she entered her daughter's room.

"No, not yet."

"Well, you better get a move on. Jenny will be here soon."

"I'll be ready."

Cassie laid down her hairbrush and stood in front of the mirror to remove her green terry cloth bathrobe.

Her mother picked up the skirt on the double bed. "Aren't you excited, Cassie? Not only will this your first dance, it's a masquerade ball!"

Cassie shook her head. "Get a grip, Mom. It's a pauper's dress. I think it's appropriate, don't you? And I don't think a gym would ever pass for a ballroom."

"Now, honey--"

"Mom, I'm going with Jenny because I couldn't get a date. I never get asked out, and I wouldn't be going if I didn't have to cover the dance for the Yearbook."

Holding up the blouse, Lydia complimented the fabric of the Esmeralda costume: a full forest green skirt with a cream-colored peasant blouse. "Well, I'm glad you're going. It's high time you socialized with your friends. It's not healthy staying in your room every weekend. You need to get out and live a little. These are the best years of your life, Cassie."

Cassie turned off the radio after John Kay belted out, "Get your motor runnin' . . . head out on the highway."

"I go out all the time," Cassie said defensively.

"I'm not talking about band trips or the library, Cassie, and you know it." Lydia picked up the blouse, "I can't wait to see you in your costume. You'll be the queen of the ball."

The doorbell rang.

"That's Jenny, Mom. Will you tell her I'll be down in a minute?"

Lydia trotted across the room.

"Mom?"

Lydia turned with her hand on the doorknob.

"Is Earl drunk?"

Lydia gave her daughter a tenuous smile.

Along with her first dance came a sense of impending doom, but at least she'd be away from the never-ending battle between her mother and stepfather.

Cassie dressed in record time, fastened the rope belt around her waist, and hurried downstairs. Her mother met her at the bottom of the stairs.

"Oh, my! You make a beautiful Esmeralda, Cassie!"

Rolling her eyes, Cassie waved at her friend as she crossed the living room. Standing in front of the fireplace, Jenny's Catwoman costume--black, full body leotard and matching knee-high boots--suited her tall, slim body. She had used a mascara pencil to paint whiskers on her cheeks, and her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

Earl entered the living room from the dining room, whiskey glass in hand, and fixed his eyes on Jenny. "What's new, pussycat?"

Cassie stopped and gasped, "Earl!"

Earl spun around. "What? Can't I speak to your friend?"

Lydia went to her husband's side. "Earl, please!"

He glared at his wife. "Don't Earl-please me in my own home, woman."

Jenny retreated from the confrontation and followed Cassie to the front door.

"I'll be home early," Cassie said as she held the door for her friend.

The fight resumed when the girls climbed inside Jenny's red VW "bug."  The air-cooled engine muffled the angry voices inside the house.

"I'm sorry, Jenny."

"Your dad was wasted," Jenny said as she backed down the driveway.

"He's not my dad."

"Oh yeah. I forgot. Do they always fight like that?" Jenny shifted to first gear and motored down the street.

"If all the time counts, I'd say pretty much."

While Cassie watched the trick-or-treaters on the sidewalk, she asked Jenny if her parents fought a lot.

Jenny turned west on Blanchard Road. "Not as much as they used to. Dad left last year, but they're still battling through the divorce settlement."

"I'm sorry. I forgot."

"That's all right," Jenny said as they drove alongside the red-brick Westchester High School.

"Jen, it's so weird, but I've never known a happy married couple. What is it with adults? Why do they corrupt love and suck it bone dry? And why do they even bother to call it love?"

"That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, Cassie."

Cassie averted her eyes to the neighborhood decorations. "I just don't get it, Jen."

Jenny stopped at the T-intersection.

"Cassie, can I ask you something? Why don't you date? Is it because you're not allowed?"

"No, that's not it. Mom's always trying to fix me up."

"You do like boys, don't you?"

"Sure," Cassie said, turning her head and giving her only friend a shy smile. "I like them, but I wouldn't want to date any of the ones I know. That and the fact that no one has ever asked me out."

Jenny drove to the end of the block and pulled into the parking lot behind the gym. Cassie was thankful for the interruption of this personal conversation. Her secrets needed to remain concealed.

