And Now, A Short Short

Thrift Store

He points at the wooden door with a painted image of La Virgen de Guadalupe. It's a surviving artifact from a mission in Texas or another such place. It used to sit by a window but now stands in the middle of the corner space.

She walks towards them. When she sees the painted Virgin she says, “I want it for the house I yet don’t have.”

And he says, “We’ll get it one day,” and takes her hand.

She's surprised. She's not sure he’s aware of the effect his words have on her. Did he just imply they’ll end up together, live in a house where they can display their like for the door in a garden of their own someday? Does he know his words have given her hope for a future where the odds are one hundred percent against them? Does he realize his truest, deepest feelings were muttered? Is he regretting saying them? Or is he happy the words finally escaped his mouth? Is he glad, for once, he didn’t hold back what he was feeling? Because he isn't letting go of her hand. It's grasped in his. He would’ve let go had he been trying to change the subject as he often does. But he hasn't. She doesn't have the courage, either, to look at him. She doesn't want to make him uncomfortable, doesn't want him to take it back. Because he's holding her hand, standing behind her, emitting warmth from his body to hers. They stare at the dated artwork as she wonders if she's heard correctly and analyzes each word to infer that they will be buying the Virgen door for their house one day.

To break the awkwardness that apparently only she's experiencing, she says, “I can afford it right now. Maybe you can house it at your place until I get mine.” But he says nothing.

She hopes the piece waits for her. She hopes the piece waits for them. She hopes the Virgin on that former church door recognizes how much they care for each other, helps them beat the odds, and finds her way into a beautiful rose garden made just for her so they can stand before it with the same admiration they are today, grateful for everything in their lives.  

No One Under 30 Allowed

As I prepared to go back to work after a two week hiatus disguised as Spring Break, I found myself dreading my morning wake up call at 6:30. I am aware that six thirty is not early at all for some folks, especially for those with kids, but I don't have to be at work until 8:40. Which was the exact time my body had begun to get accustomed to waking naturally, along with losing track of the days and enjoying late nights doing nothing on the internet.

But there I was, once again, getting ready for bed at 10pm instead of 1am or 2am. I hoped my body would obey and fall asleep quickly so I could get the recommended 7-8 hours although I had long figured out mine needed nine. As I set up my old school alarm-- a beige oval contraption with SONY stamped on the corner with luminescent red numbers and two options (buzzer or radio) for keeping me from kissing Channing Tatum a minute before it went off-- sitting purposefully atop my cresenda five feet away from my bed to force me to get up and shut the mother effer up, I was reminded of the days I used to wake fifteen minutes earlier and arrive at work ten minutes before I do now. So I asked myself, why did I need more time to get out the door? Was it me? Was it traffic? And then it hit me: it's my age.

*          *          *

I started teaching ten years ago. I was 23. All I needed then was my Oil of Olay moisturizer, Neutrogena concealer to cover up acne marks, Maybelline mascara to accentuate my long lashes, Cover Girl blush to bring life to my pale skin, and cheap, colorful eye shadow palettes bought at counters inside no-name clothing stores. Other than my hereditary/exhaustion-ensued eye bags, my skin was wrinkle and dark spot free. Skin care products weren't a concern for another seven years.

I knew since my late twenties that I would have to change my face-care regime when I hit 30. I grew up with a mother who has always shielded her skin from the elements so it was only a matter of time until I followed suit. As a child, I was embarrassed when I spotted her under her black umbrella after school on any sunny day. She was one of the very few mothers who carried the bulky somewhat-weapon, with its sharp points that would tug stranger's hair or threaten to poke an eye out. Towing the umbrella when wasn't raining seemed like such an old school thing to do, even in the 80's. It's not like the nylon canopy lowered the summer temperatures by walking underneath it. But it's just that I didn't quite understand the relationship between skin and the sun. Because I disliked walking under the umbrella with her, she bought my sister and I our own. We had smaller parasols made with cheap plastic and ruffles at the trim in our favorite colors, blue for me and red for Jackie. Although I still hated carrying one around, I tolerated it because mine seemed more sunny-weather appropriate, in contrast to the heavy duty rain clunker my mom towed year-round.

At home, my mother regularly boiled chamomile and then placed her face over the steam emitting from the pot still sitting on the stove. She stood bent over a few seconds before coming up for fresh air. Then she repeated the process. It was also instilled in us to lotion up after showering. I remember her lifting me out of the bathtub and standing me on the toilet to dry me off. We lathered after bathing at night and before heading to school again in the morning. God forbid she saw ashy knees and elbows on our way to class. Jackie got scolded more because her bronze skin betrayed her more often. But the joke's on me because mine gets damaged quicker.  

Which is why right before I turned 30 I exchanged my decade-old moisturizer for something more potent, something that would help me prevent the inevitable. My mom has always been mistaken for being younger and I wanted that too. So I graduated to Age Defying Oil of Olay. A bottle later, I found myself spending more time outdoors, especially since getting my Jeep. I needed something with SPF. And that's how I ended up stepping outside Target and at Macy's instead.

