“Before my mom would let me do anything with makeup, she would have me go through magazines and point out people who looked beautiful to me. We would also do this while we were out at the mall, or wherever we might be. Then she pointed out that the people we felt were most beautiful looked very natural. Not all of them were natural, but they looked it.”
“So,” he said, “if you’re supposed to look like you aren’t wearing makeup, then why even wear any makeup? I mean, you don’t really need it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“No, really,” he said.
“I don’t know. I just feel more comfortable with at least a little on.”
“So, even if a girl doesn’t need makeup, she will wear it anyway? What sense does that make?”
“Well, I don’t know…I didn’t write the book on this.” I thought for a second before continuing. “When I put on makeup, my goal is to try and cover freckles and blemishes, and highlight my strongest features. Personally, I’m not trying to look like someone I’m not. I just…accentuate.
“It’s not all that bad,” I consoled. “Like I said, I don’t wear a lot, and the hardest part for you will be doing your eyes. Just try not to poke one of…well, my eyes out.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, half-heartedly.
I showed him how to put on moisturizer and then pulled out the concealer.
“This is concealer,” I said.
“What is concealer, other than something that conceals?”
“That’s exactly what it is. Concealer is used to cover blemishes. I match it to my skin tone.”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“You get a little concealer on the tip of the wand and lightly dab it over imperfections.”
“What imperfections?” he asked.
“Come on.”
“What?” he asked. “You are going to have to point to these imperfections, because I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Okay, right there. You see that freckle there, and those there?”
“Yeah.”
“Those are imperfections.”
“Those are freckles, not imperfections.”
“Okay, you are being difficult. You may not agree, but I need you to just do this.”
“Alright. I’m not trying to be difficult, it just doesn’t make sense to me. But if you want me to, I’ll do it. So, I dab it over the…imperfections. Like this?”
“Yes. And then you blend it in…like…this,” I said, showing him.
“Got it.”
“Now, you can also use this to cover pimples. But, I treat the pimples at night with clear pimple medicine. After I shower, I make sure all of my makeup is off. You never want to sleep with makeup on. It’s not good for your skin.”
“You might have wanted to mention that yesterday.”
“I can’t remember everything. There was a lot going on yesterday. I thought I did pretty good with the basics yesterday, and you did take a shower last night, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, most of it will come off when you wash your face in the shower. The hardest part is getting the mascara off of your eyes.
“Anyway,” I continued, “next is eye shadow. Unless you are going to an 80’s band concert, or maybe a costume party, your eye shadow should be a natural color.”
I showed Jake how to apply eye shadow primer, then eye shadow.
“Like this?” he said as he applied his first swipe.
“Yes and no. Here, let me do your other eyelid, and then you try and repeat what I do.”
I applied the shadow to…well, my left eye as he watched. “See, you want to make smooth glides. It will get easier and more natural the more you do it.”
“Great,” he said with a healthy dose of sarcasm. He finished applying the other eye. “How’s that?”
“Not too bad for your first time. Like I said, it takes practice. Now, eyeliner and mascara and you’re done!”
“Good,” he said with relief.
I showed Jake how to apply eyeliner pencil, and emphasized drawing along the top edge where the upper lashes met the lid. I had to tell him twice to start where the lashes started, because he wanted to draw all of the way from the inside corner.
“I’m trying my best,” he said with frustration.
“I know you are. You seem to think it’s a bad thing that you can’t do makeup perfect the first time. You are a guy.”
“I know, but I still want to do it right.”
“Good, because that’s my face,” I said trying to make him smile. He did.
“Okay, we are down to the mascara. I’ll do one eye, and you try the other.”
I showed him how to load the mascara wand, without pumping air into it, and I applied the mascara to…my left eye. Then I had him try the right eye.
“Ouch!”
“Now I told you to be careful. You can’t get that close or you’ll poke your eye.”
“No kidding. It’s not like I meant to. How am I supposed to get to the base of the lid without getting my eye?”
“It really just takes practice.”
He tried a few times. Each time, I would remove mascara so he could try again. After the third time, he was starting to get the hang of it. A little.
“Like this?” he asked.
“Sort of. Try to make it even across the lashes. You can use a sideways motion to separate the lashes. Don’t keep putting a bunch of coats on. You want to put one even coat on, let it dry and do another. Try not to do more than that or it will look all clumpy.”
“Too much. I can’t keep it all straight.”
I could tell his patience was wearing thin. I realized I was trying to teach him everything I had learned over the last several years, in one day.
“Sorry. You know, that’s good enough for now. Just…try and practice on your own later. Maybe you’ll be more comfortable without an audience.”
“Thank you. Is there anything else I need to do before we stop?”
“Lip gloss, and that’s it.”
“You don’t use lipstick?”
“No, most teenagers don’t use lipstick. Well, at least I don’t. I use lip gloss, and my girlfriends use lip gloss.”
I handed Jake my lip gloss and told him how to apply it. He followed my instructions and turned to look at me. “So, how did I do?”
