Burn Girl by Mandy Mikulencak

Author:Mandy Mikulencak
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504017350
Publisher: Albert Whitman & Company

CHAPTER 20

ONE YEAR AGO—PLAYBOOKS

Mom sat cross-legged on the bed facing me. Between us lay a green plastic tackle box of cosmetics, although most of its contents were strewn across the bedspread.

“Did you know you can curl your eyelashes after you put on mascara? Just be sure the mascara is dry or you’ll yank them out,” she said.

I blinked uncontrollably as my mother moved the crimper toward my eye. She’d given me this same advice every time we completed our Saturday afternoon ritual of hair and makeup.

“There. You’re a masterpiece.” Mom snuffed out her cigarette in a Styrofoam cup of coffee sitting on the nightstand. “Now it’s my turn. And make it dramatic.”

She didn’t have to instruct me. I’d been doing her makeup for years and knew Saturday nights meant heavier makeup and twice the amount of hair spray.

I rummaged through the rainbow assortment of Maybelline and Cover Girl eye-shadow compacts Mom had accumulated over the years. She’d figured out it was easier to shoplift from Walgreens than Walmart. Each time she came home with a pocketful of goodies, I’d leave an envelope with money at the cashier’s the next day. My note always said the same thing: “My mom forgot to pay for her recent purchase. Enclosed is full payment.” Who knows? Maybe they continued to let her get away with it because they knew I’d always make good.

“Blues or greens?” I asked. “Green makes your eyes look larger.”

“Just make me look beautiful.”

“You’re already beautiful.”

Mom gave me her public smile, the one where she pulled her lip down over her top teeth to hide their decay. She’d started using it more and more with me.

I dabbed foundation on a triangular sponge and swept it across my mother’s gaunt face. She looked older than thirty-eight, and heavy makeup only magnified the rapid aging brought on by meth use.

“Arl, I was hoping I could borrow some money. You have any stashed away?” Mom kept her eyes closed while I applied a shimmery gold base to her lids.

“I have a little.”

Mo held on to most of my money so I wouldn’t have to carry it on me. If I hid it in the motel room, Mom would ferret it out. She had before.

“You’re still working, right? I mean, rent’s due soon and I’m short this month.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. Keep your eyes closed so I can finish.”

I cut grass in the summers, raked leaves in the fall, and shoveled snowy sidewalks and driveways all winter. Two older women who lived alone in massive Victorians on Third Avenue paid me to run errands and buy groceries. Sometimes they paid me to just sit with them and read aloud. I took whatever jobs paid invisible money, the kind that didn’t require Social Security numbers and home addresses.

“You’ll have to curl your own lashes,” I said. “That thing creeps me out.”

Mom scooted off the bed and stood before the dresser mirror. While she worked on her sparse lashes, I combed through her tangled hair. The boxed bleach had made it yellow and brittle, not supple and shiny like the model’s on the label.

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