"I love your costume," Cassie said as they walked toward the gymnasium's entrance. "Where did you find it?"

"Mom bought it in Tallahassee. Where did you get yours?"

"I made it," Cassie said with an apologetic tone.

"You're kidding! You made it?" Jenny fingered the material of the blouse.

Cassie smiled. "Before I forget, thanks for the ride. How's Billy?"

"The doctor said it was a clean break, but he'll miss the rest of the football season."

They entered the packed Daryl Taylor Gymnasium.

"Doesn't the gym look nice, Cassie?"

Overhead streamers in Halloween colors, balloons hanging in clusters from the rafters, and small, round tables had been set up around the dance floor,

"Yeah, but it still smells like sweaty socks."

Jenny and Cassie took in the scene of masquerading students clustered in their social cliques.

"Can we sit over there?" Cassie asked, pointing to the corner table by the bleachers.

Jenny waved at Sally Jeffers and Joe Horn, head cheerleader and star quarterback of the Westchester Owls. "Sure, but let's mill around first and see who's wearing those goofball costumes."

"No, you go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. They're your friends, not mine. I'll wait for you at the table."

"Well, all right. I'll bring us some punch. If there's a god in Heaven, it'll be spiked," she added with a saucy wink, and walked away with play in her hips.

As two vampires and a witch walked past her, Cassie took a deep breath and headed for the corner of the gym. Heading her way were the Sims twins, masquerading as Batman and Robin. Cassie lowered her gaze because the boys had picked on her since they were in middle school, so this encounter promised to be more the norm than the exception.

Robin leaned toward her as they walked past. "Hey, Spooky Cassie, did you steal your granny's dress?"

She ignored the vile comment and kept walking.

With her eyes focused on the floor, she passed two tables and sat at the one in the corner. As she fought back tears, she was about to leave the dance when Mrs. Hamilton came to her table.

"Hi, Cassie."

"Oh! Hi, Mrs. Hamilton. I love your costume."

The music teacher smiled. "I figured I'd come as the Good Witch, since I've heard it said that I come from the Land of Oz."

"I think it's beautiful. Won't you sit down?"

"Thanks, Cassie. Who are you masquerading as?" she asked, taking a seat across from her star pupil.

"Esmeralda," Cassie replied with a faint smile.

"It's a lovely costume, Cassie. Who's your date?"

"I came with Jenny."

"So why are you sitting alone back here?"

"I shouldn't have come here, Mrs. Hamilton. I don't belong."

"Nonsense. You belong wherever you happen to be."

"No, I don't."

The music teacher reached across the table and covered Cassie's clasped hands. "Cassie, can we talk?"

"Okay."

Mrs. Hamilton leaned across the table. "It's about this attitude you have about yourself. That you don't fit in. Cassie, you're a beautiful girl, and you seem to be the only one who doesn't know that." She lifted Cassie's chin with a finger and smiled. "Look at you. Pretty hazel eyes. All you need is a little mascara to bring them out." She brushed the bangs out of Cassie's eyes. "Look at your hair and your high cheekbones. Any fashion model would give her right arm for your fine features."

Cassie lowered her gaze to the candle jar.

"I think you're a lovely girl, and I'm glad you came."

Cassie glanced up with a smirk on her face. "It's not like I had a choice in the matter. But thanks for the compliment, even though I know I'm not pretty."

Mrs. Hamilton shook her head. "Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree, and I want to see you on the dance floor tonight."

"You won't because no one will ask me."

"Don't count on it, Esmeralda. Well, I have to go. I'm supposed to guard the punch bowl."

"Okay, thanks for stopping by."

The teacher stepped around the table and kissed Cassie's cheek before she waved goodbye. Cassie followed with her eyes as her favorite teacher negotiated her way to the far end of the basketball court. Then Cassie did what she usually did in public. She watched people, only this time she got to watch superheroes, a Cinderella, a ballerina, and varsity cheerleaders dressed in basketball jerseys and short-shorts.

The minutes passed like hours.

When it became evident she would have to get her own drink, she rose from her chair and walked past the bandstand where four boys in red blazers were setting up their amps. Thankfully, she made it to the back of the line at the refreshment table without being ridiculed or harassed. Three couples were ahead of her, waiting for their turn at the punch bowl.

