What It's Like To Be Insane

What It’s Like to Be Insane

By: density

Lipstick

August 2000

She stood in front of the mirror fluffing her hair. The curling iron made a soft hissing noise when she set it in a puddle of water left on the bathroom counter.

I couldn’t help but picture the ocean and I wanted to hear the sound again. I lifted myself from my spot crouching at my mother’s feet and raised my hand to the handle of the iron.

“Don’t touch Mommy’s things Annier!” She said firmly.

Her harsh voice startled me in the vacant silence of the room and my hand fell on the hot metal. I squeaked and fell back on my bottom next to her feet. My mother sighed dramatically, something she would do a lot.

She used to tell me, “Annier, Dove, no one will ever care about your hopes and dreams. Not Mommy, not your father. We have our own dreams so you have to try your hardest to be what you want to be, no one will give you any special advantage. I never had any help and look how I turned out.”

She would recite it with practiced grace, her pitch a perfect melody that I would listen to intently, not wanting to miss out on a single syllable. She was perfection embodied in a sleek nightgown and shiny waves of golden blonde hair.

She was the women on the daytime soap operas we would watch while she would curl my platinum hair into silken waves like her own.

But tonight she held her usual drama but her poise has evaded her. My mother’s slim body was possessed by a demon intent on sucking her dignity; I could not possibly allow her to go in public this way.

I held tight to her nylon encased calf, and she glared down at me. Her eyes sparkled with a passionate glow I had not seen before in her. It scared me.

“Annier, off now, you’ll snag my nylons! Don’t you dare try to ruin this for me!”

I let go quickly and ran from the room. I returned swiftly with another pair of nylons and placed them in her outstretched hands.

She rolled her eyes and peeled off the stockings from under her skirt, flashing a bit of skin before pulling the new pair on.

Her skirt was plain black. Too boring to be glamorous, too short for her polished beauty. It made me angry.

“Where are you going?”

“Honestly Annier, do you ever listen to me?” My mother asked. “I told you a hundred times I’m auditioning for Love Ship. It will surely be what makes me famous.”

I believed her, my mother was a talented actress. I know this because she told me so often. “Annier you’re mother is a very talented woman. This audition will definitely change our lives.”

Father never believed her though, that’s why she hasn’t made it big yet. But father is a degenerate. I don’t know what that means but Mother says it with an angry voice, even through anger her voice is beautiful. I love to listen to them scream at each other. My father’s deep growl against my mother’s charming tone. Their malice feeding off of each other.

It’s exquisite.

“You’re a drunk! You’re a fucking drunk lunatic.” The precision was lovely.

“Shut your gob, you miserable old hag! You ugly bitch, you’ll never make it in anything but cheap porn.” My father’s gruff British accent swirled through my ears.

“Oh fuck you! Go back to your stupid whore, you filthy degenerate. You disgust me.”

So father is a degenerate and mother is a bitch. Father doesn’t like me much, I think it’s because I’m so much like my mother. He gets upset when Mother does my hair and dresses me in pretty gowns with trailing skirts.

He would walk into the room while I was on my knees in front of Mother while she carefully applied lipstick to my mouth. It was tacky and sticky and I hated it, but it made me pretty. I know this because Mother told me so.

Father would yell and scream, he’d rip the tube of lipstick from her hand and push her to the ground. “You’re corrupting him, boys do not wear make-up, they don’t wear dresses!” He would get so angry, but I don’t know why.

Mother always said I looked pretty, so why didn’t Father think so too?

All Mother would do when he got this way was laugh and pick up the hot iron to fix a curl in my hair that was coming out. Usually my father would leave after that, muttering under his breath about faggots. Another word I didn’t understand, but he said it with anger so I know it was bad.

Other times he’d slap her again, and once he hit so hard she dropped the iron on my leg, I still have the scar on the inside of my thigh.

Something about tonight felt different though, Father hasn’t come home yet and Mother was being cold.

She pulled on a pair of black pumps and turned to me, “How do I look Annier?”

I grimaced because she looked awful. Her pretty golden hair was piled on top of her head and looked dry and frizzy with too much hair spray. Her make-up was too thick and her eyeliner made her eyes look too wide, like she was permanently surprised.

Her black button down shirt was unbuttoned too far and the skirt was too tight. The shoes made an annoying clicking sound on the tile when she walked to the full-length mirror hanging in her walk in closet.

But tonight didn’t seem like the night to be truthful, I didn’t want to upset the demon that had taken over my mother. So I nodded my head and smiled.

She nodded and pressed her skirt down with her hands, eliminating the wrinkles that were never there. “Yes, yes. Very good. Tonight is the night Annier. Tonight your mother will become a star, Dove. Our life will get better.”

I loved it when she called me Dove, it made me feel beautiful and at peace. Like I could fly away to anywhere I wanted to go. I wanted to fly to Hollywood. There Mother and I could really become famous.

Without another word she left the room, her clicking shoes clacking their way down the stairs. I heard a door close and I knew my mother was gone. Her auditions usually took three or four days, and I felt sad. I needed her with me, but becoming famous is more important.

Like she said, “I have my own dreams.”

I looked in the mirror at my reflection in the dim light. I was too short so I ran from the room and down the stairs to sit in front of the vanity my mother bought for my seventh birthday last year. It was my favorite thing in the whole world, it came complete with a make-up kit, curling iron, and straightener.

I looked at myself in the oval mirror and smiled. My long hair tumbled over my shoulders and curled at the ends. I loved the lightness of it, it was so bright and the glow of the lights bounced off it in shiny waves. I plugged in the iron and listened to it tick while it was heating up.

I clipped my hair up out of my face and began to powder my fair face. I loved my skin also, kids at school made fun of paleness, but I didn’t care. My skin is soft and I loved to run my hands over it.

I slowly applied my make-up and was satisfied with my appearance, so I let my hair down and ruffled it with my hands. I leisurely began to curl my long hair until it was a shining mass of full curls.

I unbuttoned and removed my shirt and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Something wasn’t right. I used a hand mirror to see myself from all angles and something wasn’t right.

I glanced at the lipstick in the drawer and winced. I hated the gluey feeling, but it had to be done. Mother always said it made me pretty.

I was done. I smiled at myself in the mirror feeling satisfied.

I heard the knob to the door open and looked up to see my father standing in the doorway.

He looked tired and he sighed loudly when he saw me sitting naked at the vanity.

I wanted to ask him if I looked pretty, but he was a degenerate, so I assumed that meant he wouldn’t know. Instead I smiled brightly and welcomed him home.

“Wipe off that sodding lipstick.” He said before leaving the room. I heard him walk a little ways through the house, undoubtedly to the liquor cabinet. I continued smiling and looked back at myself in the mirror.

“But the sodding lipstick looks pretty.” I whispered to my twin image, he smiled back and nodded.

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Sorry if its bad, its my first story, but it gets better. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!