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Feb. 28th, 2021 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
writer_melTitle: Death Mask
Author: Melinda Duval
Denise got out of bed on the sixth day. She’d been up to use the toilet, of course, but she hadn’t showered or made her own meals during that time. When she got out of bed that day, she managed to wash a bowl and make her own cereal. Then she went back to bed with a box of donuts for the rest of the day. On the seventh day she managed a sandwich, a real one with lettuce and mayo. She also ate the rest of the donuts. It took her until the tenth day to get a shower. By the time she got out, there were no tears left. That day she managed all the dishes, too, but not the laundry. That took two more days. By the end of two full weeks, she felt ready to go to the grocery store.
That ended up being a mistake, of course. Her mother drove since Denise didn’t have a car anymore. They went to the local market, the one she’d always gone to. Another mistake. She should have asked her mother to take her to the fancy one across town. Turn it into an adventure. They weren’t out of the produce aisles before someone stopped them to give condolences. Denise knew they meant well, but she wasn’t ready to hear anyone say it out loud. Each one drove the knife deeper. Her mother ended up finishing the shopping while Denise sat in the car and shook. It was another week before she left the house again.
During that week, she did work on pulling herself together. First, she went through all the condolence cards and made a list of the ones that required some kind of response. It turns out, you should say thank you for gifts or donations, but that’s all. Denise had been vaguely unnerved her mother knew the rules for that, but different generations learned different things. The day before she went out, she mailed all the cards she needed to send. “Less than a month,” she told herself. “Not too bad.”
This time she went to the store with her sister and they absolutely went to the other grocery store and it went so much better. They laughed some about the exotic things they found, things they had no experience with. They also laughed at the women who wore full faces of makeup with false lashes just to pick up a few things. Women in her family never wore more makeup. It wasn’t that they actually thought badly of it, or women who wore it, they just thought it was too much work.
Still thinking about that a few days later, Denise looked up videos on make up on the internet. She was curious how much time it took to put that much makeup on, how many steps to it took. It took her all day to complete all the steps required to do the dishes or make a meal and she couldn’t imagine doing what these women did in twenty minutes. She thought for sure they sped the film up, but they were talking so they couldn’t have. Even the simplest makeup routines seemed exotic to her.
She decided to walk to the closest drugstore and pick up a few things, just to try them. After she stood in front of the astonishing array of makeups, one of the clerks decided to ask if she needed help. Denise whimpered with relief. “I have no idea what I need!” She handed the girl the crumpled-up list she’d made from watching the videos. The girl, and she was just a girl, took a long look at the list and promptly crumpled it back up.
“Well, you don’t need any of that nonsense. Not when you’re just starting out. And not if you’re buying things here. Let me show you.” It took almost an hour to work through things like favorite colors and skin type, but when Denise left she had concealer, foundation, blush and eyeshadow. She also got a full set of brushes even though she only needed a couple. “These are quality and later, when you are spending more money on product, you won’t have to worry about brushes.”
When Denise got home, she immediately send the girl a thank you note. She’d only gotten a first name, so she addressed it to the store manager. The letter was all about how helpful the girl had been and how she wouldn’t think of going anywhere else in the future. Hopefully that would earn the girl a gift card or something. Of course, she didn’t do a thing to try any of the makeup for a few days. She had to think about it some first.
Her first attempt was just awful. She did everything she thought she was supposed to do and she still looked like a little kid in her mother’s make up. The picture she took got saved in a locked folder. She never wanted to get the urge to show anyone. Ever. Her second attempt was less awful, but only a little, so she went back to the videos to try and figure it all out.
She was derailed a little because her leave ended. Going back to work wasn’t nearly as hard as those first trips to the store, which was good. The steps for work were more familiar. She was much more used to breaking down the tasks. Her colleagues were also more restrained about their sympathies. The first time she came in with any makeup on all anyone said was that she looked rested. She got the same response from her mother after a long, quizzical look.
Denise realized that wearing the makeup made her feel different. It was something new and just for her. Because it was just for her she felt free to try more adventurous styles. She spent hours one weekend practicing with different kinds of eyeliner until she thought she had a wing down enough to try it at work. That brought a whole other realm of compliments. When she got a pure compliment, with no worry, from her mother, Denise felt healed for the first time.
The loss was still there, of course, and it always would be. She knew that. When she was home, alone, with her face bare at the end of the day, it came rushing back. The pain was strong enough that she couldn’t always make a real meal for herself and she ended up eating popcorn on the kitchen floor. When she got up the next morning and got ready for work, the makeup went back on and she could function.