“Well, you are definitely ready for the circus.” He looked like he wanted to throw something at me. Hard.
“I’m teasing. It’s really not bad for your first time, but it’s not good enough to leave the house, either. And, it’s not really good enough for in the house, actually.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said with a little frustration, and a little smile. He wanted to do it right, but I think he also saw the humor.
“I’m not trying to be mean.”
“Ready for the circus isn’t mean?” he asked stiffly.
“You really did do well for your first time. It’s just, well, my first time was a few years ago. I’ve done it every day since then. It won’t take you long to get it. Let’s clean it off and I’ll redo your makeup real quick. Then, I’ll touch it up and we’ll do your hair.”
“Okay,” he said. I could tell he was determined to get it right. I recognized the expression, but it looked different than when I make it.
“Really, you did fine. There’s a lot to learn.”
“I know,” he said, “but it just seems that you are able to deal with this transition so easily, and I’m having a hard time.”
“That’s because you are looking at it wrong. You are trying to compare how well you do things to how well I do them now. It took lots of practice. On the other hand, you don’t really do much that I haven’t done before. I mean, I know how to do hair and shave and wear clothes. Let’s face it, guys are simple and girls are complex.”
“Try, guys are practical,” he said defensively.
“Are you saying I’m not practical?” I asked, also defensively.
“Well, if you’re going to stereotype…girls are generally less practical than guys.”
“How did you come up with that delusion?” I asked, my voice slightly raised.
“Look,” he said, “I’m not trying to start an argument. You are smart and funny and pretty…and I could go on. But, look at your room and your closet. You are seventeen and you have a ton of clothes. Different shoes, different skirts, different bras. I have less than half of the clothes you have, and two pairs of shoes.”
“Like I said, simple.”
“You get all bent out of shape because I said guys are more practical, but you started out calling me simple.”
I let out a sigh. “Valid point. Shall we do your hair?”
“Yes, please!” he said, pointedly. “It feels like we’ve been doing this forever. I’m feeling overloaded.”
“I know, but once you get familiar with everything, it will go much faster.
“So,” I continued, “it seems as though you did pretty well with your ponytail this morning. Now remember that you don’t want to do ponytails too often. I usually save them for days when I am going to be active. A ponytail is easy, fast and takes the least amount of hardware. We usually have an activity in P.E. about twice a week where we have to dress out. I will save the ponytails for those days. After P.E., I will shower and fix the ponytail.”
We both stared at each other for a moment, as if we both had the same thought at the same time.
“Oh no! You’re going to have to shower in the girls’ locker room. That’s not good.”
“That should be…interesting,” he said, smiling. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.”
“Yeah, I’m not really worried about you. I’m worried about all of the other girls, especially friends of mine, who you are going to be taking a shower with. Wait, do you have P.E.?”
He smiled. It was my smile, but I didn’t really recognize it. “Yeah, I do. This isn’t sounding so bad now, is it?”
“Yeah, actually it is. It just seems a little…intrusive to be in a locker room with a bunch of naked guys from our school. They deserve their privacy.”
“Well, they’re not going to know as long as you don’t act like a girl…and you need to be sure you don’t act like a girl. I don’t need that kind of a reputation in the locker room.”
“Okay,” I said, mildly frantic, “I can’t think about this now. Let’s get back to hair, and we’ll talk about this later.”
“Fine by me,” he said, still smiling. His spirits seemed suddenly higher than they had been the last few hours. I was annoyed.
“Could you please try and look a little less pleased?”
He got serious. “Sorry. You know, it’s not like I asked for this, but given the circumstances, I’m having a hard time being disappointed.”
“Just try not to look so happy about it, could you?”
“Sure,” he said with a try at sincerity.
“So, where was I?” I said, slightly flustered.
“Ponytails. You fix them after P.E.”
I took a deep breath. “Right. So, I will touch up the ponytail after I shower. The rest of the week, I use a few different hairstyles based on the mood I’m in.”
“Oh,” he said, suddenly excited, “can you show me how do that braid thing you do sometimes?”
“The French braid?”
“Yeah, I love it when you do that with your hair.” He said it, and just as suddenly stopped and turned red. I’m sure I did, too.
I tried to spare us any further awkward silence by continuing on. “Uh…sure. Although, it’s going to be really hard to do that style yourself. Are you sure you want to try?”
“No, but let’s try anyway.”
I grabbed a brush and sat down on the bed behind him. Once I finished brushing his…my hair out, I explained how to draw a line across the crown of his…ugh…my head with a comb. I divided the hair above the line into three equal parts, and talked him through the process as I did it.
“Still with me?” I asked as I worked new layers into the braid.
“Believe it or not, I am still with you.”
“Good. Keep working new layers in all the way down, until there are no layers left. At this point, you will finish off with a standard braid of the remaining lengths of the three original groups of hair.”
At that moment, I looked over toward the doorway, and to my surprise, my mother was standing there, watching us.
