“It’s just like painting, Annie.” I explain to my little sister. “It’s art.” I stare at myself in the glare of my bathroom mirror, her tiny reflection in the background sitting cross-legged on my carpet. She thinks I’m gorgeous without the make-up but what does her little six-year-old brain know? I quickly unzip my pink cosmetics bag and dig around for my foundation. I save it before it drowns in a dark sea of lipstick. I apply the flesh-colored primer to every inch of my canvas, being sure that no blemishes remain visible. I reach for my eye liner. Black as nightfall, I draw it on carefully above my lower eye lashes, cautious not to let it bleed into my eyes. The makeup seeps downward creating a thick curtain of darkness. Grabbing my tattered paintbrush, I proceed to fade a shadow of black around the outer corners of my eyes allowing the colors to settle wherever they please. Next, I paint my eye lashes in thick mascara until they are able to reach up and grab my eyebrows. I must remember to pluck those before leaving the house.
I take a few more minutes studying myself in the mirror before realizing Annie is still watching me. “Do you want to learn how to put on lipstick?”
She shakes her head side-to-side in response and stands up to go. Before shutting my door she looks back at me, her eyes so innocent, and murmurs, “You look pretty, sissy.” With that, she leaves me alone.
I dismiss her compliment and return to my mirror. Mother says I spend too much time consumed in my own reflection. She uses a word-what is it-vain.  I told her those are in your arms. Two minutes remain before my boyfriend will be picking me up for school. Matthew tells me I am beautiful, but does that really matter if I don’t agree? He says that he’s the only person I need to impress but I’m the one who has to endure the piercing stares. It’s just art. I paint on one last stroke of cherry red lipstick but, as I turn on my heels to leave, I freeze. My heart sinks as I grab for my concealer. I dab a little onto my wrists and let it dry. Honk! Honk! It aches as the paint seeps into my re-opened scars. Tears threaten to roll down my cheek, ruining my lengthy efforts for beauty. Stand up straight. I remind myself. You are beautiful now…Honk! Honk! I rush out of my house and down the porch, careful, though, not to break a heel. I grab the rusty handle and pull on the passenger seat door to Matthew’s hand-me-down truck. After a short struggle, it opens and I slide into my usual spot.
He barely pays me a glance before saying, “You look great, babe,” then turns his attention to the rearview mirror and puts his Chevy in reverse.
“Thanks,” I replied smoothing down my hair.