Beautiful Eyes, Beautiful Smile, Beautiful YOU

 Beautiful Eye

Beautiful Face

It was my first time. I had never had anyone fuss with my face, shape my eyebrows, those were things other women did, not me. the lady at the salon studied my face, employing a bright light to help her get a closer look like a dentist might do looking for an especially subtle cavity.

After she was through with waxing and tweezing my eyebrows, I asked her an issue I’d been wanting to ask an expert for a long time. “Do you think that anything can be done about my face?” I was sixty then and had long vertical creases in my cheeks, lines across my forehead, and branches of worry on the side of every eye.

She studied me for an extended moment and then stood back, returning the examination lamp to its place. “No,” she said, “I can’t do anything. Maybe a doctor could.” She seemed repelled somehow like she wished she could roll her eyes, but it might be unseemly, not appropriate ahead of a paying customer, especially one so unaware, so naive.

The creases in my mother’s face had been even deeper than mine, so deep that it seemed that her skin had been borrowed from a way larger person and hung on her head by mistake. I remember when the creases in her face were made. I watched from a window within the kitchen while she laid on a lawn chair in the backyard