“Mo…uh…Mrs. Evans I am guessing?” I tied off his...well, my hair and got up to shake her hand.
“Yes…and you are?” Over the 17 years I’ve been alive, I’ve learned my mother’s tone inflections pretty well. It was pretty apparent she didn’t know what to make of seeing some boy braiding her daughter’s hair in her bedroom. She wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t pleasantly surprised by what she saw.
“My name is Jake,” I told her. “Your daughter and I have a few classes together. We thought we would study together today.”
“Oh,” she said, taking just a little edge off of her voice, “you are Jake. It’s nice to meet you.” She looked over at Jake, in my body, with a look he probably didn’t understand. I knew it to mean that she was surprised to see the events over the last few days had led us to here.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said.
“So, I’m curious…why is it that you are braiding my daughter’s hair?”
“We were just taking a break,” Jake chimed in. “Jake was telling me he just learned how to French braid hair, and I didn’t believe him.”
I looked over at Jake with a look that I hope said, “leave the explanations to me.”
“Hmmm,” my mother responded, “and where did you learn to braid so well, Jake?” Her question was not completely sincere. She was…perplexed, I would guess, with the situation.
I thought for a second. Where on Earth would Jake have learned to braid hair? “I was watching a friend braid another girl’s hair at lunch, and she bet me I couldn’t learn how to do it. She lost. It only took me three times!”
“Hmmm,” she said again. She ‘hmmms’ a lot when she doesn’t know what to make of a situation. Suddenly, her tone softened a bit and she smiled. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jake.”
She looked over at Jake, who she thought was me, sitting on the bed. “Nikki, dinner’s in an hour.” She looked at me and asked, “Would you like to stay for dinner, Jake? We’re having tri-tip tonight, and afterwards we are going to watch a movie.”
I couldn’t believe she was inviting him, even if it really was me, over to dinner and movie night. She never invites anyone to movie night. “Oh, thank you Mrs. Evans, but Nicole mentioned that it is a family thing. I wouldn’t want to intrude. Besides, my mother is expecting me for dinner.”
“Maybe next time. Oh, and please, call me Sara.”
“Thank you, Sara.”
She smiled and walked out of the room.
I turned and looked at Jake. “What kind of an excuse was that? ‘I learned how to braid hair, and you didn’t believe me?’ Let me come up with the explanations with my parents. At least when we’re both here, okay?”
“I’m sorry, I was trying to help.”
“I know,” I said with a nervous laugh, “it just didn’t help a whole lot. She was pretty skeptical of the situation.”
“She thinks that was bad,” he offered, “she should have seen when you were doing my makeup.” We both smiled. It could have been worse, I guess.
“Why don’t you take me back to your house now, so you can be back in time for dinner.”
“Sure,” he said, getting up off of the bed.
We gathered his stuff together into his backpack and we headed downstairs. I whispered over to Jake, “Go over and tell her that you are going to take me home and you’ll be back in about an hour.”
He did as I instructed and we both headed out to the car. We drove in silence for a while. There were so many things we needed to cover today, that time kind of got away from me. Now th
at we’ve stopped for a few minutes, exhaustion from the day was starting to catch up. I was tired.
“I’m going to get a head start on your homework tonight, and then I’m going to crash. I’m tired,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m tired, too. After the movie, I’m hoping to go straight to bed. What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”
“Well,” I thought out loud, “assuming we haven’t changed back…you are going to have to go to church with my parents tomorrow morning.”
“Oh!” he said, surprised.
“What?”
“I’ve just never been to church. I don’t really know how to be at church.”
“Don’t worry. Our church doesn’t have any ritualistic celebration.”
“What do you mean ritualistic celebration?”
“Some churches have recitations they perform. Rituals that everyone knows and repeats. My church has a minister who preaches his sermon. There’s not much you need to do. When he says bow your heads, bow your head. You can do that, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
We arrived at his house, and I opened the door to get out.
“Remember, don’t worry too much. Don’t over-think. You’ll be fine.”
“I hope so. I’ll call you when I’m on my way tomorrow. Keep your phone next to you just in case something goes wrong…tonight or tomorrow.”
“I will,” I said, trying to reassure him. “Good night.”
“Night.”
I walked into Jake’s house, and his mother was there sitting on the couch. She was watching TV and eating dinner.
“Hi Hon. I wasn’t expecting you or I would have prepared some dinner. I just heated up some leftovers.”
“That’s okay. I’ll fix myself something to eat.”
“I thought you would be at Mike’s house tonight.”
“I was going to, but I’m still not feeling well. I decided to come home instead. I’m going to study for a bit and then go to bed. Maybe the extra sleep will do me good.”
“Have you taken anything?” she asked, concern written on her face.
“No, I was hoping it would go away on its own.”
“Well, maybe it’s time you take something, before it gets worse.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll take something before bed.” There wasn’t really anything I could take for this problem, but I couldn’t really explain that to her.
In My Shoes Page 8