Mary’s Lipstick
by Ella Charette
College of Charleston
Ella Charette is a rising Junior at the College of Charleston, majoring in theatre and minoring in creative writing. She has a passion for storytelling, especially stories that cover queer themes. She is thrilled to share her piece “Mary’s Lipstick,” a story that explores family, societal pressures, and self-expression.
My sister's lipstick was tacky, specifically on her. A dark, maroon color, packed up into a cheap plastic tube. It didn't fit my sister, Mary, at all. All my life, she consisted of dusty pink blushes, light mascara, and a childlike naivety despite her being three years older. Her closet contained only the most pastel of colors. Flowy white skirts, woolen cardigans, and flowery blouses, light blue and lacey, like our parents preferred. I had always thought Mary preferred it to, until she had dragged me to the CVS nearby my school. She had a devious grin creep onto her face as she spoke, “Let's go shopping!”
Like always, I followed her, watching her pick up and examine every highlighter and foundation in the makeup aisle. I stood a couple steps back, being careful to avoid eye contact with anyone who happened to pass by. At one point, an older woman wobbled by, her walker scuffing the tiled floor beneath us. I recognized her as another member of our church, Mrs. Moore. She was friendly to our mother, otherwise she was always scowling. She didn't notice me or Mary, instead shuffling her way towards the pharmaceutical counter.
“What do you think of this color?” Mary asked. I observed the package in her hand, a lipstick, bright red.
“It's fine,” I muttered.
“Really? Just ‘fine?’ Come on, I need some actual advice here, I want to try something new!” She grabbed another shade, this time a noxious green. “What about this one?”
I scrunched up my nose. I couldn't imagine Mary in such a color. It was out of place compared to the rest of her wardrobe. It was obnoxious, so unlike her. “I don't know! If you wanted actual advice, you should’ve asked one of your friends to come.”
Mary scoffed. “You’re my brother, that's close enough. Plus I trust your judgement.”
“Sure.”
“I'm serious!” She assured, whipping around. “Remember when I dressed you up in my princess costume?” My body stiffened, listening out for a certain scuffling. I motioned for her to stop, but she kept going. “Oh don't be embarrassed, you were like two. I dressed you up as Ariel and did your hair! Remember?”
“Yeah?”
“Then I sat you down on the bathroom sink, and we dug through mom’s makeup…” She placed a hand on my shoulder, leading me closer to the displays. “...then you screeched at me for using the wrong color, or for using eyeshadow incorrectly.”
“You were putting green dots all over my face!” I remembered that night vividly, our parents were arguing about something or another in the living room. I had been reading a book, and midway through flipping the page, my stubby fingers had been grasped by Mary’s. She led me to her room, and there the fun began. Our mother found us two hours later, faces covered in sparkles. She was so peeved. “It looked ugly, the green.”
Mary pouted. “They were meant to be fish scales, ok? But you get what I'm saying, right? You have good judgment when it comes to makeup, so tell me, what shade would you pick?”
My gaze turned to the lipsticks in front of us. “I don't know.”
“Yes, you do,” Mary whispered. “Just choose the one that speaks to you.” I stood still for a minute, my shoulders finally relaxing under her hand. I glanced over the shelves again, before reaching out for that dark maroon color. I held it for a moment, tracing the line where the cap met the body of the tube. I pressed my thumb down, watching in fascination as the cap slid off. “This one?” Mary asked, surprised. Gingerly, she took the tube and twisted so that she could swatch the color against her skin. I looked at her wrist, the color looking back. It was a beautiful color, but it wasn't very Mary.
“I don't know,” I mumbled quietly, catching in my peripheral vision that Mrs. Moore was watching us from across the store, her gaze like daggers, “But I like it.”
We left the CVS shortly after, Mary having bought a couple of items, including the maroon lipstick. We barely spoke a word, just enjoying the pleasant hum of the radio.
Now, a week later, I found myself in her room digging through her makeup bag. I couldn't help but shiver at the familiarity of the situation. I checked the door, ensuring myself that no one would barge in, then pulled out a familiar tube. I took off the cap and twisted to see the beautiful maroon.
My hand shook as I brought it to my lips, the color settling itself nicely. The lipstick itself was horrible, it felt grainy, the formula was shit, it dried out my already chapped lips, yet seeing the shaky application made me feel…
“Pretty.” The word slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it, and a gratifying, uplifting feeling began to buzz rapidly in my chest. The same feeling that came when I saw myself in that stupid Ariel costume all those years ago.
“Hello?” Mary’s voice. Suddenly, that wonderful feeling dropped uncomfortably in my stomach, churning and churning. Fermenting into shame. I hastily swiped my hands across my mouth, smashing my lips against my teeth in the process. The lipstick wouldn’t wipe off completely, leaving disgusting smears down and around my chin.
“Don’t look!” I spat, shoving past her as I rushed towards my room.
I had felt so awful that night, tossing and turning. Waiting for the moment my bedroom door would slam open and all hell would break loose. But nothing came.
A few days later, I found a neatly folded notecard underneath my pillow, along with that damned lipstick. I recoiled at the sight of it, choosing to pick up the note instead. It read,
I promise I won’t tell mom or dad.
Please, keep the lipstick.
I bought it for you anyway.
~ Mary
How very typical of Mary, I smiled at the note, hiding both it and the lipstick deep within my drawer. I hoped maybe I would get a chance to wear it again. It was, after all, a very pretty color.