My job is dull. My friends are dull. My family is dull. I live alone and generally have a largely dull life. The only place that I feel really alive is when I go to my monthly Polka meets.
These are not just a gathering of music appreciators, these are people for whom the world begins and ends with Polka. And not just any polka, but our own special concoction of Masked Polka. Masked Polka allows you to become the music not just with your voice, but with your whole being and soul. We don't just enjoy polka, we are the new standard for polka.
The glorious birth of Masked Polka was all due to a happy accident, really. We had already been participating in a monthly Polka Meetup. Miles had suggested the idea in our Brooklyn Polka online meetup, and since the five of us all agreed that our Saturday nights were generally free, we decided, why not meet IRL? So our first few meetings were at the local cupcake shop, but we discovered that in order to share our beloved Polka music, we had to pass headphones from one person to the next, so Doris suggested that we start the meetup at her house. Her grandmother generally went to bed at 7 and wouldn't have been woken up by a jackhammer in her bedroom, so it worked out well for everyone.
The masks were an accidental stroke of genius. The only night that Doris's grandmother stayed up past seven was on her monthly bingo games at the local church. Normally, the prizes were gift certificates to the local restaurants (for early bird specials only), or to the movies (afternoon matinee senior specials). However, this week, the church must have decided to clean out the basement of the adjacent public playhouse and just give decades worth of costumes to the old geezers instead.
So, in walks old Grandma Nana with a bag full of animal heads that I swear was bigger than her 85 pound frame. Zebras, horses, dogs, cats, elephants. She dropped the bag in the middle of the living room, yelled, "I won" as she shakily took both hands off her walker to triumphantly raised them in the air, and then shuffled off the bed.
We were all silent as we uneasily stared at the bag. Wordlessly, Miles reached in the bag and pulled out a horse mask. He grinned and slipped it on his head. One by one we chose a mask and pulled them over our heads. At first we were silent, but then Miles slowly reached for his accordion, as if there was a delicate spell he was trying not to break.
The music was like nothing I had ever heard. Before we knew what we were doing we were all up and joyously joining in, singing, playing and dancing. It was a joy unlike we had ever experienced, as if the music was lifting us in the air, floating us to the heavens.
We have never played music without the masks again. In fact, I now realize that all those hours outside of Doris' living room are the times where I wear a mask. In here I am truly free.
