“It’s not absurd. Make up covers up flaws. Mascara enhances lashes,” Kijra said, as we got out of the car, and were walking in the chilly Wisconsin air, blowing out what looked like streams of smoke, even if we weren’t smoking.
“Eye shadow. That doesn’t cover up flaws,” I pointed out.
“Sure it does, ” Kijra argued.
“What flaw, the fact that your lids aren’t blue?” Ziggy said.
“Only Janey lou wears blue eye shadow,” Kijra said.
“No I don’t!”
“I’ve always considered it a major flaw,” Paul said, putting his arm around my waist, “eye lids that aren’t blue.”
I was torn. Should I thank him for his support of my bright blue eye shadow that I often wore, or should I be offended at any possible sarcasm, or was he really saying my eyes looked bad without the blue shadow.
“Don’t say that Paul,” Kijra said, “Janey lou will be worrying that her eye lids aren’t blue now.”
“I will not!” I huffed, offended.
And Joey, who lagged a bit behind, wasn’t saying much. That was unusual for her. Usually she was loud, out spoken, and out front. But she hung back, every now and then letting us know it was just fine not to wear make up, and that women who wore it were just slaves to men. Kijra laughed aloud at this, and said, “I’d love to be an Egyptian slave. They shaved their arms! Their whole arms,” and she indicated, pulling her red leather jacket sleeve up, and rubbed her hand up her arm.
“Just shave it then, who’s stopping you?” Joey snapped.
“How long are we going to talk about make up?” Namar finally sighed. Then after a few minutes of silence he said, “I want everyone to start calling me Raj, from now on.”