At last, Cassie came to the head of the line, and when she reached for a cup, a gloved hand covered her hand.

"May I serve you, senorita?"

She flinched as she pulled her hand back and turned to the voice with a Spanish accent. She saw a masked man wearing a flat-brimmed black hat, a blood-red vest with gold buttons, a white, ruffled shirt, and a long, black cape. A trimmed black mustache set off his whimsical smile.

"Eh, sure, I guess."

As he filled two plastic cups with Hawaiian punch, he introduced himself: "I am Casanova."

Laughter uncharacteristically spewed past her lips. "Casanova masquerading as Zorro? That's funny."

He picked up the refreshments and cocked his head like a puzzled dog. "It's no laughing matter. I am Casanova, a direct descendant of Giacomo Casanova, the greatest lover the world has ever known."

"Okay," she said, lowering her gaze to his polished black boots.

"May I escort you to your table?"

Lifting her eyes, she replied whimsically, "How could Esmeralda, a poor peasant girl, refuse Casanova?" She blushed at her blatant flirtation.

He bowed with a drink in each hand, and escorted Cassie onto the basketball court. Casanova set the drinks on the table and pulled out her chair. Cassie thanked him as she smoothed out her skirt and took her seat. He sat across from her and smiled.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Cassie."

"Cassie ... Is that short for Cassandra?"

She nodded as she reached for her cup.

"May I call you Cassandra?"

"You may." Cassie set her cup down on the orange tablecloth. "I haven't seen you around school. Are you new here?"

"I do not go to school," he said. "I'm traveling incognito to Mexico."

Cassie grinned. "You're too funny. So tell me something. Are you following in the footsteps of your famous ancestor?"

"Well . . . I play the violin and I gamble, if that's what you mean."

"Do you also seduce women?" she asked, returning his coy smile.

"Yes, but I never take advantage of women."

"Okay. How old are you?"

"I am nineteen, dona Cassandra."

"You seem older."

"I am well educated."

Cassie straightened her back and raised her chin. "Oh, is that it? What school did you go to, Casanova?"

"I did not mean to imply that my education is superior to yours or anyone else. I'm only saying that my teachers were gifted mentors when it comes to the facets of the heart."

"And this makes you an expert on love?"

"This is true."

"Okay, answer me this, Casanova." Cassie looked to her left, thinking that she may have been set up for a practical joke, but no one was paying her any attention. "Why does it seem that most married people aren't in love?"

"Cassandra, what you say is often true. A man without self-respect will often try to earn respect through sexual conquests. This can't be accomplished however, because his fault has nothing to do with his sexuality. No one can be a great lover when he has a negative opinion of himself."

"That makes sense. Tell me more."

"Most people have the same problem when it comes to prosperity. They believe that wealth has to do with material possessions and finances, and they also believe there is no connection between their heart and their good fortune. For them wealth is only an acquisition to be guarded and controlled, and this often becomes their attitude when it comes to relationships. Making love to a woman for these miserable souls is the most selfish act of all. If only people knew that making love properly has nothing to do with the self. Making true love is about elevating someone above yourself."

"I think I understand. That's lovely."

"Besides, if it were true that sexual gratification produces self-esteem, boys would fall in love with their hands."

Cassie laughed out loud before she had time to cover her mouth.

Casanova relished her amusement.

"Cassandra, when you know the kind of woman a man is attracted to, you can discern his philosophy on life. Show me the woman in a man's bed, and I'll know how he perceives himself. Without self-worth a man will be attracted to women bogged down in self-abasement. But a man who values his essence will be attracted to women who respect themselves. A wise man will seek a woman whose confidence--even more than her beauty and personality--earns his respect and admiration. He looks for a woman who can be a separate but equal partner, because it is only the love of his heroine that will complement his metaphysical destiny. 

"A man who is convinced of his own worthlessness will be drawn to women he despises, because they either mirror his own vile nature or make him feel less despicable. A woman such as this will temporarily release him from the reality of being a miserable fraud. But she can only give him the illusion of self-worth and a short respite from the decrepit code of conduct that damns him day and night.

