Perpetually Dreaming Make-Up
A Testimony to Make-Up Worlds
My watch slipped off my wrist and fell on the shop floor. I snatched it up and snapped it to my wrist. Eight past eight and the glass had a clean split going half way across the screen. Great, just what I needed after the long haul. The ouroboros tattoo still stung underneath the cold metal as I stared into the mirror in the shop. I flattened the stray hairs and ran my hand through my hair to weed out the loose ones, then looked properly at my reflection. 42, and not counting. They say that my age is the number of actual worlds in the real world. Whatever that means. I looked at my eyes. The bags had bags and could do with some concealer. I take brush and dab underneath both eyes with a colour far lighter than my skin tone. Not bad. I could do with some black eye-liner and thick clumped mascara. There. The 21 year-old me stared back at me. All this talk about physics and time being relative could just as well be achieved through make-up. I glanced back to the watch, any minute now. And then it happened. The dial started moving backwards, only at double the time per cycle. They say the older you get, each year is a smaller proportion of your life, but what happens when you grow younger? Each year is a bigger proportion of your life. Did things appear normal then? Inverse exponentials were not my forte back in school, but now that I was anti-aging, inverse inverse exponentials were troubling my mind. I frowned at the watch, unable to read the time. Half the time, later I was half as old, eleven and a half. I looked at the mirror again and saw reflections on reflections, a myriad of myself or selves. Relativity is not something out in space, it is here now, I thought, as I watched myself tending to the infinity of my negatively infinite birth. The tattoo was alive and I watched the glass on the watch repair itself. The mirror was no more. I know not how long I have been dreaming on this eight by three swing called Time. Too much much of an eye-flick. I reach out for the wipe to dab at the corner of my eyes and erasing the upward flick of the lines I had drawn on. Instinctively knowing the trend was not right, I drew my upward left flick in the outer left corner of my left eye and a tiny inward and downward flick in the inner corner a reflected the same on the right side of my face. Now, surveying my lips, I noticed my bottom lip was larger than my upper. I drew in more volume on the upper lip with my red lip liner and filled in my now even lips.
How do even I attempt to explain that make-up was, is a dream-state. A true world in the reflection of reality. Perpetually dreaming in the make-believe of myself, I gazed in the mirror again. The experience was more profound today than it had been any other day, and even though the swing was the same dimension, it rocked higher and further back than before. I frowned wondering why I felt this surge in my gut. Like I know what was about to happen in the upswing now that I had gone further back than ever before. And there, the grandfather clock in the shop struck twelve and switched the time from night to day. Who knew I was holding the hand of Time in my make-up brush? Me? The one who dreams of depth in the shallowness of the surface. Satisfied, I step onto the counter. Now, it is Time to face the world like never before.