SandScript 2020

Your alarm goes off and you head
into the bathroom, your cat following,
stretching and yawning in kind with you.
You hit shuffle on your playlist and start
your shower as the familiar beat echoes
through the room. The water from your
shower is hot, but it doesn’t burn, and the
pressure is almost perfect. You stand under
the steady stream and think about the day
ahead of you. You think about work, about
classes, about your friends and how much
you miss being around them, about your
mom and your sister and your nephews and
how you should tell them you love them
more often. You think about everyone but
yourself as water washes over your face,
slowly becoming more lukewarm as the
minutes tick by.
You look in your closet, towel
wrapped around your waist and body still
dewy. You look at your work uniforms and
feel something inside churn at the thought
of the khaki shorts and the purple polo,
but you’re off today and don’t have to wear
them. You look over your t-shirts and jeans
until your eyes reach a small brown skirt.
It’s perfect. You grab a button-down shirt to
wear with it and a pair of underwear from
the bin on your shelf. You set the clothes
aside to be steamed out. You look in the
mirror.
This is where you begin to think
about yourself. You see the fat around
your waist, even with the towel covering
it. You see the bags under your eyes that
restless nights and early mornings bring
with them. You see the different colors of
your skin tone like a rushed paint job on a
hot summer day. You see your brown eyes
that remind you of chocolate ice cream,
but someone once told you they looked like
honey and whiskey. You smile at yourself,
let the smile work its way into those
chocolate ice cream bowls until just enough
light reaches them you can almost make out
the honey and whiskey.
You start with moisturizer that is
supposed to even out your complexion.
Then you dab concealer under your eyes
and along your forehead and chin. You take
a sponge and push the cream around and
inward, working it until it almost perfectly
blends in. You brush foundation on your
skin, smoothing it out here and there until
you can barely remember what color those
bags and blotches were. You add color to
your eyelids, reshape the shadows of your
face, and bold your eyebrows. You do all
of this with the skill of an experienced
architect. You know just what lines of your
face need to be accentuated, you know
every flaw that needs to be covered. And,
finally, you grab a tube of lipstick. You paint
your lips until they seem naturally plump,
like you were somehow born with a pout
that you can’t help. You smooth the color
until it’s a perfect shade of red, the matte
finish reminding you of felt on canvas. You
look at yourself in the mirror and you smile,
but this smile doesn’t work its way to the
eyes; it already lives there and the lines at
the edges of your eyes where it pulls your
face up are proof. This smile radiates from
within.
You get dressed and you can’t feel
the fat that lives on your waist, your legs
don’t feel as bulky in stilettos, your feet
don’t feel as big at such an intense incline.
You spend most of the day alone.
Your friends all have work or other
ESSAY
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