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At age 21 I perfected my weekend going out look. It consisted of burgundy lipstick, brownish pink eyeshadow, black mascara, and black eyeliner. I would wear low waisted jeans and a tight t-shirt, or a v-necked sweater or long sleeved knit shirt, along with blue & beige adidas. Lee's look was also very calculated: neutral eyeshadow, 24 karat orange lipstick, black mascara, foundation to even out her pink tones, and brown eyeliner. Lee liked tight black shirts, and was the expert at accessorizing. She had earrings and shoes for every occasion. She was one of those girls who could wear expensive jewelry that only looks good on great aunts and pimps -like thick gold necklaces- and pull it off.

One night we were at a dance club / bar in the bathroom reapplying our respective lipsticks and a woman dressed in a black blazer came out of the stall and watched us as she washed her hands. She looked at us - me with my green eyes, super pale skin and dark brown hair, Lee with her peroxide goldeny blonde and bluish green, and told us we ought to swap lipsticks. She said she was a color consultant. We oohed and aahed and thanked her, then wiped our mouths on paper towels and traded lipsticks. My burgundy with everything and her 24 karat orange traded faces, and we stared at ourselves in the mirror. My lipstick was shaped in its tube the same way as it was when I purchased it. Hers was worn down and was shaped like a sliver. When I wore her lipstick, my eyes looked like they were popping out of my skull, and my cupid's bow disappeared.

This is me. I see, but I don't talk. I absorb and I don't expel.

I wiped her lipstick off. I put mine back on. She hastily did the same. We agreed that we knew more than the color consultant and went back out to the bar.

Lee Stories

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