This is my first attempt at Fiction Friday, regularly hosted here at Patterings, but hosted here at Surrendered Scribe this week. I just wrote it up, brand new fiction coming at you. I’ve decided to take this wanting-to-be-a-writer-thing more seriously and just…write. Let me know what you think! If you hate it, tell me. 
I like constructive criticism.
Beautiful
“Child, will you ever learn?” Mama sighed, as once again I walked through the door after school a mess. My brand new white shoes were stained brown, my white tights spattered with mud, and my face and hair bore witness to the bramble bush I had fought with.
“Mama, I just wanted to see if that birdie was still there. She was, sittin’ on her nest and preenin’ like she was gonna be in the movies. How many eggs do you think she’s got in there, Mama?”
“Eva, how would I know? All I know is that my little chickie doesn’t have the sense God gave a grasshopper! Get those tights and shoes off before you go tracking mud through the house. And wash your face and brush out your hair. Aunt Jeannie will be here in half an hour and you look an absolute fright!” With that, Mama hustled me off to the bathroom, where I proceeded to torture myself in the name of impressing my always-beautiful and put-together auntie. I didn’t dislike Aunt Jeannie, not really. I was in awe of her shining black hair, her smooth babydoll skin, and her beautiful clothes. Unfortunately, her attitude did not match her physical beauty. I knew, even at twelve years old, that Aunt Jeannie didn’t approve of the scratches on my knees or the tangles in my mouse brown hair. She didn’t seem to care that I’d saved a raccoon baby last week from certain death and that I’d earned a place on the school’s newspaper.
It really bothered me that Mama was so worried about what Aunt Jeannie had to say. As I tugged the brush through my curls, fishing out the twigs, leaves, and burrs along the way, I thought about why Mama cared so much. Aunt Jeannie was Mama’s older sister, by three years. After Grandmother died when Mama was my own age, Aunt Jeannie took over for their mother, making sure that Granddaddy had all the food he needed, Mama went to school, and Uncle Jimmy – their younger brother – was tucked into bed at night. I imagine it was hard for Aunt Jeannie, and when Mama turned eighteen, Aunt Jeannie took off for college to become a nurse. Mama missed her sister, almost as much as she missed her own mama, she’d told me before. ‘Maybe that was why,’ I thought. ‘She wants to show Aunt Jeannie that she learned from her how to be a good Mama.’
I decided right then and there to help Mama out. I brushed and brushed and smoothed my hair out as best as my pre-pubescent hands could. Then I scrubbed my muddy, scratched up face. The scratches – I didn’t know what to do about them at first – but then I remember that make-up Mama kept for special occasions when Daddy was home from driving truck. I scrambled through the linen closet until I came up with the little bag. Sure enough, there was the stuff – foundation it said on the bottle. I dabbed a little here and there on my face and rubbed it in as I had seen Mama do. A little pencil fell out of the bag – black eyeliner. Thinking to make my eyes shine as Aunt Jeannie’s did, I penciled the liner under my eyes. Then I brought out the lipstick and spread it across my lips, liking the effect of the pink against my tanned skin.
At that moment, I heard a knock at the front door, and knew Aunt Jeannie had arrived. Now nervous, I quickly threw the make-up back into Mama’s little bag and peeked out the door. Aunt Jeannie was as stunning as usual, her beautiful face glowing and her perfect nails glittering as she reached around Mama’s frame for a hug. I frowned; I hadn’t noticed before how thin Mama was compared to Aunt Jeannie. Mama’s black hair didn’t shine like her sister’s, her face was lined with creases where Aunt Jeannie’s was smooth. As Mama turned and took Aunt Jeannie’s hand to lead her into the sitting room, I noticed Mama’s was tanned and dry; Aunt Jeannie’s was creamy and soft-looking. I stepped out of the bathroom and gently shut the door.
As I stepped into the sitting room with lemonade for Mama and Aunt Jeannie, both women turned to watch me. Mama’s eyes widened, Aunt Jeannie’s eyes narrowed. “Eva?” Mama asked, sounding startled and amused at the same time. “What did you do to yourself?”
“Now, Marianne, don’t embarrass the child. She looks just lovely.” Aunt Jeannie’s blue eyes sparkled even more than usual and a smile played about her lips. “Found your Mama’s make-up bag, did you Eva?” A small chuckle escaped her lips, but it wasn’t a cruel chuckle. I knew Aunt Jeannie approved.
Mama smiled at Aunt Jeannie, and said, “Jeannie, do you remember when I got into your make-up? Papa didn’t even know you had it. Until I came walking out of the bathroom with eyeshadow down to my nose and blush spread around like a circus clown!”
“Oh, Marianne! You looked so awful! And Papa was blisterin’ mad,” Aunt Jeannie chuckled again and motioned to me to come toward her. With a tissue she magically pulled from her pocket, she began to blot at my lips. “I think,” she said, “that it is time we taught this little one to put her make-up on properly, just as I did with you all those years ago.”
I looked questioningly at Mama, as I had never heard this particular story before, but Mama shook her head and said that the story would be good for another day. Right now, it was time for my first beauty lesson. Mama and Aunt Jeannie both took me by the hand and pulled me into the small bathroom. As they taught me to apply mascara with a wand and sweep color across my small cheekbones, they laughed and reminisced about their teen years and growing up. Finally, Aunt Jeannie looked down at me, no longer laughing or smiling, and she said, “You thank the Good Lord, Eva, that you’ve got your Mama now. You’ll never know how hard it is to grow up without one.”
As we filed out of the bathroom, the mood now sober, I gave thought to that. I had Mama, who taught me to see the world as God made it, to work hard, and to do right. I also had Aunt Jeannie, who, I realized now, taught me to be beautiful. It wasn’t that Aunt Jeannie didn’t approve of my animals or writing; she just wanted to make sure I knew how to take care of my outer Eva as well as my inner Eva.
I looked up at these two beautiful women, whose physical selves were so different from each other, yet inside, they both loved me. And I thanked God that I had them – to teach me, to guide me, and to make me beautiful.