"But you, my sweet Cassandra, when you become the great lover you are meant to be, and find your true love, the rhythm of your bodies will vibrate at the same frequency, and you both will feel the magnetic attraction the moment you meet. Your true love will awaken your budding womanhood and make it sing."

Cassandra's jaw dropped. "It sings?"

"Like a mockingbird."

"Okay, I think I understand most of what you're saying, and that I must determine my own self-worth. Is that right?"

"This is true."

"How can I know when someone is right for me? Match-making sounds like a crap-shoot, if you ask me."

"I will tell you how to determine who is best for you. There are only three personalities. My mentor, Don Vincente, called them type A, type B and type C personas. Type A personalities are the givers in the world. They often become teachers and nurses, and office workers and public servants. They are well-mannered, good-humored, even-tempered, and they make excellent companions because of the fluidness of their nature. As a rule, they are some of the nicest people you'll ever know, but they have a major flaw. They don't always function well on their own. They need the guiding input of others, and even if their relationships are strained or antagonistic, type A personalities will work diligently to correct the problems they face. However, left to their own devices, they often flounder like a rudderless ship.

"Type B personalities are neither nurturers nor givers. They are vindictive, petty, envious, jealous, and self-centered. They talk excessively about themselves and demand that their lovers conform to their standards and delusions. They are never content with what they have, and their insecurity can lead to sociopathic behavior. In extreme cases, their psychological flaws beome psychotic, and they will even kill for power. These are the mad men and women amongst us."

"Sounds like a lot of politicians," Cassie quipped.

He nodded his approval. "Type C's are those who are neither nurturing nor despotic. They prefer to serve no one, nor do they impose themselves on others. They are indifferent to anyone other than themselves. Their exalted perception of themselves is usually derived from daydreaming and fanciful thinking. Their most exemplary trait is their steadfast patience, for they spend their lives waiting for their big break. They rationalize their behavior by creating the illusion they have great notions and profitable works set aside. But they rarely accomplish their goals because they do not have the drive or the resources to be successful. Don Vincente calls them the dreamers who gravitate to the arts, where they usually wallow in anonymity and become islands in the stream of life."

"Which personality trait do you have?" Cassie asked.

"Most definitely I am a dreamer. And you, senorita, which type are you?"

Cassie squirmed in her seat, with her eyes dancing side to side in their sockets. "Well, I'm definitely not a type B. Maybe I'm a combination of A and C.

Casanova wagged a finger at her. "Don't give me that combination malarkey. Each of us belongs in one category."

"But that sounds too simplistic. Humans are more complicated, don't you think?"

"We are not as complex as many have led you to believe. Life is not all that complicated, but we often muddy our lives with insecurities and our ignorance of the truth, and our unwillingness to learn a better way of life. The old adage "to err is human" has always been true."

"All right then, so which category would you say I am?"

Casanova shook his head. "I cannot tell you. The truth is within you, and there is where you must search for your answers."

Cassie offered a protest. "You do not understand my situation. I am an outcast in school, and my classmates torment me."

Cassanova shushed her with a finger on his lips. "Cassandra, if you remember nothing else about this night, remember this: What others think about you is none of your business."

Time passed with them gazing into each other's eyes.

"Tomorrow you will wish that you had asked me about the secret of life, so I'll tell you now. The key to happiness is not taking yourself too seriously. Whichever personality category you fall into only matters because of your self-importance. In the absence of this self-image, it won't matter which personality you have. This is what makes us different. I am who I am, but I don't take myself seriously. You still do."

The band began playing "Unchained Melody," Cassie's current favorite song.

As though he knew her heart's desire, the masked man stood and bowed as he swept his cape across his body. "Dance with me, senorita."

She shook her head, pleadingly. "No, no. I don't dance."

He held out his hand and smiled. "Yes, you do."

Cassie glanced at the dancing couples. "Well okay, but first, let me take your picture for the Yearbook." She snapped a shot and waited for the film to roll out. Then she laid it face down on the tablecloth, and he took her hand and led her onto the dance floor.