She didn’t think of it that way, of course. It was all part of her new way of living. She kept going to the more distant grocery store when she finally got a car. Getting the car required more makeup, though. She wore brighter colors on her eyes and a bright red lipstick where she normally never wore anything but gloss. She cried for almost two hours that night when the makeup came off. Still, she had a car after that and her life became a little bit more her own.
She wore the fancier makeup for a family dinner and overheard a conversation between her sister and mother. “It looks nice,” her mother said reluctantly.
“It doesn’t look like her,” was her sister’s response. “She looks like the after from some magazine makeover article. Where you know the poor woman will never keep it up and it’s just for the shoot. It’s not real.”
Denise thought about that a lot, about it not being real. When she looked at herself before going to work, she saw herself. She didn’t see the contour powder or the false lashes, she only saw her. Her eyes looked brighter and her smile was a bit broader than she expected, but she was still the same person she’d always been. When she got home that night, she spent her usual hour on the kitchen floor, but at least she ended up with a sandwich and not just popcorn.
By the time the one-year anniversary came around, Denise had found a sort of balance. There were no more breakdowns in the kitchen, but taking off her makeup still signaled a change from public to private. Without the makeup, she was more likely to look through old photo albums and cry a little. She was also more likely to admit to her sister that she was having a bad day. She never told her mother that, though.
Denise’s mother still questioned the makeup. She always said it looked nice, of course, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around how her daughter could have become one of those women who never left the house without her ‘face’ on. When she tried to ask, Denise only said, “It’s fun. Does it have to be anything else?”
Denise went to the graveyard on the actual anniversary. She went alone, despite her mother’s objection, and with her usual makeup on. She hadn’t even thought about that, she just left the house the same as she ever would. When she sat down on the bench across from the stone, she started talking without realizing. She talked about the stages she’d gone through to even get out of the house. She talked about going back to work and getting her new car. Each stage of the year’s healing was mentioned but one. She hoped that he’d be proud of everything she’d done since she lost him.
She never once mentioned the makeup. She didn’t think about it in the list of things she’d done. When she talked about her tears every night, she didn’t mention the makeup. When she mentioned how smoothly the car purchase went, she didn’t mention the fake lashes. It was all a part of her now, part of who she wanted to be as she moved forward. The makeup was no longer a mask to hide her grief behind. Now, it was a part of the woman who had lived the lost and moved through it.
Author: Melinda Duval
Denise got out of bed on the sixth day. She’d been up to use the toilet, of course, but she hadn’t showered or made her own meals during that time. When she got out of bed that day, she managed to wash a bowl and make her own cereal. Then she went back to bed with a box of donuts for the rest of the day. On the seventh day she managed a sandwich, a real one with lettuce and mayo. She also ate the rest of the donuts. It took her until the tenth day to get a shower. By the time she got out, there were no tears left. That day she managed all the dishes, too, but not the laundry. That took two more days. By the end of two full weeks, she felt ready to go to the grocery store.
That ended up being a mistake, of course. Her mother drove since Denise didn’t have a car anymore. They went to the local market, the one she’d always gone to. Another mistake. She should have asked her mother to take her to the fancy one across town. Turn it into an adventure. They weren’t out of the produce aisles before someone stopped them to give condolences. Denise knew they meant well, but she wasn’t ready to hear anyone say it out loud. Each one drove the knife deeper. Her mother ended up finishing the shopping while Denise sat in the car and shook. It was another week before she left the house again.
During that week, she did work on pulling herself together. First, she went through all the condolence cards and made a list of the ones that required some kind of response. It turns out, you should say thank you for gifts or donations, but that’s all. Denise had been vaguely unnerved her mother knew the rules for that, but different generations learned different things. The day before she went out, she mailed all the cards she needed to send. “Less than a month,” she told herself. “Not too bad.”
This time she went to the store with her sister and they absolutely went to the other grocery store and it went so much better. They laughed some about the exotic things they found, things they had no experience with. They also laughed at the women who wore full faces of makeup with false lashes just to pick up a few things. Women in her family never wore more makeup. It wasn’t that they actually thought badly of it, or women who wore it, they just thought it was too much work.
Still thinking about that a few days later, Denise looked up videos on make up on the internet. She was curious how much time it took to put that much makeup on, how many steps to it took. It took her all day to complete all the steps required to do the dishes or make a meal and she couldn’t imagine doing what these women did in twenty minutes. She thought for sure they sped the film up, but they were talking so they couldn’t have. Even the simplest makeup routines seemed exotic to her.
