Have you met Dorian? THE VISITOR

It’s 7:30 p.m. and I am already dressed formally for the special celebration of our 50th anniversary. Most of our guests surely have wondered over the years how Donnie and I have stayed together and we have wondered ourselves. It is just one of the many miracles we have shared. Just last year, the 14th of November, our 49th anniversary, we were at the point of ending it all then and there but eventually kissed and made up.

 

Seated at my marble-topped  dressing table, I put a light foundation all over my face, dust it with powder, a soft brush pinky rose blush and look deeply into the magnifying mirror to apply the important eye make-up. Everything I need is neatly laid out in order of use. Just as I am ready the room lights blink and come right back on. Staying calm, I look at myself and smile. For 71, I look darned good. My lips do not smile back at me. I try a toothy smile again with my own pearly whites showing off my still not painted lips. The white teeth are yellowed. ‘Donnie,’ I scream. ‘Come in here fast!’ He comes in holding his cuff links and asks me to fit them in his cuffs. ‘Later, later,’ I say with a mean, nasty tone in my voice. ‘Look at me. How do I look?’ Donnie looks at me strangely and tells me I look lovely as usual. ‘Come on, fix my cuff links,’

 

My heart pumps loud enough for me not only feel, but to see my chest jumping. ‘Stand behind me, Donnie, and tell me what you see.’ I watch him and see a shadow behind him but can’t make it out. ‘I already told you, Tessie, you look lovely, almost the way you looked 50 years ago.’ At that I laugh. ‘Come on, finish up, Old Lady. We have to be a the hall first, you know.’ I look in the mirror again and my skin is wrinkled, gray. The eyelid skin is drooping. Blonde #407 with brown streaks has gray streaks. There is a crack in my top front tooth.

 

Being so frightened, I foolishly put my special lit mirror on the floor and hit it hard with Donnie’s golf shoe. It does what I meant it to do- shatters to shards. I start to cry and my make-up runs.

 

With no choice left, I go to the bedroom bureau, put all the ceiling lights, table lights on. This is miserable. I have to bend over the bureau just to see myself at all. There is a shadow in there that won’t go away. All of my applied make-up is gone. My skin is soft and white like a baby’s. My blue eyes sparkle. Whatever is happening is more than I can understand but am not complaining. I feel rejuvenated, younger, happier. Taking my blush brush I barely touch my cheeks. With no foundation is just glides on nicely. It’s hard to see my eyelids from my position so I skip all three shades of color I usually use and add only a taupe eye liner to the top and bottom of my lids and onto my brows.
I lean in closer to the mirror, almost kiss it as I smile at myself. My white teeth are white again. The coral lipstick I was going to wear flies into the trash can and I put on instead a soft rose.

 

Donnie yells from downstairs, ‘Come on. Let’s go.’ My diamond drop earrings fit easily, quickly into my lobes as if I had buttered them. My husband is tapping his foot at the bottom of the stairs. He whistles, comes half way up, takes my hand and escorts me to the car.

 

I feel super, look my best, am happy. Turning my head to the window so Donnie won’t see my mouth move, I thank Dorian Gray for helping me, give him a subdued wave as Donnie and I  go to celebrate our golden anniversary.