I was vaguely familiar with the Lancome line since getting my mom hooked on one of their products a few Christmases before. Her concern for dark spots had also landed me at Clinique. After comparing products, I settled on what I thought was the perfect SPF moisturizer for me but was too stingy to get it. Luckily, my ex-boyfriend thought expensive gifts would counteract his bad decisions and bought me the gift set that Christmas.

Where fifteen minutes go every morning.

I liked my new Lancome lotion. It made my face feel soft without it being greasy or sticky. I even applied it on my neck. The set came with triple action anti-wrinkle eye creme which I prayed would help diminish the bags under my eyes. Knowing these products wouldn't work effectively on their own, I bought a jungle hat at the swap meet with a tail to protect my entire head when I went hiking. And against my childhood conflict, I caved and bought an umbrella parasol to be utilized during my assigned yard duty at my elementary school.

I was doing what I could without exaggeration (e.g. wearing gloves while driving, using visors behind the wheel, wearing long sleeves and turtle necks during the summer) but worried about the day when the cylinder containers would be just that, receptacles devoid of magic potions. So I had a talk with myself. Was my skin that important to me? Yes. I started to focus on the damage the sun had caused on my white coworkers' chests, shoulders, and faces. They had millions of freckles painted on their skin, thus making them appear slightly older than they were. I didn't want to follow that path. I liked being mistaken for 20-something. It was decided that I would put on my big girl pants, one leg at a time, and refill my Lancome product when it was time. As long as I had a paycheck, I could afford the keep-me-young creams. They were an investment, after all, much like that house my former agent tried selling me twice even though it hadn't captured my heart. Instead of whining about the spots and lines beginning to make an appearance, I chose to be proactive.

Nighttime routine.

Subsequent purchases in relation to my skin weren't too hard to make after I considered what was on the line: my face. A sample of Clinique's make-up took me to their counter where I bought my first bottle and an eye roller. Eventually, a light mark on my left cheek bone that I attributed to the sun led me to get their dark spot remover too. My medicine cabinet had become my face's anti-aging arsenal. No wonder I took longer to get out of the house in the morning. I repeated the entire process at night. All so I could leave people in disbelief when I said I was 30 (white lie) or feel elated to hear them guess that I was the younger sister. Yes, a total ego booster for the low low price of hundreds of dollars and hours per year. Priceless if you ask me.

Step One: I started using Proactive in college when I couldn't control my pimple goatee. I'm scared to discontinue its use because I believe it's helping keep my skin renewed.

Step Two: My mom and I received this sample at the Macy's counter. It's supposed to repair our individual problems. It was meant to last ten days and it's been over a month. 

Step Three: I use this roller above and under my eyes to try to diminish the appearance of bags. I'm not alone in this, P!NK and Jenna Elfman have been seen (by me) to suffer the same aging condition. I might utilize a plastic surgeon someday to aid with this problem. 

Step Four: My esthetician said the spot on my left cheekbone is a beauty mark. I find nothing beautiful about it. I believe it's a sun spot and after three bottles of this dark spot remover, I haven't seen a difference as the Clinique girl told me I would. If you have a better solution, please let me know in a comment below! 

Step Five: Some things never change. I feel like I'm still in high school sometimes using Clearasil. This "new and improved" version sucks. I miss the old vanishing cream. I feel like Mary Kay helps erase the scars. 

Step Six: Repair serums that come with my moisturizers. I use one in the day and the other at night. I focus on the lines on the forehead, crows feet, and laugh lines. 

Step Seven: I read about this product in Cosmo so of course I had to go get it; I'll try anything for my eyes. 

Step Eight: My Lancome Triple Action Renewal Anti-Wrinkle Cream. I tried something similar by Perricone but like I said, I feel like this one leaves my skin feeling softer. 

Step Nine: This is the minimum amount of make-up I wear if stepping out of the house, excluding gym and laundry day. I like Clinique mascara except that it doesn't come off easily. So I stick with Maybelline. Then I apply the BB as a primer under my eyes and all other areas that need blending. I touch up the same areas with Clinique make-up. I set it with Physician's Formula Translucent Powder on my t-zone and contour with their Blushing Berry blush. I forgot my MAC Spiked pencil to fill in my unruly eyebrows. The days I decide to do more with my eyes, I begin with Too Faced or Urban Decay eye shadow primer. Then I choose from my collection of gifted eye shadow palettes that range from ULTA to Urban Decay to Sephora to bhCosmetics to MAC. I love my friends!

At night, I replace Clinique's dark spot remover for this and say a little prayer along side it.

Also, I put aside the other eye products and simply dab this around my eyes.

*Author's Note: I am completely open to suggestions to trying different products. Please feel free to leave a comment, email, message, or text with your advice. Personal testimonies only, please.