To Be a Woman

Mary peels her skin off her body like a banana peel, tearing apart her flesh piece by piece until she is unrecognizable. She sits criss cross on the carpet floor of her bedroom, staring at her reflection from the wooden antique body-length mirror across from her. In the back of Mary’s mind, every Victoria’s Secret model, smokey eyes, plump lips, and all, race through her thoughts like a drug.

She picks at the mole below her lips with her jagged nails until it bleeds. Her dirty fingernails dig into the small puncture wound as she pinches the discolored edge of the wound and pulls down. The tearing of her skin echoes off the pink walls of the small room.

Mary peels off the first layer of skin on her chin before moving to the second layer. Under the first layer of flesh, she sees her soft tissue, but it does not bleed. Mary picks and peels the flesh off her soft lips and rosy cheeks until a sweet burning sensation floods her body.

She screams and cries as she continues to rip the second and third layers of flesh off of her face. Looking in the mirror, she sees her insides for the first time. The tissue has black and green specks of mold growing across the surface. Through the reflection of the mirror, Mary watches the dark spots grow and flourish, burrowing its way into her muscles as termites find sanctuary in a tree, causing its branches to rot and decay. She allows her mold to spread through her thin sack of flesh, trickling down her bones and under her muscle like warm running water. She smiles as it covers her flesh. Mary allows it grow; it is all she knows.

Mary sits up on her ankles, her nose only inches from the mirror. Her fingertips graze her face, now deprived of skin. She smiles, feeling every crevasse of exposed meat and tissue. She watches as the mold spreads and flourishes, making its home in every nook and cranny of face muscle. Sitting in front of that mirror, Mary runs her fingers down the mold to find the same texture as a furry caterpillar. She wonders if everybody has this mold under their skin and if Mother has mold growing in her body.

In the mirror, Mary sees the woman she will one day become. A mold-ridden woman whose pain and body are on display for the enjoyment of others. Her eyes light up at what she sees; she is beautiful, for being a woman means tearing her body and soul apart until the girl in the mirror becomes a stranger. Despite Mary’s refined beauty, her ugly mold continues to grow.

Mary moves to her neck, picking at her skin like a bird picks through the soil for its next meal. She smiles at the reflection before her, baffled by her constructed beauty. She leaves the mold to grow because a young girl is supposed to be in pain, and the anguish is what will make her a woman. The mold is what keeps a woman humble, as they should be.

In Mary’s bedroom, with bubblegum pink wallpaper plastered with posters of boy bands ripped from her magazines, Mary takes Mother’s deep red lipstick that she stole from her parent’s dresser out of her pocket and smears it over her lips. Mary’s face is devoid of skin, causing her lips to burn as she applies the makeup. She smiles through her pain and rubs her lips together as the lipstick mixes with her blood and tissue.

Her lips sting, and Mary shakes as the product seeps into her lip tissue. Tears drip from her eyes, causing her whole face to burn. She smiles through it all as she smears the lipstick onto her cheeks, using her tears to blend in the color just as Mary sees her Mother do before she leaves for work every morning. The same Mother who works night and day to be the perfect employee, only to go home and be the perfect mom, then the perfect cook, and after that the perfect wife.

Mother always tells Mary never to grow up, that she will miss her youth when she is her age. But just as her Mother watches Mary grow, Mary watches her Mother day after day. When her Mother gets groceries, cooks, or gets ready for the day, Mary is watching and praying for the day that she can be that beautiful.

As she picks at her skin, Mary ignores the excruciating pain that she feels because at least she is beautiful, just like her mother. A beautiful woman tears herself apart for the enjoyment of others. Mary cannot wait to be a woman.

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