Lipstick

When I was small, we would sit on the plush carpet the color of the sky

eyes on Mom and Dad who

would tell us the stories on how we each of us were born and

how their love for each other grew

and they told us they loved us so much too,

their eyes saying “and we still do”.

On December 24th, the year I was four

I sat on the same sky carpet saying the words

“Merry Christmas” a day too early because

I didn’t know what the word “Eve” was,

I might have misunderstood

but that day did feel the way Christmas should

I remember the night the power box short-circuited

I stared across at my parent’s smiles, candle-lit

as they sang an old song in unison

which they had clearly sung together before

like maybe the night it occurred to them

the other was the one they were looking for

During the summer on weekends I would need Tp or something

but I couldn’t find my parents

so I walked into their bathroom and witnessed

hearts and words smudged onto the mirror with bright red lipstick

I was eye-level with the counter, so I tip-toed to see above,

to see that some of the red letters there spelled the word “love”.

I remember best out of the family’s favorite places

where all the waitresses knew my parents faces

and the two of them shared menus sitting next to each other
and the food was so spicy your tongue would hurt

as time went on
we got hardwood floors installed in every room

And we owned a boxed pine tree by then too
 

as time went on

Dad quit his job

And my parents argued a lot
filling the house with loud four letter words
none of which included (the letters)
‘L’, or

‘O’, or
‘V’, or
‘E’.

many of those nights, my dad would take a drive, it finished

his car pulling out of the neighborhood

The spring of my sixth grade year, it was very bright out one day
My toes clenched

the edge of the top step,

at the top of the basement’s staircase

Across the entryway

my Mom’s lips a new shade.

My Dad put on his work coat
and she leaned in to kiss him on his way out

and he denied the kiss with

“I don’t want to get lipstick on me”, smileless

and she informed him that it was non-stain with

a “I bought it yesterday for this moment” tone catching between her teeth

He cleared his throat, bent down to refold the hem of his pant leg

And my Mom who always said too much said
“Not even on the cheek?”

“No,” he said to his shoe and the keys in his hand

he took the doorknob in his other,

and his car was pulling out the driveway in just minutes
 

I didn’t want to see the car pull out of the neighborhood

So I ran down the stairs, and with each step slapping onto the hardwood

each pad of my toes screaming

the words “What is love? What is love?”

after everything

my Dad’s car pulled out of the neighborhood for the last time

my siblings and I sat on the carpetless living room floor

heavy air tugging at our alveoli

I remember looking into the mirror of the master bath

my three-letter question still remained

for I knew that my Dad’s rejection for affection

was not dependent on a lipstick stain

The other day

I went to that old restaurant with my Dad

we sat at a new window,

but still ate spicy food.

he told me

about some movie called American Beauty

and how even if you completely screw up

all the good moments that ever happened

weren’t for naught.

his eyes were watering, but he was never a baby about spicy food

and that’s when I realized,

even if there were many terrible moments,

they don’t cancel out the good ones.

they’re still just as real, they still exist

and that was when I remembered them,

and thus remembered what love is