Check out my piece on the Flip today. Click through image below.
“He’s here.”
Carey has rounded the corner and is facing me with her tan skin and her beautiful hair, her lips that are always perfectly glossed and her milk white teeth. She’s not smiling. My stomach falls through to my horribly pink feet, viciously pained from walking in faux leather heels that do not stretch.
I walk straight to my purse and unzip my ugly purple makeup bag, my mother’s Lancôme gift-with-purchase that she then gifted to me. I pull out a Vicodin I stuck in there that morning. Last year it was Xanax, which would be a more appropriate chemical compound given the current circumstances, but beggars can’t be choosers. Anything to disconnect me from reality, anything to make the details feel soft and benign as a pilled cashmere sweater…
