Layers

• Maddison Snook, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2009

She stares into the mirror, gazing into her own eyes for a moment. She is dressed in her finest - hair and make-up primped to perfection, clothes of the most exotic colour draped attractively over her thin body. Not bad, she thinks to herself. In fact, from the right angle, maybe even pretty. She turns slowly, making sure she is as perfect as she can make herself. Giving herself the once over, she approves.
She gets into the car, pulls out of her driveway, playing grating pop music to psych herself up for an evening of trying to find belonging.
Her night passes by – a blur. She talks, fast and loud, feigning confidence in a room full of people she wishes she knew better. She drinks a few sips of something she is unfamiliar with, and can't quite stand. She rinses it down with iced water, which makes her head ache for a moment at the unfamiliar coldness. She smiles a forced smile, her mouth turned upwards but no warmth reaching her beautiful blue eyes. She talks to many, and connects with none.
She drives home again, wondering what the point could possibly be, and coming up with no answers at all. She parks badly, but has no care, instead unlocking the door after a couple of tries, and drifting through to her bathroom.
She stands in front of the mirror, gazing into her own eyes for a moment. Deja-vu hits. It has been just hours since she was here. Her eye make-up has smudged a little, and some tendrils of hair have slipped from their original position, but still she looks no different. She takes a moment, trying to work up courage to step out from behind her mask. It is not easy, even in front of only herself.
She begins with her jewellery, replacing her precious treasure back to the small velvet box which they call home.
She removes her shoes, quickly massaging her aching feet as they return to the cool, flat floor.
She removes her coat, jumper, shirt, and jeans, and divides them dutifully between the laundry basket and the wardrobe.
Now wearing her almost unbearably frilly underwear, bra, and a simple black singlet, she runs a sink of too hot water, and proceeds to wash the layer of make-up from her skin – mascara streaming down her cheeks. She wipes it off slowly.
And then, finally she stands back, looking into the mirror once more. She has removed each and every layer of beauty – the layers she took so long to apply – and she is laid bare before herself, subject to her own judgement.
A tear slips from her eye, and she throws her frayed toothbrush at the mirror, moving to her bedroom, where she slips under the chilly covers not yet warmed by her body.
The late-night television plays on in the corner – women considered 'beautiful enough' smiling their perfect smiles.
They will haunt her dreams tonight.