Like a wandering star coupled to his warm hand, she walked onto the dance floor. Some of her classmates were smiling at her as though they were friends, as if she was no longer deserving of their torment. Her back straightened, and her eyes focused on Casanova's face. He stopped at mid-court and gently pulled Cassie into his arms.

Suddenly, a creeping paralysis drained the glow from Cassie's cheeks. "No, I can't do this. I don't know how to dance!"

Casanova gestured with a sweeping hand. "Look around, Cassandra. It would appear that you won't be the only one."

She stepped away but he pulled her back. "You can do this, because I know you are a dancer. Put your arms around my neck and listen to the music. Let the rhythm guide your feet."

She did just that, and he rocked her side to side.

"See! You got it. You're as good as anyone else out here."

Cassie looked up from his chest and searched his eyes. "Why am I dancing with you?"

"Because I asked you?"

"Why did you ask me?"

"Because I wanted to dance with you."

"But why did you want to dance with me?"

"I wanted to hold you."

"Why do you want to hold me? I'm nothing to look at. I'm not ugly, but I'm certainly not pretty."

"Cassandra, you are far more than pretty. You are radiant, glorious, and perfect. And when you perceive the reality of your beauty, you will become a great lover."

When Cassie snuggled in his embrace, he whispered. "We're here and we're together. And it's good." He kissed her behind her ear.

She leaned away from him, but before she could ask him another why question, he kissed her lips.

When their faces parted, she opened her eyes, and said, "It's wonderful to be here with you."

"You're wonderful, and when you believe that, it becomes your reality."

Casanova pulled her against his chest and spun his Esmeralda in a tight circle, like a Tilt-a-Whirl. Round and round they danced, laughing as children in the throes of unbridled joy.

When the song ended, Cassie looked around, expecting to hear familiar taunts, but her classmates on the dance floor were staring at her and Casanova. Not leering or mockingly, they were smiling and applauding the outcast of Westchester High and her caped crusader. It was too surreal to comprehend, until Casanova whispered in her ear: "Behold the flower that has blossomed in my arms!"

Cassie didn't know what was happening, but she knew she was no longer the outcast girl in school. She looked into his eyes and felt at peace with the world.

"So tell me, Cassandra. Who am I?"

She blinked to stem a tide of tears. "You are Casanova, the greatest lover in the world."

"And who are you?"

"I am Cassandra, and I have taken off my mask."

Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him as the guitarist played the opening riff of Susie-Q. When she stood down, Casanova stepped back and tapped his boot heels with a rapid, staccato beat. She had never seen a live Paso Doble dance, and her heart leapt for joy at the matador, swirling his cape and clapping his hands over his head as he danced around her. Then he stepped forward, luring her with a curling finger and miming the words: I like the way you walk; I like the way you talk.

She took his hands, and he swept her behind him. Like a carousel, she spun round and round until she bumped into Cory Cervantes, the Owls' middle linebacker. She apologized profusely, but he only smiled and said, "Rock out, Cassie!"

She turned around, expecting to see Casanova smiling at her, but . . . he was gone! She was standing alone at center court. The other kids were dancing as if she wasn't there. She weaved through the cavorting bodies, thinking he may have returned to their table; but he wasn't there either. Panic ensued, and she called out his name to no avail. Spying Jenny sitting at a table on the other side of the bandstand, she ran to her.

"Oh, hi, Cassie, I--"

"Did you see him?"

"See who?" Jenny asked.

"The guy in the Zorro costume! The guy who just danced with me!"

Jenny and Dwight Stone, masquerading as the devil, exchanged puzzled expressions. Dwight shook his head and Jenny turned to Cassie. "We didn't see Zorro, Cassie."

Cassie threw up her arms. "But you must have seen him! How could you not have seen him?"

Jenny sighed and shook her head. "Sorry, Cass, we didn't see him."

Kris Spence, sitting at the table next to them, watched Cassie pleading her case.

"Jen, we were just dancing at half-court, and everyone stopped dancing to watch us. How did you miss that?"

"I saw you dancing," Kris interjected.

Cassie's eyes flashed on Kris before they flew back to Jenny. "See! Kris saw us."

With high expectations, Cassie turned to Kris. "Did you see where he went?"

Kris said, "I said I saw you. I didn't see Zorro."

