The Dime

Part 16 - Lily

When we were little, Sophie and I would sit on the floor in our parents' bedroom with our mother's lipsticks and eyeliners and perfumes scattered around us. Being the oldest, I knew everything there was to know about this as I applied bright red lipstick and blue eyeliner to Sophie's face and then enveloped her in a cloud of Charlie. Sophie was the perfect model, keeping her otherwise restless body still for me to apply the rouge and whatever else was handy. By the time I was done, she was made up like a movie star.

Until Mom walked in and playfully gasped with her hand to her mouth. "What have you done with my little girl?" She would turn around and look under the bed. "Where did Sophie go?"

Through the gap made by her missing front teeth, Sophie would lisp gleefully, "I'm right here, Mommy."

"You? You aren't Sophie." Mom would bend down and inspect the girl before her. "Why you look far too old and mature to be my little girl." Turning to me, she would threaten me, "Lily, how many times have I told you to keep track of your sister. Now, what has happened with her? And where did she come from?" she would screech, pointing a shaking finger at Sophie.

The giggles that followed often led to hiccups and sore stomachs that were more than worth it.

The morning of the dance, we drove to Gloversville to buy Sophie a dress. She insisted on a long skirt that covered her legs and a blouse that would hide her figure. While she wasn't looking, I added a lacy red bra to the stack and made the purchase before she noticed.

Once we got back from Gloversville, the afternoon passed much the same way. We were little girls again, filling the afternoon with giggles and laughter. Even a tear or two when I mentioned our younger experiments with Mom's makeup and Sophie pretended not to remember them.

I must have curled her long blond hair, styled it, washed it and then dried it again at least five times trying to figure out just the right look. We finally settled on curling it into ringlets that draped down her shoulders. The makeup was just as challenging, but we finally settled on her "look."

When it came time to get dressed, I pulled out the bra. She looked at it in all its frilly red glory and shook her head. "No way."

"I insist," I replied, shaking it in front of her.

"No. I'm not wearing that thing."

"Sophie. You're going to a dance with a boy and I want you to feel different. I want you to feel beautiful and special and maybe even a little sexy."

"Pffffft. That isn't gonna happen. Besides, why does it matter if I'm wearing that? Nobody else is going to see it, and nobody else will think I'm sexy just because I might feel that way."

I turned her wheelchair around to face the mirror. "Look at you! You're beautiful. You just don't realize it."

She looked in the mirror for a moment, studying herself before turning away from her image. "It's a bunch of makeup and a hairdo. None of it covers up the reality."

"It's not just the makeup," I pleaded "It's you."

While we were staring at the mirror, there was a knock on the door. We both looked at the clock on the wall. It read 5:45. Pete wasn't supposed to be there until 6:00. "He can't be here yet," Sophie whispered.

I went out to the front door and peeked through the peephole. It was Pete, only he was standing with his back to the door, looking out to the street. "It's him," I whispered to Sophie, who had followed me to the door. "Go back to the bathroom and finish getting dressed. And put the damn bra on! You'll feel better."

Pete turned at the sound of the door opening. The first thing I noticed was the massive black eye. Then I noticed the scratches across his cheek. The goose egg growing out of his forehead. The torn Yankees shirt he was wearing. That he held one arm to his side and that his breath rattled. "What the hell —"

"I fought back," he whispered before collapsing to the ground.