Your Helmet: Part 2
I stared down into the gleaming surface of the helmet being offered to me unsure of whether or not to accept it. On the one hand, it was a gift and wouldn't it be rude of me to reject this friendly gesture from my next door neighbor, Greg, that had been nothing but nice since I had moved in. It wasn't like I had to wear it all the time like he did, right? But on the other hand, I was more than aware of the obvious rift between Greg and my other neighbors. There had to be some real reason for their obvious dislike and distrust, more than just the dislike of an eccentricity? But what that could be, I couldn't rightfully think of an answer that made sense.
Besides, it was just a helmet. What harm could it bring? And so, I reached out and took it. I accepted it. A concrete decision that felt heavy in my hands, much more so than a fake helmet should.
“Well, aren't you going to try it on?” Greg asked, returning to an upright position. “Just to make sure that the size is right.”
I thought to myself, what was the harm? I'd already made my decision. It slid on with ease, without any discomfort. My vision within its confines better than I would have thought. “It fits.”
“I had a feeling that it would. Alright, then I will see you Friday night, friend.”
“Wait… what?” My mind stuck processing that by the time I pulled off the helmet and the words sluggishly exited from my mouth, Greg was already gone, his front door closing with a heavy thud.
For the next several days, the helmet sat on my kitchen countertop, my eyes constantly drawn to its shiny visage. What started as a curious fascination with a foreign object that stood out within my still sparse home grew into something greater. Every time I passed by to get a drink from the fridge or walk into another room, I felt the need to touch it; to bridge a gap that at times felt unnecessarily far. As realization slowly dawned on me, I grew increasingly wary of the helmet.
Friday arrived faster somehow. And even though I’d been dreading and contemplating it all week, I still hadn't the faintest idea of what it had in store for me. I called out sick from work and just sort of waited around, paralyzed by the fear of not knowing. I hadn’t seen Greg since the day he gave me the helmet. Twice, I knocked and got no response. His car was there and the lights were on and yet, nothing. It felt like he was purposely avoiding me. A notion that only further intensified my debilitating suspicions about his gift.
Just as I began to seriously debate leaving for somewhere where I wouldn't likely be found, a loud knock startled me. I found myself at the door quicker than felt possible and after a brief pause of deliberation, I answered it to find Greg in his helmet.
“Grab your helmet, let's go,” he said before immediately pivoting and walking away, not waiting for a reply. I felt like I didn't have much of a choice and so before I even realized what I was doing, I had the helmet on my head and was running to catch up to him walking down the middle of the street.
We walked for two blocks before stopping at an intersection. I wanted to ask him to explain, but my mind felt empty and unable to figure out where to even start. Two helmeted individuals soon joined us with courteous head nods before we continued our march. After several more blocks, our group was joined once again, this time tripling in size. A nervous excitement became contagious, but ultimately was spoiled by the growing pit in my stomach.
By the time we reached a large clearing at the very edge of the housing development, there were more helmets than I could count and the pit in my stomach had deepened tenfold. Fear growing at what all of them could possibly be meeting to do, my head spun, dizzy with horrible scenarios playing out from within my helmeted head. I felt powerless and trapped within them, their eyes watching suspiciously. I tried to steady myself while the very sky itself felt like it could cave in and collapse on me. Suddenly, a booming voice called out, “Who stands willing to fight?”
The surrounding crowd replied to the disembodied voice's question in a clearly practiced response to its call of action, “The members of the council stand willing.”
“Alright everyone, let's get started. Apologies that I could not make it in person tonight.” As the voice continued, I noticed one helmeted individual near the front of the group held a phone up above his head, a more than likely source of the disembodied voice. “First off, I would like to welcome all of the new faces here with us today for this council meeting. Now, first on the agenda, as per council member Greg, is the returning topic of the new landscaping guidelines for the coming year."
My mind drifted as the voice continued to drone on. It was much worse than I had imagined; not a demonic cult or dangerous fight club, but instead some sort of fanatical homeowners association.