"But . . . that's impossible. He danced the Paso Doble. He's wearing a long, black cape. What's going on here? Why are you all doing this to me? Do you get pleasure from tormenting me?"

Kris leaned back in her chair. "Get a grip, Cassie. I saw you dancing by yourself over there in the corner of the gym."

Kris got up and walked away, twirling her finger around her ear.

Cassie screamed at her, "I'm not crazy!"

Jenny took Cassie by the arm. "Cass, you really need to calm down--"

Cassie pulled free and yelled at her friend, who seemed more like a stranger. "No, no. I'll prove it! I'll show you all!"

She ran back to her table, confident that she was about to validate her sanity and his reality, but when she arrived at their table, something was wrong--very wrong. There was no tablecloth on the table and only one empty cup sitting behind the lit candle jar. Her body shuddered from what felt like her world was imploding. Then she heard Casanova's voice in her ear: Whatever you can imagine can become real.

Her trembling hand reached for the photograph and turned it over, but all she saw was a shot of the gymnasium wall. The Polaroid snapshot fell from her shaking hand, and she barely made it to her chair before her knees buckled. "I am crazy!" she muttered with her face in her hands. "But how could I imagine all this?"

Cassie jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She wheeled around, hoping to see Casanova.

"Cassie, come on, Jenny said. "Let me take you home."

Cassie turned away. "No. Leave me alone. I'm crazy, remember?"

"I don't think you're crazy."

"But you don't believe me, so that makes me a liar in your eyes, right?"

Jenny placed her hand on her friend's shoulder. "I believe you believe it, and that's good enough for me."

Cassie looked into Jenny's eyes, and felt her sympathy.

"It was so beautiful, Jen."

"Come on. Let's take a ride. I want to hear all about it."

The girls walked outside and crossed the parking lot. Along the way Jenny listened to Cassie's tale of the masked man. When they got to the VW, Jenny unlocked her door while Cassie looked up at the harvest moon and followed the moonbeams to the roof of the gym.

To the sound of the slamming car door, a rogue wave of adrenaline swamped Cassie. Standing on the roof was a beautiful sight. At first, she couldn't believe her eyes. Her body trembled to the point of convulsion as tears poured from her eyes. With his cape rippling in the cool, autumn breeze, Casanova bowed to her.

The Beetle's engine fired to life.

Cassie's knees had turned to rubber. She steadied herself with one hand on the roof of the car and waved back. "Thank you," she called out, as Jenny revved the motor. "Thank you for everything."

Knowing he knew her heart, and knowing he was far more than the greatest lover in the world, he had given her the magical gift of a purposeful life.

Dona Cassandra called out, "I love you, Casanova!"

Jenny honked her horn. "Come on, Cassie. Get in!"

"Jenny, he's here."

"Who's here?"

"Casanova is standing on the roof of the gym."

"Who's Casanova?"

"The guy dressed as Zorro. Haven't you been listening to me?"

"For crying out loud, Cassie, will you just get in the car?"

Cassie stuck her head inside the car. "He's here--I'm telling you. He's here! Get out and see for yourself."

Jenny sighed when she saw Cassie's ecstatic expression. She opened the door and stepped outside.

Cassie was about to point him out when she noticed that he was gone.

Jenny stood next to Cassie. "Okay, I'm looking, but all I see is the gym. Can we go now?"

"Yeah," Cassie muttered. "Forget about it."

"I will. Now get your butt in the car before they haul you off to the funny farm."

Cassie reached for the door handle and stopped abruptly when Jenny said, "What's that hanging on my antenna? Is that a garter?"

Cassie knew what she saw. She pulled the black mask off the antenna and held it to her nose.

"What is that?" Jenny asked. "And why are you sniffing it?"

Cassie inhaled the scent of Casanova. "This is his mask, Jen."

"Your fantasy masked man?"

"He's more than a man, Jen. He's something else, but he's as real as you and I."

Cassie tied on the mask as she proclaimed to the full harvest moon, "I will wear his mask until I meet the man of my destiny."

"Cassie, I think you have to date someone in order for that to ever happen."

 

The End

 

 

© Copyright 2025 Nathan B. Childs. All rights reserved.