She decided to walk to the closest drugstore and pick up a few things, just to try them. After she stood in front of the astonishing array of makeups, one of the clerks decided to ask if she needed help. Denise whimpered with relief. “I have no idea what I need!” She handed the girl the crumpled-up list she’d made from watching the videos. The girl, and she was just a girl, took a long look at the list and promptly crumpled it back up.
“Well, you don’t need any of that nonsense. Not when you’re just starting out. And not if you’re buying things here. Let me show you.” It took almost an hour to work through things like favorite colors and skin type, but when Denise left she had concealer, foundation, blush and eyeshadow. She also got a full set of brushes even though she only needed a couple. “These are quality and later, when you are spending more money on product, you won’t have to worry about brushes.”
When Denise got home, she immediately send the girl a thank you note. She’d only gotten a first name, so she addressed it to the store manager. The letter was all about how helpful the girl had been and how she wouldn’t think of going anywhere else in the future. Hopefully that would earn the girl a gift card or something. Of course, she didn’t do a thing to try any of the makeup for a few days. She had to think about it some first.
Her first attempt was just awful. She did everything she thought she was supposed to do and she still looked like a little kid in her mother’s make up. The picture she took got saved in a locked folder. She never wanted to get the urge to show anyone. Ever. Her second attempt was less awful, but only a little, so she went back to the videos to try and figure it all out.
She was derailed a little because her leave ended. Going back to work wasn’t nearly as hard as those first trips to the store, which was good. The steps for work were more familiar. She was much more used to breaking down the tasks. Her colleagues were also more restrained about their sympathies. The first time she came in with any makeup on all anyone said was that she looked rested. She got the same response from her mother after a long, quizzical look.
Denise realized that wearing the makeup made her feel different. It was something new and just for her. Because it was just for her she felt free to try more adventurous styles. She spent hours one weekend practicing with different kinds of eyeliner until she thought she had a wing down enough to try it at work. That brought a whole other realm of compliments. When she got a pure compliment, with no worry, from her mother, Denise felt healed for the first time.
The loss was still there, of course, and it always would be. She knew that. When she was home, alone, with her face bare at the end of the day, it came rushing back. The pain was strong enough that she couldn’t always make a real meal for herself and she ended up eating popcorn on the kitchen floor. When she got up the next morning and got ready for work, the makeup went back on and she could function.
She didn’t think of it that way, of course. It was all part of her new way of living. She kept going to the more distant grocery store when she finally got a car. Getting the car required more makeup, though. She wore brighter colors on her eyes and a bright red lipstick where she normally never wore anything but gloss. She cried for almost two hours that night when the makeup came off. Still, she had a car after that and her life became a little bit more her own.
She wore the fancier makeup for a family dinner and overheard a conversation between her sister and mother. “It looks nice,” her mother said reluctantly.
“It doesn’t look like her,” was her sister’s response. “She looks like the after from some magazine makeover article. Where you know the poor woman will never keep it up and it’s just for the shoot. It’s not real.”
Denise thought about that a lot, about it not being real. When she looked at herself before going to work, she saw herself. She didn’t see the contour powder or the false lashes, she only saw her. Her eyes looked brighter and her smile was a bit broader than she expected, but she was still the same person she’d always been. When she got home that night, she spent her usual hour on the kitchen floor, but at least she ended up with a sandwich and not just popcorn.
By the time the one-year anniversary came around, Denise had found a sort of balance. There were no more breakdowns in the kitchen, but taking off her makeup still signaled a change from public to private. Without the makeup, she was more likely to look through old photo albums and cry a little. She was also more likely to admit to her sister that she was having a bad day. She never told her mother that, though.
Denise’s mother still questioned the makeup. She always said it looked nice, of course, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around how her daughter could have become one of those women who never left the house without her ‘face’ on. When she tried to ask, Denise only said, “It’s fun. Does it have to be anything else?”
Denise went to the graveyard on the actual anniversary. She went alone, despite her mother’s objection, and with her usual makeup on. She hadn’t even thought about that, she just left the house the same as she ever would. When she sat down on the bench across from the stone, she started talking without realizing. She talked about the stages she’d gone through to even get out of the house. She talked about going back to work and getting her new car. Each stage of the year’s healing was mentioned but one. She hoped that he’d be proud of everything she’d done since she lost him.
She never once mentioned the makeup. She didn’t think about it in the list of things she’d done. When she talked about her tears every night, she didn’t mention the makeup. When she mentioned how smoothly the car purchase went, she didn’t mention the fake lashes. It was all a part of her now, part of who she wanted to be as she moved forward. The makeup was no longer a mask to hide her grief behind. Now, it was a part of the woman who had lived the lost and moved through it.
