It was a brief and painless flight. After 7 hours, we landed in Rome. The sun was setting over the mountains and it was the perfect time for a holiday. My sister got up from seat B59 and we re-united in the arrival gate. Both of us needed a vacation and I was glad she decided to come with me to the Eternal City.
“How long do you think you are staying?” I finally asked.
She looked at the ground. “My return flight leaves in an hour.”
“An hour!?” I thought we were going to span time together…
“I’m sorry. It was the cheapest trip I could get.”
“I guess so.”
“Well… I better find a souvenir.” She said.
I stood there, stunned. This was just like her, with her false commitments and bogus attempts to connect with me. She was always finding some way to escape. I fell back into a chair at the gate.
“Could you watch this for me?” She took off her face, set it in the seat next to me and wandered to some other part of the airport terminal.
I watched all the people in the airport. Families and lovers were constantly separating and uniting, exploding with tears of pain and joy, dropping things and looking very much unlike anyone on television. I flipped through my travel magazine, thinking about all the places I’d like to visit again, and places I wished I was visiting with my sister. She really needs a vacation. Out of the corner of my eye I could still see her face. I tried to pretend it wasn’t there.
She never liked her face and, since childhood, she had always denied its existence. Out of politeness, all of us ignored it too. But I did find it strange that she would just leave it there with me and expect me not to look at it. Did she want me to say something to it? Seeing as I’d never done so before, I used this opportunity to examine her facial features carefully.
First, I noticed her chin was completely plastic and there was rubber padding underneath to connect jaw-type things to her neck. That must be new. We’ve known each other for years. How did I miss that?
Then, I realized that her forehead was plastic too. I could see that someone had doodled in silver pen along where she used to have dimples. There was other graffiti in sharpee marker and blue pencil everywhere. Some teenager had inscribed “Kiki-N-Dwane 4 Eva” above her left temple. In fact, her cheeks, lips, and nose were also made up of hard plastic which bore signs of abuse far more serious than those I remembered her with. She’d been completely defaced.
To her, this prosthetic face was the ideal alternative to the natural indentations, acne scars, bumps and soft hair on her human skin. She’d invested thousands in her plastic face only to have people treat it as if it were an abandoned stall in the Fresh Grocer bathroom. It broke my heart.
I sighed and set her face back down just as she returned. I finally looked at her. I could see the under-face where her new plastic mask sat and I tried not to acknowledge it. It was like a bumpy pink hockey mask with two charcoal scribbles where her eyes would be: those eyes without a face.
She held up her purchase. “I got some really great lip gloss. Wanna try it?”
“Sure. But only if it will change my life.”
“It better. It was 16 Euro.”
“It will really compliment your face.”
“Are you sure? I mean. Would you wear it if you were me?”
“I could never be you. But I guess I would.”
And so there we were, two people looking something like people wearing lip gloss, spanning what was left of our time together.
“How long do you think you are staying?” I finally asked.
She looked at the ground. “My return flight leaves in an hour.”
“An hour!?” I thought we were going to span time together…
“I’m sorry. It was the cheapest trip I could get.”
“I guess so.”
“Well… I better find a souvenir.” She said.
I stood there, stunned. This was just like her, with her false commitments and bogus attempts to connect with me. She was always finding some way to escape. I fell back into a chair at the gate.
“Could you watch this for me?” She took off her face, set it in the seat next to me and wandered to some other part of the airport terminal.
I watched all the people in the airport. Families and lovers were constantly separating and uniting, exploding with tears of pain and joy, dropping things and looking very much unlike anyone on television. I flipped through my travel magazine, thinking about all the places I’d like to visit again, and places I wished I was visiting with my sister. She really needs a vacation. Out of the corner of my eye I could still see her face. I tried to pretend it wasn’t there.
She never liked her face and, since childhood, she had always denied its existence. Out of politeness, all of us ignored it too. But I did find it strange that she would just leave it there with me and expect me not to look at it. Did she want me to say something to it? Seeing as I’d never done so before, I used this opportunity to examine her facial features carefully.
First, I noticed her chin was completely plastic and there was rubber padding underneath to connect jaw-type things to her neck. That must be new. We’ve known each other for years. How did I miss that?
Then, I realized that her forehead was plastic too. I could see that someone had doodled in silver pen along where she used to have dimples. There was other graffiti in sharpee marker and blue pencil everywhere. Some teenager had inscribed “Kiki-N-Dwane 4 Eva” above her left temple. In fact, her cheeks, lips, and nose were also made up of hard plastic which bore signs of abuse far more serious than those I remembered her with. She’d been completely defaced.
To her, this prosthetic face was the ideal alternative to the natural indentations, acne scars, bumps and soft hair on her human skin. She’d invested thousands in her plastic face only to have people treat it as if it were an abandoned stall in the Fresh Grocer bathroom. It broke my heart.
I sighed and set her face back down just as she returned. I finally looked at her. I could see the under-face where her new plastic mask sat and I tried not to acknowledge it. It was like a bumpy pink hockey mask with two charcoal scribbles where her eyes would be: those eyes without a face.
She held up her purchase. “I got some really great lip gloss. Wanna try it?”
“Sure. But only if it will change my life.”
“It better. It was 16 Euro.”
“It will really compliment your face.”
“Are you sure? I mean. Would you wear it if you were me?”
“I could never be you. But I guess I would.”
And so there we were, two people looking something like people wearing lip gloss, spanning what was left of our time together.
5 comments:
Duane and I broke up.
Love, Kikki
What! I can't believed you and Duane would defy the terms of such a sacred contract. Have you no shame? No sense of accountability? 4 Eva is 4 Eva eva.
Wait, is her 'face' like, a metaphor? And did you write this whole piece around the "defaced" joke? I hope so.
Good question, Anon.
The 'face'is a symbol within the metaphor being 'defaced.'
To that end, I'm not goddamn Robert Frost, so why don't you cut me some slack? Unless of course, you're paid to be an 'asshole.'
this is fantastic. I know I haven't read everything you've written, but from what I've seen, this breaks some new ground, and I think it's really great. I am constantly looking up to you.
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